I want to give a dedication this time to potato van gogh, fellow Cloti/Zerith discord member and spud extraordinaire. Because she always makes me laugh. Potato, I chose this chapter for you because it has your two favorite things: angst – and smut!

Chapter 63. July 4 – October 15, εуλ0009

Denzel fingered the ring the same way he did, like a superstition, a hundred times a day. Looking to it, for reassurance, as if the ring itself could guarantee everything would be okay. Well, they hadn't tossed him out yet, so that was something; maybe they really did mean to let him stay.

A few more days of sleep and Tifa's good food, and Denzel was able to get up and get around, at least a little bit. With his strength returning despite the persistence of the pain, he began to explore his surroundings – this house known as Seventh Heaven, and the people who called it home.

He was still most nervous around Tifa. Didn't know what to make of her at all. She seemed like such a nice person – but wasn't she the one who brought Cloud into AVALANCHE in the first place? Even if she DID help save the world from Sephiroth after that. He watched her, stealthily, as she leaned over the sink to wash yet another batch of glasses, getting ready to open her bar for another day; he tried to correct the sight with the monstrous idea the word "terrorist" dredged up for him.

Sephiroth. That had been a big surprise, when Marlene had told him the whole story behind and after that day. When she'd explain to him how and why the Lifestream had come up out of the ground and taken Miss Ruvie away from him too. It all sounded way too crazy to be true, but that was kinda why Denzel believed her. He'd gone and asked Cloud and Tifa about it, and they'd said it was true too – but they seemed super awkward about it, like they didn't want anyone else to know. Not like Denzel had anyone to tell, anyway.

But that meant Cloud was a hero. And Sephiroth was supposed to be super strong – he'd heard stories of the famous SOLDIER from his dad – so that meant that Cloud was super strong too. The bike and the sword DID look really heavy. Denzel was so tired of feeling sick and weak – he wanted to get strong, like Cloud.

Marlene told him Cloud was sorta-kinda like a SOLDIER, and he didn't really get that, but okay. So he told Cloud that he wanted to be a SOLDIER too, and he was surprised when Cloud got really upset.

"You don't want to do that, believe me," Cloud told the little boy emphatically, eager to stop Denzel from ideas that would lead him to nothing but unhappiness. "Besides, there aren't going to be any more SOLDIERs." Good thing, too.

"But I want to be strong like you!" Denzel protested. Tears were filling up the boy's eyes; Cloud didn't have the heart to crush his hopes completely.

Cloud sighed; he looked really far away for a moment. "There are other ways to be strong," he told Denzel. "We'll… just have to figure it out together." He paused. "I promise."

And right then, Cloud became everything Denzel wanted to be when he grew up.

But even though that made Denzel more sure they were going to keep him, he couldn't know if something would happen to change their minds. H heard Cloud and Tifa talking about business being down at the bar, and even though Tifa was saying she was glad Cloud was taking less work to spend more time with the family, Cloud said he might have to start picking up more jobs again to make up for it. That didn't make Tifa happy, and even though neither of them told Denzel anything, he knew they were having that problem because of him.

So as he was more and more able to get out of bed, he started looking for ways to make himself useful by helping out around the house. He knew how to do a few things, anyway; Miss Ruvie had been really good at cleaning stuff, and she'd taught him during the short time he'd been with her.

He began, a little at a time, finding places Tifa had missed or maybe been too busy to take care of. He tried to be secretive at first; just kinda hoping his efforts would be noticed, because he didn't want to brag about them.

He was wiping one such place quite methodically one day, a little table in the corner of the bar that always seemed to be the stickiest (probably the same people, Denzel thought); when out of the corner of his eye, he sensed Tifa had come in and was quietly watching him. And he was suddenly super self-conscious, worried he was doing it wrong, about to make an excuse for not doing it well enough –

"You're really thorough with that," she finally said. "Did your mother teach you how?"

"No," Denzel, said, but he didn't know if he was ready to tell the entire story yet. Actually, after asking about where his family was, Cloud and Tifa really hadn't asked him much about his past at all. And luckily, Tifa didn't ask anything this time either. But it made him feel better that she'd noticed him working.

Cloud put he and Marlene to bed at night, the two of them sharing the room comfortably; Marlene chattered away and took forever to go to sleep, while Denzel could hardly wait to get into bed. Cloud didn't say much, but Denzel noticed he did lots of little things – like listening to Marlene read out loud a story, and making sure they both had glasses of water beside the bed – before he left across the hall to go work in his office. Denzel slept better knowing all he had to do was call, and Cloud would be right there.

But with Cloud gone on deliveries, most of his time was spent with Tifa. He started to notice things about her. The kindness in her eyes, the warmth of her smile. The softness of her touch, especially when he found himself shaking and shivering with an attack of geostigma once again, and she'd gently place a cooling cloth on his head – a small thing that gave him comfort when there was nothing else she could do to help.

He still didn't know how to talk to her. Maybe he was still even a little afraid of her. But maybe he'd been lucky enough to land with some pretty cool people after all.

He wasn't ready to call them parents, but maybe he could call this a home.

Tifa kept a close, nervous eye on the new son who had entered her life. While she spent far more time than Cloud did with Denzel, it hurt her the way he so eagerly looked forward to Cloud's arrival each evening – if he was in bed, he'd perk up at the sound of Fenrir's engine; if he was up that day, he'd go running to the door.

She'd always try to have dinner prepared for Cloud's return so they could have at least that one meal together as a family, doing her evening prep work beforehand and then taking a break; usually they had the first servings of whatever Tifa would be offering as the house special that night. She was pleased to note the little casual conversations they'd shared were slowly returning, even though Denzel didn't join in the banter at first. He always ate quietly, politely, frightened to even ask for seconds, until Cloud finally started spooning him the extra servings he needed without asking. Watching his eyes light up the first time she brought dessert to the table nearly broke her heart; how long had he been denied these simple childhood pleasures?

After dinner, when the doors of Seventh Heaven opened up and began filling with her early regulars, the cleaned dinner table would be overtaken by paper maps (many annotated by Cloud himself), as Cloud planned his routes for the next day – both children excitedly answering questions, eager to learn. Denzel would chatter along gaily with Cloud, animated in contrast to the serious he'd been all day.

"Denzel told me today…" Cloud would begin after they'd retired to bed together, knowing how Tifa ate up hearing anything about the newest member of their household.

"Why didn't he tell ME?" Tifa fretted, but Cloud could only shrug.

With Cloud having no answers, she asked her regulars at the bar; they told her that boys were just like that. They'd naturally gravitate to a male, a father figure, someone who would teach them how to be a man. Tifa wondered how that would even work, given Cloud's history – no father, and little enough experience in even being a grownup.

In time, however, she learned to appreciate the effort he could and did make; to take pleasure herself in watching the time he spent with the children. Not only enjoying Cloud in the role of a young father, but also Denzel slipping easily into the role of older brother, helping Marlene through the more difficult words on the map. It made for an idyllic image; the more so for knowing that should she chose to join them, she'd be welcomed with open arms and happy smiles from the family she'd worked so hard to create.

Denzel had been with them for a couple of months already, showing increasing signs of health despite the inescapable geostigma. It was now seen everywhere in the city of Edge, with still no cure in sight. Nevertheless, Denzel's consistent fortitude was encouraging, and Marlene decided they needed to celebrate by taking a new family photo.

Once Cloud got home, they dragged out their beat-up camera once again, persuading one of her earlier customers to snap the picture just outside the doors to Seventh Heaven. Tifa squatted down, smiling, and wrapped her arms around both her children.

It was only later, when the photo was developed, that she realized how Cloud had been standing. Alone, apart. Slightly turned away. Was that still how he saw himself?

One day, she was cleaning the office again; she'd brought the photo in with her. She wanted so badly to make this a family, look into the future – but it seemed like their chances were so often lost to the memories of the past. Memories that haunted Cloud most of all.

It seemed like Denzel's arrival should have made things more, well, symmetrical – but somehow it wasn't working out that way. She set the photo down carefully on the desk, hoping it would keep the reminder firmly in front of him.

Tifa desperately hoped that would be the case. Things felt, if anything more unbalanced – like Denzel had only widened the rift that had already been carved. She turned to the bed, making it neatly after Cloud had left sheets rumpled as always – after another night he didn't sleep with her.

Did he even want her physically anymore? She ached with longing for him, craving the closeness, the physical urge. She went from dearly wishing they could make love like always, to a desperate need for his body, on top of her, stuffing her full, her base need to be fucked by Cloud Strife.

She needed to heal that divide somehow. She needed Cloud's help to do it. He was her lover, her partner – yet she didn't know how to ask.

And deep down, lingered her relentless doubt – that this was really all her fault. Not just for bludgeoning him into a life that he may or may not have been ready for – but maybe for even more wrongs she'd done to him. For not telling him the truth, before Sephiroth forced it upon him. Maybe even further back – could she have treated him better as a kid? Where did the blame end, and the healing begin?

She gave Cloud's pillows a final fluff, wondering if they would be welcoming him again this night instead of her – and took one last look at the picture, as if she could somehow change what it was saying. But the picture had no words. Turning away, she left the room, wistfully shutting the door behind her.

Climbing the stairs after a long busy shift, Tifa's only thought was how much she couldn't wait to get into bed. The rain thrummed incessantly on the roof above; another time, she would have been grateful to enjoy this weather the way she couldn't in the slums – but right now, it was only echoing the pounding in her head.

The children were long asleep; it was time for her to be as well. She wondered if Cloud was even still awake, if he had any energy left. Lately, she'd become the one to reluctantly decline, feeling bad for pushing him away, rejecting his advances – wanting to let him know it wasn't him, but realizing he'd blame himself for it anyways.

Maybe she should put a little more effort into it. Take the lead, even. She couldn't keep denying his needs, or her own, for that matter. Or what if she just left it up to him? Told him to have his way with her, do anything he wanted? A thrill of excitement coursed through her; would he take the bait?

She pictured him tearing off her clothes, taking her roughly, selfishly; just a touch faster than she really wanted. Forcing her to orgasm for his own pleasure, so he could come with her clamping down on his cock just the way he liked most.

She was intrigued, aroused, considering her approach, when she noticed the door to the children's room still open a crack. Concerned, she peeped in; Cloud was there, seated on the edge of Denzel's bed as the boy tossed and turned.

Denzel had his good days, when he was relatively pain free, able to get up and laugh and play almost like a normal child. Then he had his bad days, confined to his bed, needing help just to get to the bathroom, nodding off to a sleep that was his only relief from pain.

Today had been one of the bad days.

Cloud leaned over Denzel, this boy that was now theirs. She silently watched Cloud brush back Denzel's curls from the black smear marking his angelic features. Bending forward to lay a soothing kiss on his brow, lips brushing the abrasion as if that was all that was needed to make him better.

Suddenly, she was taken back to a time two years before, when she was the one caring for a sickly Cloud; kneeling before him in another Seventh Heaven, brushing back blond spikes of sweat-soaked hair. When she was the one wondering if he would ever recover. How much harder must this be for Cloud, who both hurt and loved so deeply? How much of this he must take to heart; he, who saw so much of himself in Denzel?

They both knew. They owed this child in more ways than one – the visceral, emotional consequences of their actions. But neither of them was able to bring up the prospect – she could barely bring herself to think it, but she had to. Denzel might die.

Marlene had become as attached to him as to a natural brother. Tifa worried his loss might tear the family apart more than ever. Was it selfish of her to even think that? Did it mean she loved Denzel less? Guilt, piled on guilt all over again.

Dark thoughts followed her into the room they shared. She undressed slowly, delicately, listening for sounds from below. Lying back, leaving on only the small light by the bed, she settled in to wait just in case Cloud wanted to talk. The clock ticked the midnight minutes away, a sound as lonely as the pattering rain above. Finally, eyes heavy, she curled up in the blankets, only half-feigning sleep; her eyes lingered on the angel statue mounted on the bridge outside the window. Who had made it, she wondered? Why had it been placed there? What did it mean – or did it not mean anything in particular, and she was just reading too much into it?

She nearly was asleep when he finally came in; he just stood there for a moment, as if appraising. She wondered if he was evaluating her, weighing them, before he slid in beside her, reaching one arm over her to turn out the light before letting it fall to drape her as usual. The full moon outside was more than enough to flood the room with light, marking their bodies with its glow. He circled his limbs around her, enclosing her in a cage of security –

And then, like lightning, he was on her, frantically kissing her lips, neck, breasts, pushing clothing over her head to join his on the floor as she spread her legs in greeting for him to drive inside her –

Cloud welcomed the warmth of Tifa's enclosure with a gasp of blessed relief, the soft petals of her pussy the welcome he so desperately needed. Bracing above her, he made love to her passionately, fervidly; fingers intertwined with hers, pushing down against the bed. Thunder rumbled across the rooftop as he drove his body forward, chest shoved against plump breasts as her back arched and she threw her head back…

Cloud bit down into her neck as she cried out sweet release, alive, so alive…

Barret would be lying if he said he was anything other than less than thrilled. It was bad enough that Geostigma had spread all over the city, but taking an afflicted boy into the house?

His first thought had been, Hell no. But Tifa was persuasive – describing the scenario in which they'd found him, the condition he'd been in, his life since he'd joined the household – and despite his doubts, Barret's heart went out to this child he'd never seen. Another orphan. Taken in, just like he'd gotten his own little girl.

Besides, Shera had the thing too. It was hard for him to watch it inching closer and closer, threatening those he cared about.

Marlene convinced him further, gaily describing how glad she was to have a new brother. Brother. That was already the term she was using. Barret couldn't help but feel a little jealous of this tight-knit family unit that was forming, while he was stuck faraway, this time working in Corel.

He took the binoculars away from his eyes, putting back on his sunglasses as he gazed across the burning, dusty dessert. The Corel citizenry had surprisingly warmed to the hunt for oil; coal wasn't going to cut it as a replacement for mako, no matter that it had been their mainstay for the longest time. Barret was grateful to be doing something good for his hometown, using Shera's plans to get them off mako.

He wondered how Shera was doing, anyways. Before he'd left, he'd seen Cid berating her with what he now understood to be affection and worry. You're working yourself too hard, Cid had blustered, you need to rest more. But Shera had been insistently devoted to her work. They three'd agreed that it was necessary to get the new airship running, even if they had to resort to using a little mako at first; it could help speed distribution of a cure. If a cure was ever found.

People were practically lining up to be taken to Midgar, hoping to be cured there. Barret couldn't bring himself to tell them there was no hope there either – if anything, the situation there was worse, from what Tifa said. People sick, even dying on the streets, every day, and no end to the epidemic in sight.

Myrna, part of me is glad you didn't live to see this. What if she'd gotten it herself? Watching her suffer and wither, instead of losing her all at once?

He himself'd seen people dying of it many times now. An ugly, sticky black death, choking on gobs of bile that looked like darkness itself. An unpleasant, painful way to go, and Barret could only hope the Lifestream would offer them some comfort when they got there.

The worst were the children, young lives lost before they had even begun. Barret had to support Cloud and Tifa, knowing they would do everything they could for this one. Would he want – would he even expect anything else from them?

People said it was from the Planet fighting back. But that didn't sound right to Barret. The Planet is made up of souls. So shouldn't it be on our side? He hadn't seen much evidence of that. Still, every time he looked into the pleading eyes of another child crying out in pain, he just couldn't believe the Planet would be that cruel. Doesn't it see how hard we are trying to save it now?

That was his mission now. To save the Planet, same as it had been before, but a better way this time. A healing way. He'd keep on fighting – this faceless boy he'd never met giving him one more reason.

The sun was lowering; it was time to be done for the day. Marching back down the sand dunes, he headed towards the shacks that remained of Corel, hoping one day his town would be something once again.

Cloud pored over text, photographs, until his eyes refused to focus anymore. Little understanding had been achieved. Not for the first time, he bemoaned his lack of formal education – he was a fighter, not a scientist, not that the WRO's scientists were having any better luck than he was.

So why did he think he could solve a problem they couldn't? The cure for geostigma still eluded them all. Well, it wasn't that he really did think he could – he just had no choice but to try. And he HAD tried – but even if he couldn't understand everything in the books in front of him, he understood enough to realize there were no answers in these pages.

He'd racked his brain for other ideas. Called Yuffie for help with materia. Tried to work the problem in his head any way he could – looking for some critical piece that he was missing.

His arm hurt. Must have overused it fighting monsters again. He rubbed the sore spot, but it didn't seem to much help; a little rest, and he'd be good as new.

It was hopeless, so hopeless – but there was a little boy across the hall that was the reason he had to keep on trying. Till, he wasn't getting anything more done tonight, and slamming the book closed in frustration, he stormed out of the office.

Tifa wasn't in the bar when he hustled his way through to the garage; he was grateful he didn't have to face her. She was another thing he really didn't want to think about right now Didn't want to see the sadness, the exhaustion, that always lingered in her eyes nowadays; unable to fix it, tormented by the idea that he was only making it worse.

Tifa had a fresh batch of wine stewing in the garage; the smell of it inevitably reminded him of her, of home. It lingered in his nostrils as, straddling Fenrir, he revved the engine and vroomed out of the garage.

He drove mindlessly at first, meandering through the now-familiar streets of Edge, but after some time he found himself craving the wastelands beyond. The open air, the empty space. The moon was high in the sky as he tore over dusty, barely-there trails. The same trails he'd probably traversed after Zack's death, pushing towards Midgar; even with his head screwed on somewhat back to normal (thanks to Tifa), the condition he'd been in meant those memories were still a hazy mess. Just a muddle recollection of a sword pressing on his back, and in insatiable need to press forward, towards Midgar.

Looking back, he wondered now – had it been Tifa he'd been heading for?

It wasn't impossible – but he had no way of knowing for sure. If it was, it would be another thing he wowed her – endless debts he couldn't pay back. And the one above all, the promise he had made, to save her if she was ever in a bind. But what if he was what she needed to be saved from? Was she in a bind just being with him?

He'd had that feeling for a while now – was he only making things worse? He stayed to keep a promise -but was he only trapping her with a man who would never make her happy, because he didn't know how?

Dammit, Tifa! Don't you know I'd do anything for you?

He'd found they were making love less and less. Having become accustomed to the simple physical intimacy they shared, the intricate comfort they had with each other's bodies – he found himself overtly itching for her in a way he never had before.

Once or twice she'd seemed like she'd been willing to accommodate him – but that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her warm, supple, engaged. He'd end up pulling away in frustration, turning to his other side in embarrassment.

One such lonely, celibate night, he'd dozed off into a disturbingly vivid dream – of Aerith. Visions he couldn't shake of them naked, intertwined, she crying out his name underneath him. He woke up shaking and sweating, the stickiness of ejaculate on the sheets, feeling as if he'd' betrayed the woman beside him though he'd had nothing to say on the matter. Looking over at her sleeping form beside him, all he could think was that it was only Tifa he wanted to touch, wanted to kiss.

He'd often end up sleeping in the office, the cold hard bed a relief from being so painfully near her. Still, a hard mattress couldn't compete with soft sheets, even lacking Tifa's softness to go with it.

Looking up he was startled to realize how many hours had passed; the half-moon tracking his journey was now lowering in the sky. Dawn must be fast approaching; he sped back in the direction of home, hoping to beat the rising of the sun. He cut the engine, rolled into the garage, trudged up the stairs, hoping to catch a couple-hour snooze before another long day began. Heading now out of habit towards the office, he couldn't resist going halfway up the next stair for some reason.

The bedroom door was cracked, as if in invitation; he considered responding, feeling the pull. But late as it was, it was probably better to let her sleep.

Cloud turned away.

Tifa missed him.

Missed his body; missed his touch. Missed the closeness she so loved to share. Instead, they grew further apart, love forsaken and frozen in time.

She had offers. All the time. As if the men around her could smell Cloud's neglect, convincing them to try and move in on their own. But even if she could ever bring herself to cheat on Cloud – unthinkable! – she knew her heart would never be in it. There was only one man she wanted to be with that way.

Was that man still here?

He'd made a lackluster effort once or twice, but then he'd pull away. Give up. Leave her craving more. Why didn't he try harder? Seduce her with tender kisses and soft caresses the way he always sued to do? Was she not worth the bother anymore?

Used to be, he'd sneak into their room when he came home late, curling himself carefully around her, considerately trying not to wake her. He often did anyway, but she'd pretend she was still asleep just to make him feel better.

Now… he just stayed away.

She expected nothing better from tonight, even when he came home just before to midnight and slunk into their room. Eyes firmly shut, she braced for another night with that invisible wall between them.

Cloud had decided to brave approaching Tifa tonight… but as soon as he'd entered the room, he knew he'd made a mistake. She was obviously sound asleep; who was he to wake her from her hard-earned rest? For his own selfish desire? Undressing to nothing, he tried to ignore the nagging urge of his groin, the tightening of his balls that told him to shake her awake and love her until she cried out his name. Instead, he slid under the covers, cringing towards his own side. Lying there in the darkness, he was preparing himself for another lonely night huddled into himself – when he felt a slender hand caress his shoulder, sending shivers through his body. He rolled over –

And found himself looking straight into her eyes.

Her expression was nearly unreadable; if anything it was sad. But without her eyes leaving his, she stretched her arm further, gently coaxing him closer.

She reached for me…

Her fingertips stroked his cheek, warm except for the glint of cold from his ring; moving soft strokes down his bicep, his arm. He took the hint; shuffling closer, he was pleasantly surprised to find her as naked under the covers as he. The way they both often preferred to sleep, free of embarrassment around each other, enjoying the pressure and warmth of skin against skin. Even on nights they didn't make love, they'd find a solace in each other's nudity, a comfort of lovers sleeping intertwined.

Was that what she wanted? He considered stopping there, entangling limbs, letting each other's presence lull them both to sleep. But the gnawing need in his heart, the throbbing hardness between his legs, overtook his hesitation and gave him the burst of courage he needed. He began to touch her, kiss her, she returning his moves with similar hesitation, triggering aches that had been ignored for far too long.

It was a routine Cloud feared abandoned. He knew this dance as well as she – she let him lead, but kept in time. Placing his hands around her heartbreakingly tiny waist, he tugged her closer, moving his hands to her shoulders, stopping to caress and tickle her breasts before he moved down to her hips. Sliding his hand between her legs to those parts of her that, more than any other, belonged to only him, he found her wet and ready; his own arousal heightened by her blatant need for his body. Had he been so afraid of his rejection, that he'd come to neglect his responsibility to satisfy her needs?

Tifa felt her skin shivering under his fingertips as he visited areas long unexplored. She hadn't expected it at the start, but Cloud Strife was the most patient of lovers. He never rushed. Never. Unless she told him she wanted otherwise. But she was aching, eager, practically sobbing for the relief of his cock inside her.

"Tell me what you want to do," she whispered.

"Anything you want me to," he replied.

Tifa grabbed him, half-begging, exciting him further as she pulled him on top of her; spreading her legs wide and mewling her desire. He sank gratefully into her with a softly exhaled sigh. How could he explain to her how badly he needed this, for more than just the physical pleasure – the trust, the complete acceptance he felt when she took him into her arms, inside her body? The sublime sensation of feeling her inside and out, knowing there was no way they could be any closer? More than just making him feel alive, it made him feel at peace, for the few precious moments when the world was nothing but the two of them.

Their coupling was slow, quiet. Their lovemaking wasn't always the same, but it had evolved into regular patterns; always reliable, always enjoyable. Tifa reveled in those familiar motions as his skin slid over hers. He hadn't forgotten, she realized; his body told her all the things he couldn't say in words.

Cloud heard her soft cries, felt the press of her nails into his back letting him know she was ready to have him join her in the moment. They climaxed softly together, she melting boneless in his arms, burying her head in his shoulder to sob out relief and release. Reassuring him for those few strangled moments they loved each other still.

Gentle shudders of pleasure subsided; he moved as if to roll off her, but she held him firmly in place. She sighed a bittersweet mixture of sadness and contentment, things she could only feel from him. "You're the only man for me," she whispered, but his eyes broke contact as he buried his face into her neck.

You're only half right, Tifa. I'm not much of a man.

But he let her cling to him, relishing in her desire, giving her the illusion he wished so badly to make real.

Only the clasp of his arms, tensing at her words, let Tifa know that he was still there with her – that he hadn't faded away. She fought down the tears. Would there even be a time she could feel safe, that he wasn't slipping from her once again? Had she lost him for good the day he'd left Nibelheim – before she even knew she had him?

There was always that one part she couldn't reach; didn't know what he needed, what she could give him, if it was even something that was hers to give. The extremities of experience had given focus. Clarity. Purpose. But the realities of everyday life were complex in their own ways - the rewards and the pleasures, too.

Would that be enough for Cloud?

She felt his breathing growing slow; exhaustion was driving him into sleep. She released her grip on him with some reluctance,; as she positioned herself against him, his arms instinctively folded around her, leaving her for this one moment feeling safe and loved.

Healen was a refuge, but Rufus couldn't help but feel he was hiding.

The Turks had rescued him, brought him here for safety and recovery; the nightmare of his captivity was over. Rufus had already pushed it firmly out of his mind. What was done, was done. Forgetting was a choice it was in his power to make.

Not so easily ignored was the uncured geostigma; mako doses only kept the worst of it at bay. Still, Rufus was determined not to show weakness, until Tseng convinced him otherwise.

"Sir, few people even know you are alive," Tseng had reasonably pointed out. "It's wiser to stay in hiding. You can do more from the shadows at the moment." The man's voice was clipped, professional; no trace of regret for the intimacy he and Rufus once had shared. A relationship the new President had ended upon his ascension, determined to restructure it into the proper division of boss and subordinate. Tseng had merely bowed, said he understood, and proceeded about his work as always.

Rufus supposed it could be called love. But he'd never grown up with love. Power, that was what he understood; power, and fear. He was already making plans to bring Shinra back into the spotlight; money was one thing he still had no shortage of. Reeve had been reluctant to take Shinra funding for his new organization, but deferred to the need, content to look the other way as long as the Turks' interests coincided with his own.

For the moment at least, Reeve's WRO and Shinra were allies.

Still, there were things left unexplained, and Rufus did not like leaving loose ends. Those strange ghosts in the Shinra building that seemed to herald his return – the ones no one else could see. The stigma he bore, that was slowly permeating the Planet.

He had his own ideas about that last. The popular belief was it was the revenge of the Planet itself; for Shinra, for mako use, for the reactors. But why, then, had it chosen to react so coincidentally, at the same time Sephiroth reappeared?

Rufus didn't believe in fairy tales, but he believed the Lifestream. How could he not, when mako, and therefore Shinra, were derived from it? He believed that Sephiroth had been thrown into the Lifestream and reemerged. Why, then, could it not happen again? If it wasn't the Lifestream itself, could it be Sephiroth dissolved, as it were, within it?

Rufus recognized the SOLDIER program had produced some… unanticipated… effects. The strangest of all being Cloud Strife, who seemed to be showing no permanent damage at all. Why?

This required investigation, and the place to start was obvious.

"Tseng," he spoke to the man behind him, "prepare for assignment. I'm sending you back to the Northern Crater." He paused. "Bring me Jenova's head."