Disclaimer: Lalala, I can't hear them; lalala, they can't hear me! So Esse shall write pointless fanfiction using Square Enix's characters without the slightest monetary compensation, and Square Enix shall not sue — which would result in great monetary loss. On their part; Esse, for her part, just spent her last $10 paying for an ultrasound.

Notes: Sequel to Saisei. Not that Saisei needed a follow up; I just got this idea, see? And I had t' write it down, see? And there might even be a third story, see? Oh, wait, no — forget you read that last sentence, please pretty?

Warnings: Very slight language. A derogatory comment. A kiddie OC, which I know we all love to hate. Deep thoughts that actually tread water at the shallow end of the pool. And a Seifer and Zell beaten down by the world, but far from giving up.

For: Becca, f'r her birthday, which was way way back — but really, I wrote this March 11th. :shrugs: There was just something I didn't like about it; tried, but couldn't find the problem. Oh well.

Saisei's Walk

The park was growing crowded. The denizens of the vicinage had taken the forecaster's prognostication to heart, and had turned out in force to enjoy the spring day; picnic baskets held the day's repast, and blankets covered the grass like so many overgrown poppies, petals opened to catch the warming rays of late morning sunlight. Warm, and drowsy, families lazed in the glow filtered through the blossoms of hardy fruit trees, blooming with no regard to the late frost that might befall them. Families, talking softly and laughing riotously, enjoying the holiday, with no regard for the work weeks to come.

The boy in front of him, dark-haired and crystal-eyed, in clothes worn and painstakingly mended, painfully clean, standing off the path underneath the sheltering boughs of an ancient apple tree, giggled and held up his hands to the fall of petals torn loose by the freshening breeze. The dog scampering about his feet and held to his side by means of a purple leash and halter, yipped, and struggled to pull her way free; free to join the boy, and his game of catching sunbeams upon his outstretched tongue. The man standing forlornly at his side, coat tied around his waist and wheaten hair straggling across his forehead, kept his gaze upon them all, watchful and vigilant, and out of place in the peaceful setting.

"I still can't believe she left."

But the park wasn't as peaceful as it seemed. Graffiti besmirched once pristine walls, and vandals had hacked apart the wooden benches, leaving nothing but splinters and dangerously exposed screws in their delirium of destruction. The families upon their blankets huddled inwards; parents with faces worn old with worry and work, children in clothes neither mended nor clean, playing quiet games with none of the boisterousness he remembered from his own ill-spent childhood. By the bathrooms, a dealer passed out small bags in exchange for loose gil; in the bathrooms, a woman moaned, plying her own trade, taking advantage of the holiday crowd.

The boy in front of him, dearly loved — but not his. The man beside him, beloved and cherished and as vital to his survival as his meager breakfasts or the blossom-scented air — but not his. The dog at his feet, loose at last and running to the boy as fast as her short legs could carry her — his for the moment, but it wouldn't last. Nothing in his life ever lasted.

One day, Saisei had followed him home. Some day, she'd follow someone else. It was inevitable. She made him happy, and it was his experience that happiness was a fleeting thing, never his for the grasping.

He'd grasp, and the small happiness would die. So he held back — and enjoyed what he had, while he had it.

"I don't understand; she just left. I know things weren't perfect, but she didn't even bother trying to talk things out. How'm I supposed to take care of Dryn? I can't make rent, not on my salary alone…"

But he could pretend, for a minute, there on the park path shaded by the flower-bedecked branches of trees well past their prime. Pretend that the dark-haired boy was his son; pretend that the golden-haired man was his lover; pretend that his dog was a paragon among canines, and hadn't just bitten a hole through the boy's faded denim jeans. Pretend they were his, and he was theirs, and that they were someplace else other than the dirty, littered park tucked away deep inside the slums of the city.

"Zell…" He frowned, and tucked his hands into his pockets, lest one reach out and twine around the other man's fingers. "You said it yourself: You didn't love her. She didn't love you. Maybe she finally decided she deserved more."

"Sure, our marriage was a sham, but don't tell me she didn't love her son, Seif. I can understand her leaving me; I'd leave me, if I could — but leave without Dryn? He's the only good thing—" he grabbed the sleeves of his coat, and tugged them tighter about his waist. "How the hell am I supposed to raise him by myself? I'm a glorified stock boy; I can't begin to provide the things he needs."

"You love him." His hands were out of his pockets, contrary creatures with a will of their own, and pulling the other man's coat loose. "He loves you. And Khoral wanted you to be happy." He draped the coat over his arm, where his already rested, a heavy bundle on such a balmy spring morning. The forecaster may have called for sunshine, but the two men had learned to plan for rain. "Don't do this to yourself; she knew Dryn would be better off with you. She doesn't have the time to spend with him—"

"—And I do?" Zell's arm slashed through the air, striking nothing but dust motes.

"No." Seifer looked briefly away, then back, reaching out and catching the other man's hands, letting them struggle briefly in his unyielding grip before firming his hold. He didn't want to say the words that lay so heavily on his tongue; didn't want to give fuel to the want that squirmed needfully in his gut. But Zell was flushing, harsh contrast to the chilled hands held within his own, and it was either speak now, or return once more to his small, lonely apartment and face an unending succession of drab, lonely days. "But, maybe, together…"

He released his hold, and hunched his shoulders protectively, gaze fixed upon the gum-splotched asphalt path. There was no together, he reminded himself. Not even in the same room was there ever a together, not for him; a lifetime spent holding himself apart couldn't be overcome, not by actions, and most certainly not by weak, needy words. But it was to him Khoral had come, not to her husband, and said with tears leaving dark tracks down her cheeks, 'You don't want to lose him. Trust me…'

Had she known what she'd asked of him? After all the years of standing alone, of watching Zell leave each evening to be with his family, and never asking him to stay. Had Khoral been that bitter? —Or that forgiving? For while Zell had never felt more than deep friendship, Khoral, against all expectations, had fallen in love. Loved Zell more than her own happiness. And had set him free.

"Together?" Thin fingers traced the reddened marks encircling his wrists, and Zell leaned forward, peering up with searingly blue eyes. "What's this, together?"

"I mean, together, okay?" The younger man's position was ludicrous, and Seifer couldn't stop a small smile from lifting the corners of his mouth. "I know my apartment's not much, but the rent's dirt cheap. Your store's within walking distance; you'd save on bus fare, since Khoral took the car; I know you've been bitchin' about the added expense. And — it's not like you're not there all the time, anyways," he added a bit more quietly.

"I don't know," Zell said, glancing aside to make sure his son was still nearby, then returning his attention upwards. "You like your privacy, and Dryn can be a handful. I'd hate to be such an imposition."

The words hurt, far more than sticks and stones; he was in a position to judge, having once been lynched by a vengeful mob. He'd thought nothing could be worse than the accusations hurled by his attackers. But none of them had known where to properly strike, or where his weaknesses lay. None of them had had the audacity to mumble, 'You like your privacy.'

So he lashed back, not with the arrogance that had once bolstered him in youth, but with the humble honesty that had sustained his life since then. Brushing aside a soft lock of hair, he whispered into a pinkening ear, "You said, all I hafta do, is ask."

"Is… I thought…" Zell took a step back, then another, rubbing away the memory of warm breath from the side of his face. "This isn't what you were going to ask! The other, that I could give you. Do you have any idea what you're setting yourself up for? You still have a future, Seif, and you're inviting me in to destroy it."

"What future?" He thought he should feel angry; his voice was laced with outrage, but inside nothing echoed but hysterical laughter. "How many years has it been now, Zell, since we met back up? And every day, of every year, I live for those moments spent with you. What future, when it was Khoral you went home to? And me, waiting for you to once more appear, living in the present, 'cause if I even once began considering the future I'd've—" He bit off the sentence before he could admit to too much. "I told you then, and I'm tellin' ya now — and you'd better damn well listen to me this time! — what you were willing to give wouldn't've been enough. Not anywhere near enough."

Zell blushed a furious red, and opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out, caught behind the tightness in his throat. Instead, he spun around, and delivered a resounding kick to the carved trunk of a twisted pear tree. "And me living with you," he finally forced out, still facing away, "that would be enough?"

"No. It would be a start." And now he felt anger stirring, anger as only the younger man had ever been able to provoke; the same anger that had forced him from the alleyway, so very long ago, to follow Zell home and prove that he was more than the ruined remnants of the sorceress' pawn. "You told me it was okay to want things; to be selfish. So I'm being selfish. I want you, and I want Dryn; I want my family together, and if you turn me down — I lose everything."

He needed to move, to get away before he grabbed the younger man and shook him; kissed him; pressed his face against the other's tattooed cheek and wept. But Saisei was rushing back to him, a piece of white fluff caught in the wind, yipping shrilly and pawing his pants, wanting to be picked up.

"I'll get her, Seif," Zell said, turning around and wiping hastily at his eyes, picking up the small dog before Seifer could stoop to get her himself. "She'll get hair all over the coats, otherwise." He settled her into the crook of his arm, and she panted happily, leash tangled about her body in a purple snarl. "Dryn," he called out, his voice raised to be heard over the murmuring of the families filling the park. "You about ready to go?"

"Yeah." The young boy rushed up, much as the dog had, panting and shaking pale pink blossoms from his umber hair. "It's starting to get hot, and the other kids…" He shrugged, and grabbed hold of his father's free hand, palm sticky with sweat and tree sap. "They're all boring. Uncle Seif? Can we get ice cream before we go home?" He pouted, and turned his oft-practiced pleading expression upon the tall man walking on his other side. "Please?"

"I'm not sure—"

"Dryn," Zell knelt down, keeping a firm grip on Saisei to prevent her from wriggling free, "how would you feel, if we went to live with Seifer?"

"Huh?" The boy blinked, while Seifer held himself rigidly still, not daring to break the tableau; barely dared to breathe, while his pulse thundered in his chest, making him light-headed. "You mean," Dryn asked, biting nervously on his lower lip, "like, full-time? Sorta the way we did with Mom?"

"No," Zell shook his head, then sighed in resignation. "Well, yes. Sorta. But only if you want; it's okay to say no, I'll understand."

"Why would I say no? Mom said last weekend," Dryn tugged at his father's hand, grinning and urging him up, "she didn't know what was takin' you so long. I don't know why we stayed at the apartment; it's too quiet there. It's never quiet at Uncle Seif's. Did you know his neighbor can play three musical instruments?"

"At once?" Seifer scoffed, a brilliant smile gracing his face and brightening his eyes into something almost painful to look upon. "Did you know your dad can play seven?"

"Really?" The boy scratched Saisei underneath her ears, earning him a lick on the nose as reward. "Cool. So Dad," he said earnestly, his fingers full of white dog hair and his expression once again pleading, "were we getting ice cream, or what?"

Zell nodded absently, and released the small dog to his son's skillful attentions. "Your mom really said that?"

"I told you, Khoral wants you to be happy." And if it made him happy as well, Seifer wasn't going to complain. If it gave him his family, where he could see them every day, join in on their chatter — just wake up in the middle of the night, and listen to them breathe, and reassure himself that he wasn't completely abandoned — he'd gratefully accept her sacrifice, and only feel the slightest bit guilty that his good fortune came from her greatest loss. "Are you, then?" he asked, bending down to untangle Saisei's leash. "Moving in, that is?"

"Yeah. I think," he watched as Seifer carefully straightened out the leash, looping it around his wrist once he'd finished, "I didn't stand much of a chance, not with all of you in cahoots." He gave both his son and Seifer a warning glower, earning mock shivers in return. "I'm not sure if this sort of behavior merits ice cream…"

Dryn let go of his father, and latched on to Seifer's arm, smearing the dark gray shirt with white dog hairs and sap. "He's being cranky, Uncle Seif—"

"I'm not being cranky!" Zell protested, then ducked his head, pushing limp bangs away from his face. "Well, not much. Dryn, you've gotta understand, we need to be real careful about money from now on. And that means cutting back on ice cream, and movies; we need to be responsible—"

"Tomorrow," Seifer cut him off, smirking tenderly at the younger man and brushing a feathery kiss across his tattooed temple, "we'll be responsible. Today, we get ice cream." He kissed away the unformed protest from the corner of Zell's mouth; trailed light kisses across Zell's forehead till lines of tension smoothed away. It would mean a few hours overtime, stuck at his workbench drowning in the miasma of plastics and paint thinners, but he didn't mind.

Two joyful, fangy smiles held him enthralled. For them, he'd do anything. For the quick, burning kiss Zell placed in the hollow between his collarbone and throat, he'd do anything at all.

From the tattered blanket they were passing, a man's outraged voice yelled, "There's children here, you fags!"

Seifer turned, and glared at the man with arctic eyes; tall, and terrible in his wrath, for all that it was silent. He'd lost muscle since his training at Garden, from a succession of menial jobs requiring limited physical labor, but it made little difference; the muscles used wielding a gunblade weren't the same ones required for tearing apart a slovenly, porcine man more used to lifting a beer can to his lips than raising his fists in battle. But before he could take the first step forward, the first step back into old ways and old habits, the small hand within his own twisted.

"Yeah, well there's a child here, you asshole!"

"Dryn!" Mortified, Zell reached out to his son, but Seifer laughed, and swung the small boy up, placing him upon his shoulders.

Dryn might not have been his flesh and blood, but he was his son, in manner and in deed. And Zell might not have been his lover — but they were moving in that direction, as gradually as they'd first come together in friendship. And Saisei might not have been his dog, but he was definitely her man, as she yapped haughtily, clearing the way before them, a princess at her royal best. And they might not have been a family in the traditional sense…

But in all the ways that truly mattered, they were.