A/N: Research (and watching the OVA with odd-but-I-can-forgive-them-because-they-re-trying Malaysian-person-writing-English subtitles) tells me these really are the names of Denzel's parents. His surname, however, is entirely my fault.

30. Eber: Scouted

Eber patted his son on the head and ruffled his hair. Denzel grabbed his hand to stop him, but couldn't stop his father smiling.

"Stop it!" One of Denzel's legs twitched. Eber knew he was desperate to stamp his foot, but held himself back. Throwing a tantrum was the worst thing he could do to help his case right now and he knew it. "Stop laughing at me!"

"I'm not laughing at you."

"Yes, you are. You're laughing at me!"

"I'm laughing because I have the most precocious son on our block."

Denzel screwed up his face, trying to work out if he'd just been insulted.

"Provocative, too. Maybe even avant-garde." Chuckles gathered in Eber's throat, tickling the back of his tongue. "But definitely precocious."

"You are laughing at me."

Chloe came in, drying her hands on a towel. She had rolled her sleeves above her elbows and a splodge of washing up froth plastered her fringe to her forehead. She had obviously heard her husband and son talking and come through to play peacemaker. "Eber," she said warningly when she saw Denzel's expression.

Eber raised his hands. "I was paying him a compliment."

"In words he can understand?" Chloe knew him far too well.

Denzel turned flashing eyes on his mother. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here!"

She blanched at his tone.

Denzel was many things, but mean wasn't one of them. He was instantly repentant "Sorry, Mom."

"What's going on?" she asked gently.

"Ask him."

She looked at Eber, raising her eyebrows. He shook his head and shrugged in a way that was clearly meant to say 'it's not my fault'.

"He promised he'd take me to work with him today." Denzel glared. "He promised."

"Something came up."

Chloe's eyebrows rose further.

"Honestly."

They were practically in her hairline.

Eber sighed. It was true; he had promised Denzel he would bring him to Shinra Tower for the imaginatively named school project 'Go to Work With Your Parents Day'. It was all the boy had talked about for days. Now their plan was stymied by an unexpected summons from Eber's bosses. He had to attend some sort of hush-hush private consultation, and you didn't have to be a mind-reader to know what his dour-faced supervisor would say if Eber even suggested bringing his son along. He had explained all this to Denzel, but the boy had only heard the part where his father broke his promise.

Chloe listened carefully. Then she turned to Denzel. "How about you come to work with me instead?"

"You don't go to work," Denzel said petulantly.

"Actually, I do. I work from home."

He made a face. "Selling make-up." He said it like the word itself might infect him with girl cooties.

Eber suppressed the urge to laugh again. He loved his son. Denzel was open, kind, honest, and intelligent for his age. He was also totally ignorant of the non-sequiturs he came out with. If he was a little bit wussy, Eber didn't care. He wasn't one of those fathers who trained their boys to swagger and beat up smaller kids. He didn't care whether Denzel could spit the length of a truck, or whether he came top of gym class. Eber himself had always been the victim in school, and had learned speed and guile were better weapons against bullies than being able to bench-press a bag of cement. As an adult he had kept the wiry frame and what his colleagues called 'rat bastard cunning', using it to outsmart his supervisor and make his soul-destroying job as a paper-pusher more tolerable. His love of long words was just one of many ways he wrung a kick out of otherwise tedious days.

Chloe stood up and put her hands on her hips. "Right, young man, I think it's time you got an up-close view of what your mother does for a living. She's quite a good saleswoman, she'll have you know, and selling make-up is a lot more difficult than anyone seems to realise. Your mother is going to teach you proper sales techniques for you to write about in your project."

"She's also going to spend the rest of the day talking in third person?" Eber suggested. Her towel hit him in the face.

She squealed when he swept her into his arms. Regardless of Denzel's revolted look, Eber kissed his wife and twirled her in a circle. Her feet caught the standing lamp, which would have gone crashing to the ground if not for Denzel's quick-thinking.

"Well done!" Eber praised.

Denzel replaced it resentfully, giving a hint of the moody silences they'd be in for when he hit puberty. For now, he just looked like a surly little boy who had been denied his treat and offered an unsatisfactory alternative. He had been looking forward to seeing the inside of Shinra Tower, even if it meant mostly seeing the inside of the giant office in which his father did mindless filing, photocopying and note-taking like a good little monkey.

Eber sighed, put Chloe down and knelt next to his son. He placed a hand on Denzel's shoulder, hoping he gave off the appropriate approachable vibe without come off as too condescending. He knew Denzel hated it when people talked down to him, or made out he was weak. He was small for his age and had a fine-boned face that sometimes got him mistaken for a girl. In an effort to stop that, he had insisted his mother let him get his hair cut, but now it was growing out again into soft waves that brushed his ears. All of this meant he was extra sensitive to disrespect from adults and other kids.

"Look, Denzel, how about the next time this day comes around I tell my boss where to stick his emergency meetings?"

Denzel looked away. "You won't." There was a catch to his voice. That little catch bespoke all the hurt and disappointment that he wouldn't let show. It just about broke Eber's heart.

"I will. Then we'll we go running through the whole of Shinra Tower toilet-papering everything. We'll leave whoopee cushions on the chairs of all the executives and put sugar in my boss's gas tank. How does that sound?"

"Like you're trying to sugar the pill."

Eber blinked. Then he did laugh, but it was a bemused whoosh of a laugh. How had he ended up with such a great kid? "Smart-aleck."

Denzel's mouth quirked, just a little.

"Aha! I see a smile."

"No you don't."

"I do." Eber corkscrewed his index finger in the centre of his son's chest. Denzel squirmed and giggled despite himself. "Told you so. There it is again."

"Dad, quit it! That tickles!"

Eber grinned. "I am sorry, Denzel," he said seriously.

"I know. And I know you can't help what happened." Denzel's eyes were still full of disappointment, but he finally dropped his angry, offended tone. "Some things just aren't mean to be."

He went upstairs, ostensibly to do maths homework, but more likely to read superhero comics behind his textbook. Denzel had a deep and abiding love of heroes in general, envisioning himself in capes, cowboy hats and rocket boots depending on which genre he was reading. Usually there was a damsel in distress for him to rescue, then leave in a remote location before she could dispense yucky thank-you kisses. It was hard to be a superhero when you still believed in cooties.

Eber watched him go. "We've got one special kid there."

"You won't hear me disagreeing." Chloe drew closer for another kiss.

Without their son's disapproval to ruin the mood, this one lasted longer. Eber eventually broke away and rested his chin on top of her head. Chloe made it whole three seconds before she fidgeted. She always did, claiming he had 'the pointiest chin in all creation', which meant he felt obliged to balance it on her head more often.

"Are you worried about this meeting?" she asked.

He thought about it. "I haven't done anything to get me reprimanded recently."

"Not even talked back to your superiors?"

"Superior in name only."

"Modesty is just a word in the dictionary to you, isn't it?"

He chuckled and hugged her closer. "Can I help it if my supervisor is living proof of why cousins shouldn't marry?"

Chloe buried her face in his shirtfront. "Just promise me you won't say anything too rebellious in front of your boss's boss."

"I'll try."

"Eber …"

"Okay, okay, I promise."

But it wasn't his boss's boss whom Eber saw when he walked into the meeting the nest day. It wasn't anyone he could've imagined.

"Harrumph," said his supervisor, gesturing to the man in the chair on the other side of his desk. The man had an air of quiet authority, like he didn't have to throw his weight around or wear a name badge that read 'SUPERVISOR' in big letters to feel important. It was the vibe that always made self-important people stick out their chests like cats puffing up their fur to make themselves look bigger. "Ah, Washington. On time for once, I see. Will wonders never cease?"

"I don't know, sir."

His supervisor glared. If Eber weren't so good at his job this man would have canned him long ago. "Well sit down, sit down, and let's get started."

"Sir?"

"Don't dawdle, Washington!"

"Might I ask what this meeting is about, sir?"

"Job progression."

"Sir?"

"Recruitment. Staffing. Alternative employment within the company."

"I haven't applied for any other job, sir."

"You," his supervisor gritted with barely concealed resentment, "have been headhunted."

"I have?" Eber's astonishment wasn't faked. He was a strictly under-the-radar guy. If he did stand out it was because he had made some inappropriate comment or sloped off for an early lunch and been caught.

"Lateral move, based solely on high staff turnover in other departments, but frankly I'll be glad to get you out from under my feet." His supervisor glowered at the quiet man, ignoring Eber even though ostensibly talking to him. "Here he is. Eber Washington, just as requested. You're welcome to him."

The man smiled in a way that made Eber wary. The last time he'd seen a smile like that had been on a piranha in his son's science textbook. "Good morning, Mr. Washington. My name is Tseng."