Chapter 62. June 29 (PM) - July 3, εуλ0009

The shrill ring of the phone startled Tifa, but as she hustled upstairs to catch it and looked at the called ID, she couldn't help but smile. CLOUD. But as she reached for the receiver, anxiety gripped her – why was he calling now?

Before she could think things through, she'd already yanked the phone up to her ear. "Cloud! You never call, is everything okay?" Expecting to hear his voice, already braced for the worst, all she could hear was high-pitched crying on the other end.

It sounded like a child, and she panicked. Did something happen to Cloud? Or did something happen to this child? She heard the phone drop, and a moment later, a dial tone rang in her ear. Immediately she redialed, only to hear the muffled noises from the other hand, nothing clearly made out. She shouted into the phone over and over… but no one picked up, and finally the line went dead on its own.

What had just happened?

Cloud exited the church with the same heavy heart he always bore whenever he left, compounded all that much further by the guilt increasing with ever visit he didn't tell Tifa about. How could he explain it to her? That more and more, he was hoping Aerith would be able to tell him what to do about… her. Weeks, months went by, and Cloud felt like he was no closer to unraveling the mystery that was Tifa; no more able to give her what she wanted and needed.

But did he even have the right to ask Aerith, of all people, how to be happy? How could he ask her for enough of her forgiveness to wish it for him?

Tifa. Aerith. He had so much to account for to each of them… and it seemed the answer to one, always blocked the answer to the other. The happiness he wanted to give to Tifa didn't seem to be the punishment he deserved.

Arriving back at his waiting bike, he was just in time to see a small figure beside it, crumpling to the ground, barely catching himself with his hands before his small head hit the pavement. Only one thing that could mean. An orphan. A boy… just a little boy…

"Hey, are you okay?" he called, running and reaching his hand to the child – smaller and thinner than he'd even expected, Cloud realized – but there was no answer as the boy remained sprawled on the pavement, unconscious. Suspicious, he turned the boy's face to him – and there before him, what he'd been almost certain he would find. The black mark. He didn't look healthy, even taking the geostigma into account – how long had he been hon the street, sick and malnourished? No wonder no one was taking him in. Tifa was insistent in her belief that it wasn't contagious; he himself wasn't sure one way or another.

Tifa. He'd better ask her. She was so much better than him in these sorts of crises. He picked the phone up off the ground, luckily unshattered; turning the power back on, he was just about to dial the familiar number when it rang shrilly in his hand, "Seventh Heaven" flashing on the screen.

"Tifa?" he greeted her instantly, pressing the answer key.

"Cloud?" came her worried voice. "I've been trying to call… someone answered crying. It sounded like a kid…"

"It was," he confirmed. "A little boy. I just found him next to my bike. He's not looking good." A pause. "Tifa, it looks like he has geostigma."

Tifa's stomach dropped. Geostigma. Fear of it affected even the uninfected. So far, her little family had been untouched by the epidemic, but…

She thought for a long moment. She couldn't just leave a child to die on the street. Couldn't tell Cloud to walk away, not when the boy had come to them like this. "There's only one choice," she finally told him, deciding. "You'll have to bring him here. Then… we'll figure out what happens next."

Cloud nodded, feeling suddenly foolish, as he realized Tifa couldn't exactly see him nodding through the phone lines. But she could probably feel his answer anyway. "Bring him through the back for now," she continued. "I'll… get someone to watch Marlene for a bit. Ask the neighbors."

"Probably best," Cloud agreed. Well, not really the best, maybe, but it was all they could do for now. Closing the phone, he looked up. Aerith, is this assign from you? Is this your answer? Something I'm supposed to be doing? Something caught his eye; he bent down to pick up a photograph, nearly torn in two, the boy pictured with his parents immediately recognizable as the one before him. Cloud's heart went out, as he carefully tucked the photo away in a pocket.

He carefully pulled the boy up to his feet. Young eyes opened just a slit; the boy stood, but wobbled to his feet, Cloud supporting him as he lifted him onto Fenrir's seat. Straddling the bike himself, he reached for the ignition. "Tifa says to take you home. Hang on, kid."

He felt a weight slump against his back; turning, he saw the boy had fallen back into the same stupor in which Cloud had found him. Reaching back, he gently took the quivering hand in his, marveling at its smallness inside his own palm. Something fragile he'd been given responsibility for.

How old could he be, anyway? Ten? Seven? Older than Marlene, obviously, but other than that, he could barely tell the difference. He only vaguely remembered himself at that age. Was I really that small? Yet it HAD been a boy that age, who had followed Tifa up the mountain, thinking he could rescue her somehow.

The big dreams of a silly boy… hoping to save a girl. The girl that was waiting for him now. Resolutely, he gripped the small hand tight; and revving Fenrir's engine, he drove off towards home.

Cutting the engine, he puttered into the alley behind Seventh Heaven, Tifa's neatly-maintained trash bins patiently waiting for the disposal service Edge had so recently started. Despite her best efforts, the ubiquitous rats could be found among the streets everywhere, gravitating towards the litter that persisted.

Tifa was waiting for him at the door. Kicking the bike's stand down, he swung the boy over his shoulder, marveling at his lightness, his frailty. Absent-mindedly drop kicking one of the rats out of his way; as it squealed and slammed the wall, he was briefly grateful it wasn't one of the horrid Mako-mutated things that had infested Sector Seven. There were some things to be said for a clean start. Tifa stepped outside to let him enter, and he heard Marlene's girlish voice, chattering loudly with concern.

"I thought you were going to leave her with the neighbors!" he called over his shoulder, muscling past Tifa and a very agitated Marlene. "Who is he? What's wrong?" Marlene cried, half-frantic, Tifa trying to talk over him, Cloud trying to ask questions and give answers all at once. "I tried! There's no one home!" Tifa protested, as Cloud fumbled up the stairs and into Marlene's room, laying Denzel on the vacant extra bed near the window. Better to give him some light. Can't hurt, right? If only that was all it took for the black to go away. He heard Tifa arriving just behind, Marlene suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Tifa wasted no time, pulling up a chair. Cloud gave her space, plopping down on Marlene's bed instead, leaning forward with hands on knees to watch. Tifa slid he fingers over the boy's forehead, indifferent to the tell-tale mark it bore.

She was all business now. "Cloud, bring me a damp cloth. Warm," she commanded; and he obeyed, perfectly content to hand over control of the situation. Sitting back, he watched her gentle touches, her comforting words. It seemed to soothe the boy; he was not yet awake, but moving slightly in his sleep, bare signs of life that gave Cloud hope.

He knew Tifa was uncertain about her capabilities as a mother, but really… she was a natural at this. Much better than he himself, that was for sure. Remaining silent, he watched her work her magic. Mumbles came from the boy, and Tifa leaned in. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" she asked. "Can you talk to us? What's your name?"

"Denzel…" the one word drew out.

"Denzel… well, that's a nice name." The boy's eyes opened halfway, revealing a deep blue not unlike what Cloud's had been, before mako had shined them to the ice-blue he had now. "I'm Tifa, and this is Cloud. You're okay. You're in a safe place." He nodded slightly before shutting his eyes firmly once again, moaning in pain.

"Where's your family, Denzel?" Tifa continued, trying to elicit an answer. "'Do you have any parents? Are they near here?" The question was rhetorical, as much to have something to say as anything else.

"mmm… Sector Seven… plate fall…" Those were the only words clearly spoken, they were already more than enough. Tifa suddenly sat up painfully straight. Oh, oh, there it was…

Cloud wished that there was something he could say or do to help – but this was all inside her. It was so easy sometimes to forget that Tifa carried guilt of here own… and THIS one most of all.

A shuffle at the doorway. They turned as one to see Marlene shadowed in its outline; she walked forward, holding a glass between her two little hands. "He looks sick," she said, voice quivering, sensing as always the mood of a situation. "I brought some orange juice. That's supposed to make you feel better when you're sick, right?"

Tifa and Cloud exchanged looks; an unspoken agreement passed between them. "Sit down, Marlene," Cloud began, reaching one arm to wrap around Barret's daughter. "We have to tell you something."

"He looks like he hurts." Marlene, too, looked sad – painfully so.

"He does," Cloud replied. "Marlene, this is Denzel. He's got… Geostigma. Remember, we talked about that?"

Tifa had tried to keep the disease from Cloud's knowledge for a while. But as it spread, now seen everywhere around Edge, she had been forced to confess what she knew… and then reluctantly agree, Marlene needed to hear as well. Now, she wished sorely she hadn't kept it from him for as long as she had - only grateful he didn't know how long that truly had been.

Marlene looked at the other child, worried eyes brimming with tears. "So is he going to die? We can't let that happen!" She turned to the man beside her, hands balled tightly into angry little fists. "Cloud, you have to do something!"

Don't I know it, he thought. "We'll do what we can, Marlene," he assured her. But there was no point in hiding the truth. "But so far… there's no cure. All we can do for now is try to make him feel a little better." They had some potions still in the house, even as expensive as they were, at least that could take off the worst of the pain…

"But we can do that, right? You're not going to send him away, are you?" Marlene asked insistently.

It was Tifa's turn to reply. "Of course not, Marlene," she told her daughter. "We'll figure out… something. Can you do something for me? Can you go downstairs and put my closed sign up, the one I keep for emergencies?"

Marlene knew, and scurried off to do her duty. Tifa, prepared as always, Cloud thought. Then again, considering all they had experienced, how would he expect less? Women were always the rocks to depend on. He thought suddenly, sadly, of his mother, wishing she could be here to see Tifa now. What would she think of the two of them?

Still, he was happy to hear Tifa accepted the boy; not that he'd really doubted, but it was still a relief. He couldn't walk away from this, and neither could she. They'd do this together.

It had been a long, surprising day; and wearily, Cloud and Tifa retired to bed. They'd had to keep the bar closed, forcing medicine into Denzel, dribbling droplets of that and broth into his throat. But for once, the lost income was the least of Tifa's worried, in the face of the boy that had come into her care.

And it WAS her care, she was certain. No matter that Cloud had been the one to find him; she knew, without a doubt, that Denzel was meant to be part of her penance. Had known that since the words "Sector Seven" came out of his mouth, a child's face placed to the consequences of what she had done.

The two of them prepared for bed in silence, each alone with their thoughts. Aerith must have been the one to bring the boy to him, Cloud concluded; it seemed too coincidental for there to be any other explanation. After all his trips to the church, had Aerith finally been able to give him the answer he'd craved? A way to earn her forgiveness?

They pulled the covers back and slipped inside; Cloud pulled the blankets over them both, wrapping them neatly around Tifa before himself as he did every night he was home. She snuggled into his arms, fitting so perfectly against him, but worry hadn't left her features since the afternoon.

Cloud began to touch her, caress her, wanting them to comfort each other the best way he knew how; but for once, she didn't respond. "I can't tonight, Cloud," she told him, all apologies. "I just…"

He recoiled a touch, confused and hurt. He was usually very good at reading her signals, knowing whether or not she'd be interested, and as a result, she rarely turned him down; he was embarrassed that tonight he'd got it wrong. Tonight he'd been particularly longing for her love, hoping they could share some relief together; worried for her, wishing there was at least the one thing he could do to make her feel better.

He wished he had some words of encouragement, but truthfully, he didn't even have those for himself right now. All that was left to do was keep Tifa, at least, safe and warm in his embrace.

She'd been so still that he'd thought she'd gone to sleep; he himself was still awake, mind racing. But her eyes fluttered open, and he realized she'd been no less turbulent than he. "Losing parents so young…" she fretted.

Was that it? "We both did," he said, softly playing with her hair; unlike before, this motion made her sigh softly in comfort.

"Orphaned the same day," she agreed in a whisper. "But not as young as Denzel." Unspoken between them was a bit of surprise – how was he even alive at all? He only found Cloud so he could come to me, Tifa thought. But she didn't want to tell him, didn't want Cloud to think he had no role in Denzel's life. She'd keep this to herself, for now.

She had an idea. "We should make him feel welcome… somehow," she suggested. Her look to him was, do you have any ideas?

To his surprise, Cloud did. "Maybe," he offered her, his hand sliding down to thumb the ring he'd given her. "Like, something to make him feel part of the family?" That's what he is, right?

"Yeah, exactly," she told him.

"I'll work on it tomorrow," he promised. Satisfied, Tifa snuggled closer, curling against him like a comma, and this time, let him gently kiss her into sleep.

Reality came back only slowly.

Denzel moaned and groaned; the pain came and went, but it never truly left.

It eclipsed all else, his mind swimming haphazardly through, trying to make sense of things.

So it was a long time before other sensations came back enough for him to realize that it was not hard, gravelly concrete lying underneath him, but the cool softness of what felt like a regular bed.

He opened his eyes.

His first thought was, he was back at home again. Home. That simple word sparked a bout of distant familiarity. Had it all been just an ugly dream? But as his pupils yawned and widened, slowly letting in the light, he realized – wherever he was, this wasn't home.

His room might have changed, been remodeled – memory was still hazy, he wasn't sure, but his parents would never live in a place like this, half-built of scrap metal and reclaimed wood.

His parents…

"You were out for a long time," a woman's voice said.

He turned his head, wincing at sore muscles making themselves known. Next to him was a woman and her daughter, the resemblance clear in their mannerisms. The girl was just a little younger than he himself, but he'd certainly never seen her before. Not on the plate, and certainly not in the slums.

The woman reached out her hand, gentle. "I'm Tifa," she told him quietly. "We've been waiting for you to wake up. Maybe you could eat something?" she cocked her head, questioning, but answered herself. "I'll go down and get something, then. Let you two get yourself acquainted." With a warm smile, she rose and left, leaving Denzel with the other young person in the room.

Speaking of the slums… "Where are we?" his voice croaked out, dry and dusty with disuse. He coughed; she wordlessly took a cup of water from somewhere near his head, lifting it to his lips. Even as embarrassed as he was to be seen like this, he gratefully let her drizzle water down his throat just like a tiny nurse. Smiling satisfied, she sat back, as Denzel greedily licked his lips, too scared to ask for more.

"I'm Marlene," she told him brightly. "And you're at Seventh Heaven. In Edge." She suddenly beamed, a cheerful, welcoming smile. "My home. And now… yours too!"

Home? Suddenly it came rushing back – the plate, Miss Ruvie, the disease… It hadn't been a dream. But he sure hoped this wasn't either, that he wasn't going to wake up alone again, surrounded by rats and garbage. He started to cry. The sobs raked pain across his weakened body, but he couldn't stop, as all the sadness he'd been holding back came spilling out at once.

Marlene spontaneously stood and threw he little arms around him. Worried at first – isn't she scared of catching geostigma too? – he let her embrace him, squeezing back slightly as if he was clinging on to life. Maybe he was.

She held him like that for a long time – how long had it been since anyone had really hugged him? Even before the geostigma, the last person would have been… well, Miss Ruvie, and before that his mom… Now Marlene clung to him with that same maternal affection he'd so sorely missed, making soothing noises until the last of the tears fell away.

She sat back; her smile was comforting, soft. Like a mother's, too. And as much as she was trying to set him at ease, it kept stirring up his memories, and he wondered if he was going to cry again. "Feel better?" she asked.

"A little," he sniffled; he was thirsty all over again. "How… did I get here, anyways?"

"I guess you want to know a lot," Marlene told him. "This might take a while."

She leaned in just a little but further. "So, like I said, this is Seventh Heaven. It's Tifa's bar, only we live here too. Us and Cloud. Cloud is the one who found you."

"Tifa… Cloud?" he mumbled the question.

"Tifa and Cloud are kinda like my parents," she continued.

"Kinda?" Denzel asked.

"Not my real ones. But they're in love and they take care of me. I have another daddy, but he's not my real daddy, either. I'm an orphan." She reached out her hand. "Just like you."

Finally, Denzel felt a little bit better. "I grew up in the slums," she told him; and Denzel felt ashamed, recalling all the things he'd once thought about slum kids. And look where it had gotten him. "You grew up on the plate, right?"

"How'd you know?" he asked.

Marlene's charming smile fell. "You talked about it in your sleep," she told him. "That's what happened to your parents, huh?"

It had… but Denzel didn't want to say the words. "AVALANCHE killed them. They dropped the plate and killed them." Suddenly, he was too angry to be sad, or happy, or any of the things he had been feeling for the past few minutes.

To his surprise, Marlene jumped up angrily, a complete turnaround from a second before. "It wasn't them! Tifa and Cloud were in AVALANCHE! My daddy started it!"

"AVALANCHE?" Denzel cried out, breaking into more coughs. "I've got to get out of here!" Throwing back the blankets with what little strength he had, he tried to leap out of bed only to stumble, sprawled out on the floor beside it. Ashamed of how weak he was. He tried to lift his head at least; but, defeated, finally let it plop back to the floor.

And then Marlene was there, grabbing his hand in both of her own, trying to tug him back to the bed; Denzel didn't want to move. "Denzel, Denzel, they didn't do that, you have to believe me," Marlene begged. "It was Shinra who did it. They did it to get rid of AVALANCHE. And then they tried to make people believe that AVALANCHE did it!"

"But AVALANCHE were terrorists!" Denzel objected. "They blew up the Mako reactors!"

Marlene sighed – but she didn't deny it. "They thought they were doing the goodest thing for the Planet," she told him. "But Daddy's sorry about it now. Tifa's sorry about it now. And Cloud… he's just kind of sorry about everything. You should at least meet them." She tilted her head slightly, a mirror of Tifa before. "Please?"

Denzel thought for a moment. "Okay," he finally agreed, letting Marlene help him back into bed. She smiled once more as she fussed over the covers, pulling them back over him and straightening them out. "I have to start my life over," mourned Denzel.

"You can do it," Marlene urged. "Everyone in this house had to." She suddenly looked very smug, like she knew something he didn't. "Maybe someone was looking out for you."

Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by footsteps coming up the stairs, and a moment later, Tifa reappeared, holding something steamy and good-smelling. She looks so beautiful, he realized. Almost like my mom. How could she be a terrorist? But that thought was lost in favor of his mouth watering for whatever she was holding.

She started to spoon-feed him – they must have been doing that for days, Denzel realized, ashamed again; he didn't want to think about how he'd gone to the toilet – but he tried to reach for the utensil. "It's okay," he said shyly, struggling to sit up. "I can do it myself."

"Don't push yourself," she urged, but let him take the spoon. He dug in greedily; it tasted as good as it smelled. Tifa patiently watched him eat until the bowl was all gone; for the first time in as long as he could remember, Denzel didn't feel pangs of hunger, a fact of daily life when he'd been living on the streets. "Don't rush it," Tifa told him. "You'll have to build up strength slowly."

"It was yummy," Denzel told her, belatedly minding his manners as she took the bowl away and set it on the table beside him. "Thank you."

Tifa beamed. "It was Cloud's mom's recipe. It's become one of our house specialties. Plus, I like to make it for him. I made it for him when he first – " She suddenly stopped. "Well. Anyways. Glad you liked it."

Now that he could sit up easier, he realized the table next to him was full of stuff, glasses, bandages… and right there in the middle… the photo of his parents. It had somehow made it here with him. He could have cried again with relief, but he didn't want to cry like a baby again, and he swallowed the tears as he reached out for it, one hand following the tear through the glass of the new frame that now encased it. He could feel both Tifa and Marlene watching him; but to his relief, they didn't ask questions. He didn't want to explain any more. Not yet.

"Maybe I'll only stay a little while, until I get better –" he began, but Marlene shushed him. "Don't say that," she replied.

"We stick together in this house," Tifa told him softly.

"Tifa?" called a man's voice from downstairs, a voice that Denzel couldn't place but sounded familiar. Tifa's head whipped around. Footsteps started to climb the stairs again, these heavier with the sound of boots, a man's tread, this time heralding the arrival of a blonde-haired man into the room.

"Cloud," Tifa greeted him warmly; so this was who the newcomer was. The man who found me. Brought me here. Why would he do such a thing? What was so special about he, Denzel, that complete strangers would welcome a geostigma-infected kid so warmly? Denzel was lost, confused, so long unused to seeing any kindness.

Tifa's smile fell as her eyes traveled downwards. "You forgot to leave your boots downstairs again," she half scolded. "They're all muddy."

Denzel thought Cloud would be mad or embarrassed about getting in trouble, but instead he just kind of smiled a goofy smile at Tifa. "Sorry," he told her. "I was just eager to come see you guys. I picked up… the thing today," he told Tifa cryptically. "Looks like it was a sign."

He squatted down next to the bed, putting himself at eye level with Denzel. "Hey there, buddy," he told him. "We've all been worried about you. I'm –"

"Cloud," Denzel finished. "Marlene told me." He looked for the first time at the man who had been his savior. Kinda looked a bit like his dad, only not as much as Tifa reminded him of his mom. Weird. His eyes were blue, but, like, really blue. Maybe even glowing a bit. That made Denzel think. Usually that meant someone was a mako junkie. He knew all about those. He'd seen them on the streets, shrieking crazily – Rix had said it was because they couldn't score their stuff; Denzel had asked, "Score? Like in video games?" – and another guy had talked about his mom being a junkie and dying. Could Cloud be a mako junkie? He shivered, but Cloud didn't seem crazy; maybe he used to be one instead? Was that possible? His parents had always taught him to stay away from mako junkies, they were hopeless. "A waste of life and Shinra's resources," had been his dad's exact words.

But his parents weren't here. And they probably would have told him to stay away from terrorists too, but here he was, and he'd promised Marlene, and Cloud didn't look scary or crazy or anything and both Marlene and Tifa seemed okay with him, so – he guessed he'd figure it out later. Right now, all he wanted was more of that delicious stew. If they kicked him out, he didn't know when he might eat anything again, much less anything so good.

Cloud smiled; his smile was small, almost invisible, but it was there. "Well, I'm really glad to see you awake, just in time," he told Denzel. "See, we got a little something for you. Kind of a welcome gift." He reached into his pocket – and Denzel gasped.

It was a ring. It looked nice; Denzel wondered if it was expensive, but he knew that was rude to ask. He didn't care, anyways. It was a wolf's head – and, he realized, it was a match to the emblem on Cloud's shoulder.

Cloud didn't fail to notice Denzel looking. "It's kind of become a symbol for us," he said, almost a bit shy about it. "Like… I got Tifa this too. See?" He reached out, taking Tifa's hand softly – and as he looked at her, Denzel realized Marlene had been right. It was obvious how much Cloud and Tifa really loved each other. He brought her fingers forward, showing a similar, though more feminine, emblem on her hand.

He turned to Tifa. "I kinda messed up, though," he said bashfully. "I forgot to mention it was for a kid. So I ended up with, uh, kinda a few sizes too big."

"It's alright," Tifa assured him. "We can put it on a necklace or something in the meantime. Until he grows into it." She turned to Denzel. "That is, uh, if it's okay with you?"

Denzel didn't reply at first, speechless. Grow into it? How long are they really planning to keep me? He didn't dare dream, scared it could all fall apart before him. But as Marlene dug a cord out of her dresser, and Cloud knotted it behind Denzel's neck, and Denzel realized it was a grownup's ring and it would be a really long time before he could wear it properly, he felt… he guessed… relief would be the best thing to call it. He didn't dare call it happiness.

He realized something. "Marlene," he asked, "why don't you have one?"

"Because everyone is my family," she announced proudly. "You'll have to meet them soon! My daddy Barret for sure, and Elmyra who lives in Kalm, and Yuffie who really loves Materia, and Vincent who seems scary but he's totally not and Cid who uses all these bad words and – "

"Marlene, that's enough. Denzel's getting tired," Tifa chided gently. Marlene slapped a hand to her own mouth. Sure enough, Denzel felt a weariness settling over him – this one thankfully emotional, not the physical exhaustion that had been his companion for a while now. He let himself slide under the sheets once again, and Tifa tucking him in just like his mom used to.

The last voice he heard was Cloud's; he felt the man's fingers brush his forehead, then the ring. "Sleep well, Denzel," he heard Cloud's voice, now distant through the curtain of impending slumber. "We'll see you in the morning."