A sound came first, rolling distant waves, slapping against metal somewhere far off, muted. It was rhythmic, comforting, the suggestion of a vast blue sea. Denzel coughed. Sunlight threaded into his vision, and the world resurfaced.

He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there.

He lay on a soft red couch inside a quiet modern apartment, facing the ocean through windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. A single white lily perched in a vase nearby. The scent made him think of Marlene's ghostly friend.

His injuries were healed, dried blood coated his shirt, and fragments of the prior night swam in his skull. Or however long ago that had been… He cautiously looked around. He was still in Junon, that much was clear from the ocean view, and it was early morning.

The drugs were finally gone from his system. No horrific images sprang at him.

"H-hello?"

He was alone in the apartment. The area was one open space combining the living room, kitchen, and dining areas. It was well-furnished but devoid of any personal effects. No photos or clothes or any hint of who lived there.

Until his eyes fell on the sword, resting in its dark sheath on the table near the entryway.

Cloud's sword. It had to be. There was none other like it.

His breath squeezed out at the sight. That's right, he'd found Cloud. Was this Cloud's apartment, then? It looked so different from the messy hole in the slums that Cloud had lived in before, back when Denzel had gone with him from Edge right after Tifa's death.

And if this was Cloud's place, where the hell was he? There were two closed doors across from the living room, but all was silent. Cloud must be out. And if he returned…? Not if, when.

The practiced script of everything he'd wanted to say to Cloud evaporated, and it now seemed very possible that the man who walked through the front door would, in fact, be the version from his nightmares. And Denzel was defenseless.

Wild fear coiled in his stomach. The tiny switchblade he carried felt so miniscule and pointless. But the sword… Cloud's sword was right there.

He approached it with extreme caution, as if it could leap up and bite without its owner.

Of course, it didn't. But the tension in his stomach twisted tighter. Surely if Cloud had meant him harm, he reasoned, there was no way he would've woken up today, patched-up and alone. Yet the irrational fears did not relent. He needed something to protect himself.

Years ago, back when Tifa and Cloud still lived in Edge together, Cloud had begun training him on how to wield a sword. Cloud had split apart his own weapon, this one right here, and handed Denzel the smallest and lightest piece. It had taken days to learn how to manage the weight properly, how to hold the edge straight, let alone swing the damn thing. He couldn't imagine how Cloud could control the entire combined weapon without breaking a sweat.

He touched the hilt. The wrapped leather was cold, and the sudden thought of how many lives had been ended by its blades ran through him even colder. He'd never thought Cloud could be a ruthless killer, but that had been proven wrong already.

The weapon itself, though, hadn't changed. Somehow he thought it would be different, to reflect its owner's altered persona, but it was as he remembered, and the sudden flood of childhood memories took him by surprise. No, he ordered, get a hold of yourself. That happy family in Edge was gone, and the blade he'd once trained with was just a part of this monstrous contraption.

He tugged on the hilt, but it didn't budge. He tried again, with both hands this time, and the steel slid towards him. It took all of his strength, and once the majority of the weight was clear of the sheath, the whole thing plummeted to the floor with a heavy thud, straight out of his hands.

The sound reverberated through the walls. Shit, he thought, the entire building had heard that. Certainly the neighbor below thought Denzel had just killed someone.

"What are you doing?"

The voice spoke right behind him. He shot up, practically levitating to the couch in fright.

Cloud stood in the doorway to the adjacent room, materialized like a ghost. His arms were crossed, and he regarded Denzel with tired eyes.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" Denzel squealed, reeling backwards. He could not comprehend how Cloud had appeared behind him without making any sound.

Cloud sighed and picked up the weapon. He put it in the other room, then closed that door and faced Denzel.

"So," Cloud began, prompting Denzel to speak.

But everything he'd wanted to say to Cloud vanished in a flurry of nerves. He'd hated Cloud over the last year, been terrified of him since Icicle Inn, but when it all came down to it, when he was beaten and drugged and faced with the man himself, he'd simply collapsed into a crying baby.

Ugh, Marlene would have laughed at him.

And what had Cloud done? He hadn't been that nightmare, that cold vacant stare. He'd rescued Denzel, lifted him away from the assassin with the needle grin. As much as Denzel still wanted to hate Cloud, he couldn't because the monster was gone. Cloud just stood there, looking entirely normal.

"What are you doing in Junon?" Cloud specified.

If he couldn't bring himself to confront Cloud on their rocky past, he could at least convey the truth on why he was in Junon.

"I...well, I mean, Marlene…" Denzel took a breath and tried again. "You missed her birthday."

"I know," Cloud replied without missing a beat, "So what are you doing here?"

"She wanted to see you for her birthday." But it sounded so dumb, so silly.

"I think you know that's not possible."

A pause. The ocean ebbed and flowed like a heartbeat.

"But I… I came here to get you," Denzel kept going, scared of the silence, "I need to bring you home."

Cloud ignored him.

"Y-You looked so different last night," Denzel breathed out, recalling the image of Cloud standing beneath that shadow. "I wasn't even sure if—"

"You were on a hallucinogen," Cloud replied with little interest, "I found it in your backpack. Whatever you saw wasn't real." Then he dropped his voice. "I hope you aren't using again."

Denzel shifted uncomfortably. "No. I stopped taking mako a while ago. I just… I did something stupid. Trying to find you. I didn't know it was LS when I took it."

"You took drugs...to find me?"

Now it sounded really, really stupid. Denzel squirmed.

"No. I mean, the drugs… I tried to get information… You're involved somehow, in the mako trade, aren't you?" But it sounded so weak.

Cloud did not acknowledge the question.

Then there was the man with the needle-teeth. A fist punching him over and over.

"That guy with the daggers… He was going to kill me, wasn't he?"

"I wouldn't have let him," Cloud said, "I would never let anything happen to you. I hope you know that."

Except he had, of course. Denzel could feel the scar across his forearm burning to be mentioned, but he couldn't bring himself to ask exactly what had happened that day at Icicle Inn between them. What had happened to Cloud, specifically when he'd turned towards Denzel like an enemy? Would it even be right to bring up the past like that after Cloud had saved his life?

"You must be hungry," Cloud said, changing the subject.

He took a container out from the fridge, grabbed a utensil from the drying rack next to the sink, and placed them both on the counter. He motioned to Denzel.

"Here, have some. Best take-out in town."

Cloud expected him to come closer. He had to. He couldn't let Cloud think he was afraid. He couldn't hesitate too long. He swallowed and strolled right over to the kitchen. He sat at the countertop table and accepted the food.

Cold noodles. Delicious, actually. He couldn't remember the last time he ate anything, and he shoved more in his mouth. Then he paused as he realized Cloud was watching him.

"Uh, aren't you going to eat anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

Cloud began making coffee, as if this were just a routine morning.

Denzel couldn't believe the source of all his nightmares was just a guy making coffee. But, no, he'd seen how easily Cloud could transform into something horrific. There were a multitude of scars on Cloud's own exposed forearms, corroborating a history of violent encounters.

"You aren't staying here," Cloud said without looking up. "I'm taking you back to Edge today."

"I don't live there…"

Cloud met Denzel's stare. A horrible moment passed between them as Cloud remembered exactly why he didn't live there anymore, and Denzel swore he saw that exact same expression the moment before Cloud had told him Tifa wasn't coming home. That sad, choking look of immeasurable pain. Then it was gone.

"Right. Of course." Cloud cleared his throat. "Then I'll take you back to..."

"Kalm," Denzel said. "You have to stop in and say hi to Marlene. You have to stay, at least for a few days." This was the whole reason he'd agreed to come to Junon on this ridiculous quest. He had to get through to Cloud. "She misses you, and she says Aeris says you are a shade."

He hoped mentioning the dead woman would get a reaction, but Cloud didn't even flinch and simply continued waiting for his coffee to brew.

Denzel went on, frustrated, "Why can't I stay here? I don't understand. What's happened to you? You say I'm safe with you, but then you want me to leave."

"Because I can't be with you all the time. And if you stay here, then the only way you'll be safe is if I'm actually with you. And even then..." Cloud sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Even then, I can't be certain. These are dangerous times, and I'm involved in a lot now. I can't have you with me."

"Can't I just stay for a little bit?"

"No, Denzel."

There it was. The tone that meant he wouldn't change his mind.

"But—"

"No. End of discussion."

Denzel sulked and went back to eating noodles. Neither of them spoke, and at length Cloud poured himself coffee and then faced Denzel with mug in hand.

"How are you feeling?" Cloud's voice was softer, "Materia has been giving me trouble lately."

But Denzel was still upset and didn't respond.

"I take it that means you're fine," Cloud concluded, visibly annoyed.

"You have to come home with me." Denzel tried again. "I… I need to make sure you come home. Marlene asked me to."

"That's not going to happen."

"Just stop by and say hello to her at least!"

"Denzel, please."

"I don't understand why you won't."

Cloud took a very long sip of his coffee.

"Fine," Denzel pouted, poking at the last noodles, "If you aren't going to come home with me. Then… Then I, at least, deserve to know one thing."

"What's that?"

Breathe. Say it. He'd been wanting to say it.

"I need to know what happened to her. To Tifa."

He looked boldly at Cloud, confident that he'd get some sort of reaction now. But no, Cloud only took another sip of coffee.

"Please, Cloud." Denzel's voice grew low and begging. The truth came spewing out, a confession he couldn't make to anyone else. "I can't stop thinking about it. When you came home and told me there'd been an accident. I can't stop reliving that moment in my head. It's like I'm trapped there, in that damn bar, always. I can't sleep. I can't focus. I can't do anything!"

This time Cloud did look over, and the pain of that day surfaced fresh. That crushing moment. She's not okay.

And all at once he was back there, hearing Cloud's words.

She's dead.

"Please," Denzel whispered. "What really happened to her?"

"I already told you what happened."

"That's bullshit," Denzel snapped, "I saw the look on your face that day. Something awful happened to her, but you wouldn't tell me any of it."

Cloud placed his mug down on the counter and took a deep breath.

"Okay. You wanna know the truth?"

Denzel nodded.

"The truth is that I was asleep. I always thought I'd be able to sense if she was ever in real danger. I'd gotten it into my head that we were linked somehow like that. But when it all came down to it, when her life was ending, I hadn't the faintest idea.

"She was being tortured by people I knew, barely a few blocks away from me, and all that time… the whole time, I was asleep." He paused, lost in the gravity of it. "Fucking asleep. If my boss hadn't called me, I would've just slept through the night and she would've died alone."

Denzel sat spellbound. Cloud had never used the word 'torture' to describe what happened to her before, and a kaleidoscope of horrific imagery assaulted Denzel's mind. He could barely speak, and when he did it was a trembling whisper.

"So, what did you…? How did you get to her?"

"I arrived too late. She'd already lost so much blood. I held her in my arms and then…" He lifted one hand and opened his fist, then let it drop.

"But your boss…? Why was he calling you? Is that who hurt her? Is that who you killed?"

"Yes. He was responsible, but she came to me earlier that night." He broke off and exhaled heavily. Then he shook his head. "I can't spend any more time on this. I killed him for what he did to Tifa, but nothing makes her death easier." His eyes flashed to Denzel. "I'm sorry."

But the boy had been rendered speechless as he watched Cloud disappear into the other room and then return with his sword and a sweatshirt.

"Put this on," Cloud said, tossing the sweatshirt over, "and let's go."

Denzel didn't move, caught in the trenches of the story. Distant waves crashed along the tiers, a reminder that the rest of the world was ticking on no matter what transpired up here.

"Let's go, Denzel," Cloud repeated louder.

But Denzel was lost. His mind reeled around the word 'torture', and he stared at Cloud. How could he do it? Just stand there and carry on his mission to bring Denzel home after relaying such a terrible memory? Denzel could barely breathe. And how could he face Marlene knowing that Tifa had been tortured to death? It was the worst realization, and he regretted pushing Cloud to tell him now.

"Denzel. Please. Just let me get you home."

Cloud's expression was pleading, and Denzel found he wanted to stick with Cloud no matter what, even if that meant venturing into the hostile city and eventually parting ways. But maybe Denzel could somehow prevent that from happening. Right now, though, he had no choice but to follow.

They traveled in silence. The morning air carried a light rain. Denzel put on the sweatshirt to cover his bloody clothes. He tried to talk to Cloud, to ask him questions, to beg him to stop walking so fast, but Cloud didn't respond as they made their way to the far end of the upper tier.

"You're putting me on an airship?" Denzel said once he saw where they were headed.

"Yes, it's faster."

It also meant significantly less time to convince Cloud to join him in Kalm and furthermore, Cloud wouldn't even be near Kalm. He was hoping Cloud would drive them over to Kalm himself, and then Marlene would be there and Cloud would have no choice but to stay a while, and Denzel could show Marlene that he'd actually done the impossible and brought the man home. But now he needed another plan.

As they rounded the next block, however, he realized something was wrong. Cloud was particularly alert, looking through the crowds, doubling-back twice, keeping Denzel within arm's reach. At the opening of one particular alleyway, he paused.

Without warning, Cloud shoved him out of the way, and a set of razor-sharp shurikens spun past.

Six masked men appeared, wearing all black, rushing straight from the alley into the street, circling Cloud. People ran. Panic erupted.

Cloud already had his sword unsheathed, angled defensively, and Denzel was glued to his back, clutching the fabric of Cloud's shirt. The feeble dagger was in Denzel's shaking palm though he didn't recall pulling it out.

Denzel could scarcely see, it all happened so fast. The sword arced in crisp lines, dismembering one of the assailants in a puddle of blood and screams, stabbing through another, decapitating a third. Someone was on top of Denzel, seething hot breath, lethal katana glinting, but Cloud was right there. He blocked, protecting Denzel, then cut apart the assassin.

Pain ripped through Denzel's arm as a shuriken flew past, catching his flesh.

Another three masked men had appeared. Denzel gasped, pressing one hand against the blood flowing from his gash, unable to keep up with what was happening around them. He only felt Cloud grab his uninjured arm and drag him hard.

Together, they ran. Away from the airship zone. Away from the shouts and calamity in their wake. Denzel's dagger was gone, had somehow been lost in the chaos. Cloud kept pulling him forward. They were heading into the slums of the lower tier.

A large weapon came spiraling towards them, a heavy shuriken of the style Yuffie carried, steel whipping around. Cloud saw it, yanked Denzel behind him so suddenly that Denzel thought for sure his arm would be dislocated.

Cloud's weapon clanged against the shuriken, deflected it to the ground. The assailants were right behind them. They'd somehow reached a dead-end in the midst of all their running, but Cloud didn't look worried at all.

Cloud faced the attackers, sword raised. He glanced at Denzel, who was staunching the blood flow from his arm, fingers leaking red. With a swift click, the smallest blade of Cloud's sword was out, hilt extended towards Denzel.

"Do you remember how to use this?" Cloud asked, handing it over.

But the remaining masked men were charging, and he could not tell Cloud no.

The sword was heavy as hell, and the edge gleamed sharp and bright under the clouded skies.

A flurry of blades were upon them. Cloud moved fluidly, elegantly even, deflecting and attacking in a horrific rhythm of give and take.

Denzel reacted as best he could as a blade swung towards him. He side-stepped, holding his weapon up, and the attacker's katana glanced harmlessly off the steel. His blood pumped fast, and from the corner of his eye he saw Cloud cut down another opponent. His own attacker stabbed, and he fell, tripping into a pile of wet garbage, narrowly avoiding the blow.

The man advanced, grinning, when a spike of metal tore through his chest from behind. An oval of blood gush downwards. Then it was very quiet.

Cloud stood over him, sword coated in red. The bodies of their assailants lay disassembled.

"We need to go," Cloud said between breaths, and Denzel recognized the cold intense look in those horrid blue eyes. It was the same he'd seen in Icicle Inn. He jumped back at the sight.

"Cloud?" Denzel could feel his voice going out, and the light mist in the air began to formulate into proper drops of rain.

"Do you believe me now?"

Cloud held one hand out. Denzel allowed Cloud to help him to his feet.

"These...these guys were…?" Denzel couldn't guess.

"From Wutai," Cloud assessed. "This is why you can't stay with me. I need to sort something out."

Cloud held his hand out again. Denzel wasn't sure what he was doing, then he understood and handed over the sword. Cloud clicked it back into place and sheathed the weapon.

"Hmm, you held your own back there," Cloud remarked.

The words of praise felt hollow, though, as Denzel gazed at the bodies around them. It made him feel all sorts of sick but also strangely elated. Part of him wanted Cloud's approval so badly, the consequential damage, even to this extreme, didn't matter.

Cloud was already walking away though, and Denzel hurried after him, trying his best to forget that look in the dead man's eyes as the sword cut through his abdomen, spilling his life.

The slums weren't crowded, but everyone on the street stayed away from them. Cloud was a formidable presence, and Denzel struggled to keep pace. The sun shed golden light through a break in the clouds, creating an ominous spacing of shadows. Cloud remained on edge, hovering one arm protectively near him. They were going deeper into the slums.

"Where are we going?" Denzel finally asked.

Cloud said nothing. They went past dilapidated office buildings and burned-out row homes. The rain returned, and Denzel was soaked and cold. Eventually they stopped at a seedy-looking bar.

Cloud paused, as if realizing he'd need to explain at some point.

"Need to lay low for an hour or so," he said, "just until I can confirm they aren't following us anymore."

"They?"

Cloud dragged Denzel inside. The interior was dingy and stank of stale beer. A few solitude drunks took note of Cloud's appearance and immediately vacated, opting to be out in the rain instead of stay here with whatever trouble had just come in.

Cloud took a seat at the bar, facing the door, and planted Denzel behind him on a barstool. He rested a hand on his hilt, tapping one finger like a nervous twitch.

"Just take a moment," he said to Denzel, "We're safe here."

But Cloud did not relax.

"Why did those guys attack us?" Denzel whispered. "What's going on?"

"I'm still bringing you home to Kalm today. I wasn't... " Cloud dropped his voice, "I wasn't aware that Godo's forces were in Junon, and I didn't think they'd be looking for me this quickly. I need to make sure there aren't any more of them."

Whatever was going on was serious shit, and now Denzel was up to his eyes in it.

Denzel cleared his throat and tried to be brave. "I don't understand what's going on right now."

"This is exactly why you can't stay," Cloud snapped.

The bartender stepped down to them and nodded at Cloud without alarm. The two knew each other. He placed glasses of water down. Then a whiskey in front of Cloud.

"Boss," he acknowledged Cloud. "What can I do for you? Wasn't expecting you or any of your guys." He eyed Denzel.

"Just stopping in for a moment. We won't be long. Trying to lose a tail," Cloud said.

The bartender was a muscular man, but walked with a limp. Maybe he was ex-ShinRa, Denzel thought, part of the old MP. Maybe he'd been stationed here in Junon before the decommissioning. The bartender noticed Denzel staring, and Denzel looked down into his glass of water.

"Whatever you need, boss," the bartender replied to Cloud.

"Has there been anyone in here, looking for me?" Cloud asked.

"No, sir, been quiet today."

Denzel relaxed at the friendly tone. Maybe Cloud's life wasn't solely comprised of criminal dealings and outright murder. Maybe he actually had a few decent people he could consider friends. Denzel's hands were finally steadying so he took a big gulp of water, not realizing how thirsty he'd been.

"I heard some crazy shit is going down in Wutai," the bartender went on, making conversation, "Some of the guys are saying the new military over there is cutting off the supply somehow."

Cloud kept his eyes on the door. "No, just rumors."

"That's good to hear. Some can't even make it through a day without mako."

"Yeah, I believe that."

There was an awkward silence. Denzel shifted his weight on the bar stool, taking another sip of water. Was it getting warmer in here?

"Some of them are also saying that you aren't doing enough to protect the supply, sir."

But Cloud wasn't fully listening. "I'm doing what I can, but Wutai is… There's not much I can do against Godo."

Suddenly, it clicked in Denzel's head. Godo was such a familiar name, but he couldn't place it before. And now, like a ray of blinding sun, he remembered. Godo was Yuffie's father. Which meant Yuffie was involved in whatever mess had tracked Cloud down in Junon. Which complicated everything because Cloud and Yuffie had been friends, or at least some version of friendship did exist between the two at some point.

A sudden hot pain wormed into his stomach. He teetered on the barstool. One glance at the others told him that he was the only one experiencing this, and so he kept his eyes locked on his empty water glass, eager to hide his discomfort. Why was he always feeling sick at the worst possible moments? His throat began to feel tight.

"...Denzel?" That was Cloud's voice, full of concern.

Dizziness came fast and hard, and when he tried to look at Cloud, his vision blurred. Everything felt puffy and sore.

Cloud took one look at Denzel and yelled to the bartender. "A detox. Do you have one?"

Everything was fading.

Cloud cursed under his breath, "Shit, of all days I don't think to carry one… The attackers must've been using poison-tipped blades."

But the bartender hadn't moved.

"Hey, didn't you hear me?" Cloud's voice became commanding, angry.

Denzel felt faint and he clutched at Cloud's arm, excruciating pain gnawing at his insides. Cloud faced the bartender, eyes full of venom. He drew his sword, and Denzel grabbed onto the bartop for dear life.

"What did you do?!" Cloud was saying.

The older man stepped away, hands raised.

"I'm sorry, boss. But they paid me well. Really well. More than this dump is worth. They told me it would be fast-acting and painless."

Denzel could not see anymore. He was having trouble breathing. Searing ribbons crawled up his throat.

"You have no idea what you've just done," Cloud said viciously, "I would've made sure you—"

But Denzel couldn't hear any more. It seemed impossible that Cloud was even still standing. Surely the same poison was coursing through Cloud's veins, delivered through the seemingly innocuous water the bartender had offered.

Then he fell. Cold wood floor was at his head and everything went dark.