Welcome back everyone! I'd like to dedicate this chapter, the beginning of the postcanon arc, to SassyUnicorn7, youtube GMV maker and undisputed Queen Cloti. (Seriously. Check her channel. She knows every word, every scene.) Thanks, Sassy, for the game nights, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 75. December 19, εуλ0009 - εуλ0010

Cloud pulled the key from the lock, holding the knob to quiet the door's closing behind him. He stopped to untie his boots, leaving them behind the door so as not to disturb the sleeping house. All was still this time of night, neither the squeals of the children or Tifa's laughing voice to welcome him home. Even knowing the time, he couldn't help but be a bit disappointed.

The WRO had begun to get local service up and running; nowadays, he primarily did the far more profitable longer trips. Once, he had enjoyed these jaunts of several days, long stretches of empty miles giving him the time and space to think, but now he had fewer troubles on which to dwell; he was beginning to resent the time spent away from home, away from his family. A year since Sephiroth's defeat over Edge, since he was granted absolution, with only the Deepground crisis to mar an otherwise tranquil existence; a brief but difficult fight, with Tifa by his side once again, and then…

Boredom was his new companion. Boredom, and loneliness.

He gently eased open the door to the children's room, only enough to peek inside. Both were sleeping like angels – didn't all parents think of their children that way? But they wouldn't be little forever – Denzel had just turned ten, and Marlene would be eight at the start of spring. Three years with one child, nearly two with the other, and now it felt like he couldn't imagine life without them.

He smiled, as he always did, at the drawn portraits of he and Tifa that adorned the walls. Marlene's artistic skill was improving – now he got a little more detail than just a yellow crayon's worth of hair. On the other side was one of Denzel's first photographs, right next to the two precious pictures of his families, past and present. It was just a simple scene, a view from his window toward the always-growing city of Edge outside, but it was a start.

He sneaked furtively upstairs, bootless steps muffled in the dark, stepping into their bedroom as soundlessly as he could. Letting the door close softly behind him, he leaned back against it, taking a moment just to savor the sight of her.

She wore one of the silk slips he had bought for her, this one large roses patterned against a black background – a splurge, but she loved the way they felt and he loved the way they looked. It was incongruously paired with a set of long fuzzy socks, the kind she wore when he wasn't there to keep her feet warm for her instead. Staring at her, he couldn't help but think – she was just so cute. He'd come to love all her adorable little habits, thumb to her slightly parted lips as she pored over her ledger, the way she always stirred the pot with one hand and rested the other on her hip. Little things he had lived with her long enough to notice, every one he discovered only adding to her charm.

He'd thought once he wanted to be a hero, but it had brought him only bitterness and pain. Now, he knew the truth. He was a family man. Being a hero to one woman was more than enough.

Here, in the depths of the night, he could quietly contemplate that the woman before him was incredibly HIS. As were the children downstairs. This woman was absolutely, undoubtedly the mother to those children. His children. Which, he supposed, made him a father – whatever the hell that meant.

He remembered in childhood dreaming of being married to Tifa. Having a family with her. Little-kid fantasies, playing-house fantasies, the products of a juvenile mind. But the reality – oh-so-much better. What might it have been just the two of them, without children along for the ride? Easier, maybe – lighter, less pressured – but would it be as rich, as deep, as it was today? Here they were, and it didn't look like anything he'd expected – a city of grime and scrap, not rolling fields and picket fences – but no less real for any of that.

No one had told him that falling in love was only the start, that it didn't go straight from there to happily-ever after. That you didn't have it all figured out from the beginning; that you made it happen along the way. That it was the sequence of days, each ending and fading into the next, that made love and change and grow; every day a little different, some days better than others, but always love becoming more and deeper.

Some days they would bicker and clash, and then there would be days like this. He was learning all the time – there was no way around that. But slowly but surely, the girl he loved was becoming the woman he was making a life with, he only beginning to understand exactly what that meant. Even after all this time and everything that had happened, he was still amazed to find her in his life every day and his bed every night.

He never wanted to lose that amazement.

He sat gently on the side of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress and wake her, not wanting to disrupt this moment watching his… what was she, anyway? What one word could encompass everything he felt for her? His friend, his partner – those words were too timid. She was his lady, his heroine, his queen and princess rolled into one. That gave him an idea.

They didn't lead a fairy-tale life. That story was long gone with Nibelheim, blown away like its ashes on the wind, sunshine and rainbows replaced by monsters and explosives. But, just maybe, he could give her a little of that fairy-tale magic.

He leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her lips, and her eyes fluttered open. Heavy with sleep, first groggy, then widening and sharpening as he entered her view. "Cloud!" she exclaimed. "What time is it?"

"After three. Maybe closer to four," he replied.

"I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow! Or later today, I guess. Much later today," she corrected, as she pulled herself up slightly, head still resting on the pillow.

"I drove all night," he said simply. "I couldn't wait to get back to you."

Even in the darkened room, the moonglow showed her face lighting up in that moment. "I drove by the ocean yesterday," he continued. "I'd like to take you there sometime."

"I'd like that," she whispered.

"We won't need long . Just a couple of days." Just enough time to be with you.

"We can probably get someone to take the kids," she suggested. "Elmyra would probably do it. She hasn't seen them in aa while."

"They're getting older," Cloud noted. "They won't need a babysitter much longer."

"That's true," Tifa conceded. "Soon, Denzel at least will be old enough to stay alone… maybe to watch Marlene as well."

"You know what this means," Cloud told her. "We're making it. Together, Tifa. You and I."

Tifa was silent for a moment. Taking that in. Cloud was right – they were moving forward. Her dreams might not be as farfetched and lofty as they had been at age fifteen, but at least she was beginning to dream again. She didn't need him to give her that much; but at the same time, it was everything in the world.

Only a man…

She didn't much believe in soulmates – but Cloud reminded her of magic.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he finally said. "You must be tired. You should go to sleep."

"I'm okay – it was an early night," she told him. "I was planning to get up in a couple hours anyway. But you must be exhausted – I'll make sure the kids don't wake you up tomorrow."

"Actually, the dri ve was pretty invigorating," he said. "I don't feel tired at all right now."

"Well, in that case…" She pulled his face to hers, kissing him long and deep. "Welcome home, Cloud," she whispered, as she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

His first days back passed in a desperate blur of gratitude and passion, full of vigor to renew his love for Tifa, his claim.

He'd take her every night, again and again, every time with the urgent knowledge of how close he came to losing her. Her legs over his shoulders, driving as deep inside her as she'd allow, drawing out her whimpers and cries, every thrust a return to home.

He'd pull her over him to straddle his him in the dark, grabbing her waist, hair brushing his chest as she turned to look leaned to look over at him with love in her eyes. Both their pleasure feedings off each other's, as his hands clung to her hips and she rocked back and forth, driving him to their peak together.

The emotional consequences were harder. She was sitting at the bar one day, planning her menu and the corresponding orders, when she heard his footsteps coming down as he headed out for the day. She looked up, smiling, as he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a chaste kiss goodbye, but she pulled his mouth more deeply to hers, leaning back against the bar and locking her ankles around his knees; leaving him with thoughts that (he was disappointed to realize) he wouldn't be able to do anything about until he got home in the evening.

When he reluctantly broke the kiss, a sudden thought hit him. "What if the kids see us doing that?"

"They SHOULD see it," Tifa replied. "It lets them know we're staying together – "

She froze, and they both stared wide-eyed at each other, the unspoken words just hanging for a moment.

Finally, Tifa spoke. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded." She dropped her head, ashamed.

He pulled back a little and lifted her chin to look her right in the eyes. Maybe not – but she did have the right. "I've hurt you," he said quietly.

Tifa sighed; it was a long moment before she finally nodded. "Yes," she acknowledged, and he was grateful she didn't pretend otherwise. "But it gets better with time. We just have to keep doing our best. I don't know what I'm doing myself half the time," she finished.

"You're a wonderful mother," Cloud assured her, only the truth.

"Thank you," she murmured into his shirt. "You're a good father, too. You just don't know it yet."

"I have no idea how to be a father," Cloud admitted.

Tifa finally looked at him, smiling the sweet smile he loved so much. "Most men don't," she told him "You just do your best, that's all."

His best. That was really all he could.

That reminded him, he had a son to keep a promise to…

She'd welcomed him home, but Cloud still worried he'd wounded her too deep. For the first few weeks, he was endlessly tense that there was some hidden, deep-seated resentment he was just about to discover. The difference now was, he was willing to face it and fix it. He'd made that silent promise.

The first real test was the first long delivery. Four days, five if the weather was shitty, which at this time of year was likely. Mountains could throw anything at you, and he'd been crossing them twice each way, with a desert in between. He could see hesitance as he packed, preparing to make his goodbyes.

Tifa tried to pretend she wasn't bothered – but he didn't want her to have to do that. Didn't much like it. "Tifa," he told her, "I'm coming back. You don't have to be afraid."

The words sounded empty to him. He'd already broken such a promise; now, he could only keep it through action. The only way to absolutely reassure her would be to reururn, and he couldn't do a damn thing about that for days yet. She knew it too, staring silently down at the half-packed bag.

"Will you call?" she suddenly asked.

Sure, his instinct responded, anything you ask, but… "I never know what to say if I call," he hesitantly admitted.

"Say anything," Tifa urged, head whipping up and heat entering her voice. "Call to tell me you're halfway there, call to tell me you want to fuck me, call to tell me it's raining, or just call to tell me that you called, but dammit Cloud, just call!"

He kissed here gently then, the one answer he could give.

That evening found him somewhere in a dry, nondescript landscape, hundreds of miles outside of Midgar, the sort of place he'd traveled through so many times before. Just ahead was some little town, too inconsequential to deserve more than an afterthought on the map, but suitable for a stopover to spend the night. Cheap beds. Usually decent food. And one rundown Shinra phone tower that offered up at least a chance.

He figured now was as good a time as any. Straddling Fenrir, he pulled out his phone and flipped it open. The number was right there on the main screen., nagging him with all those old missed calls he now regretted. He pushed send before he could lose his nerve.

Barely one ring. She'd probably been expecting him. "Cloud?" came her voice through the phone.

"Tifa," he replied. One word and he found himself tongue tied again.

"I called," he finally said.

"I can see that," she replied. He could practically see the twinkle of amusement in her eyes over the invisible waves now connecting them.

She didn't hang up in the silence that ensured, and Cloud racked his brain, until finally the only thing he could say was… "I love you," he told the receiver.

On the other end, he could hear Tifa smiling.

Back at Seventh Heaven, Tifa stood there, waiting if there'd be more words… but all she could hear was the quiet sound of his breathing. Rapid, shallow, as if this was the most unnerving thing he'd ever face. Maybe it was.

The silence stretched until finally she heard a soft click. She held the receiver until the dial tone came on, but was she put it down, the smile hadn't left her face.

Silence, for Cloud, meant more than anything he could have said. He'd stayed on the line instead of running. That was a start. In any case, the few worlds he'd squeezed out were the only ones that really mattered.

As he kicked Fenrir into gear and drove away, he found himself thinking of all the dirty things he could say NEXT time he called…

Despite what he'd told Reeve, he often found himself working with the WRO those first few months. And for these trips, he took only the bare minimum of payment, enough to offset costs and the time lost from other jobs. Even so, he would have gladly done it for free; the only reason he accepted any payment at all was for Tifa and the family.

This was something he owed to Aerith.

Not all of those with Geostigma could make their way to Midgar; the disease had scattered itself all over the world, and the pace of eradicating it was slow, one life at a time. Thankfully, with Sephiroth gone, fatalities were down and longevity increased, allowing Cloud and the WRO to do their work.

Not all could even make it to the places the Shera could land. So Cloud found himself loading Fenrir onto the airship to travel halfway across the world, to other continents, much faster than he could get their overland; then speeding away from the docked ship with his precious cargo of Aerith's water, to outlying towns and hamlets. Bringing them the gift of life. Of hope.

Learn to give, not just take. Barret had given that advice to Tifa; he'd left to do the same thing himself. Now it was Cloud's turn. Every time he doused another child with water and saw their eyes widen and their smile brighten as pain disappeared, it was another burden lifted, another sin redeemed.

Families would crowd around him, desperate to touch him; offering money he always refused, and gifts he sometimes did not. Not if it was something he could bring home for his family to enjoy. He found his services in high demand as the rumor spread that the healing water worked better if Cloud was the one to deliver it; Cloud knew it wasn't true, but who was he to argue if it made them feel better?

Even as he enjoyed this role of doctor to far-flung outposts, he was always happiest heading home. Reminiscing about all that had happened to him, he found himself starved by a need to see his family, his reward.

He remembered the "CLOSED" sign Yuffie had given them, a not-so-subtle hint. Inspired, he pulled to the side of the road. She answered on the first ring.

"Tifa," he began, hearing her bright greeting. I'm taking the day off tomorrow. Think you could close the bar?" – and shutting the phone after her delighted agreement, he hauled off once again, the long journey made easier now that he knew what lay at the end.

Cloud found himself enjoying a sort of second honeymoon phase… not that they'd had much of a first. A fact that made the here and now all that much sweeter.

Truthfully, Cloud had been so excited to have Tifa in any capacity, that the idea he that the idea that he might be enjoying her favors on a regular basis had eluded him. He'd found himself pleasantly surprised to say the least. She was so much fun to just… play with. She was responsive. Playful. Eager.

She was indeed a little slower to warm up, a little less frequent to initiate but if he could bring himself to wait…. He would stretch out the pleasure, waiting until she was just ready for the next step and then waiting a little longer as he flirtatiously told her to beg for it, and she would, please cloud, give it to me, I want you so bad, you feel so good inside me, and if he could stand to wait any longer than THAT, fuck me, Cloud, just fuck me, I don't care how, I can't take it, I can't wait any longer for you…

It was all very gratifying.

He had just rolled back onto their sheets after another satisfying encounter, pulling her close so they could enjoy the waves of relaxation together. "How are you so exciting in bed?" he murmured.

He'd meant the question rhetorically, but she paused, propping herself up and looking intently into his eyes. Burning auburn fire reigned. "Because I'm with the man I love," she said simply.

Cloud only stared, as the first implications of her words really hit him. It wasn't that she was like that. It was him who made her that way.

"I love you," he said. "I probably don't tell you that often enough. Maybe you should remind me."

Tifa took him at his word. From then on, all it took was a whispered "Tell me" to elicit surprising sweet nothings out of Cloud. I love you so much. You're the only one I want. I'd do anything for you. Words just below the surface, only needing a little push to get them out.

Cloud, for his part, meant every word. It hit him with surprise one day how long it had been since he'd so much as noticed another woman, much less actively looked. He supposed he still registered when women were attractive, but in the way one would notice, say, a nice vase.

Then again, why would he look anywhere else when he already had a woman every OTHER man wanted to look at? Sometimes, he couldn't help but feel smug, knowing that he was the one who got to touch her and kiss her. HE was the one who got to have her, in all kinds of ways, night after night.

They tried new things. She was progressively less shy, and he let her open to him slowly, even now not wanting to ask for too much, too soon. They hadn't yet had nearly enough time to get to know each other that way, and Cloud didn't want to waste any further opportunities.

One such evening, she was kissing down his neck and chest, reaching down to wrap her hand around his cock. He gripped her wrist with his own, guiding her to the firm strokes he desired. She caught on quickly, and he groaned in rapture, until as she kissed further downward, she stopped –

He raised his head, frustrated and confused. She looked at him, her hand still clenched tight, her lips, uh… very close to her fingers. "I was wondering –" here she blushed adorably – "could I, um, do it to you this way?"

Cloud groaned before he answered. He'd been scared to ask her – what if she didn't want to? What if she was grossed out? – but if she liked the idea… "You have to ask?" he finally replied.

She didn't move forward quite yet, keeping up a lazy stroke as if considering. "If I do… will you come on my mouth?" she asked, a clear request.

His eyes nearly popped. He wasn't sure what was MORE exciting… that she actually WANTED to do that – or just hearing her SAY it. "Keep talking like that, and you won't have long to wait," he told her, right before he felt her lips clamp down on him. "Nevermind. No talking."

She was a little timid at first, and he struggled not to thrust upwards, not to choke her and ruin the moment. He resigned himself to softly stroking her hair, giving gentle pressure. She got the hint, slowly taking him deeper, harder, and all he had to do was lay back and watch, nearly going to pieces when she raised her eyes to coyly meet his. He relzed, secure in the knowledge he could just enjoy, finishing whenever he was ready…

He couldn't bring himself to move after. Smiling, she moved up to lay beside him; his sex-satiated brain was absolutely flooded with love for her.

"How was it?" he asked considerately. "Did you like it?" Oh please please let her say she did so she'll do it again…

She looked away for a minute, thinking. "It was a little weird at first," she said, "but then it got better." She paused. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did like it."

He was contemplating the protocol for kissing her, when she turned to ask HIM, "Was it okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked, surprised.

"Well… I've never actually done it before," she replied, blushing furiously this time.

Just when she thought she couldn't surprise him further… He moaned. Loudly. Glad the kids were away for the afternoon. "No, of course not," he hastily assured her. "I guess, I didn't expect that's all. I mean… why not?"

"Well, I always seemed kind of personal, somehow. More intimate. I guess there wasn't anyone I really liked enough." She paused. "I don't think I would have liked it that much if it wasn't you."

Cloud DID kiss her then, heedless, passionate. He didn't exactly MIND her past experience, not that he was any different, he just tried not to think about it – but to think that beautiful vision of Tifa's lips around him, pleasuring him, was his and his alone…

"I love you," he whispered to an already dozing Tifa, letting himself drift off peacefully as well.

He learned.

He learned it was okay to be selfish sometimes. It was with great trepidation that he asked her for the first time, would you suck my dick, instead of waiting for her to make the offer; only to find her sliding down his body to take him in her mouth once again, and he delighted in how she took what he gave him without embarrassment or disgust.

He learned it was okay to take turns.

Stressed out, going over papers and receipts, trying to make sense of it all (always his least part of the job), she came into his office, wrapping her arms around his neck and asking him what was wrong. He found the words I need to fuck leaving his mouth, not even the alishglty more courteous I need to fuck you; but she surprised him when, before he could even panic and picture himself kicked out of bed and sleeping in the office that night, she had dropped her bottoms, bent over the desk, and arched her buttocks up most enticingly towards him.

He found her wet and ready, as he remade her mindlessly for a bare minute before collapsing, drained, and relieved. He covered her with grateful kisses for doing him this service, making a mental note to repay her with at least five orgasms and probably a foot massage besides.

He learned greed didn't have to be a one-way street.

He never got tired of looking at her pussy. Nearly as beautiful as her face. He could spend absolutely hours between her legs, happily lapping away; her high-pitched cries were a much-appreciated bonus as she came hard and he gripped her thighs and licked her clean.

There were plenty of nights where he willingly put her own pleasure first, letting her ride him, throwing her head back so her hair tickled his fingertips where they encircled her waist, while he watched as she came (okay, maybe he was being a bit selfish), imagining a victory fanfare playing for him in the background. Soaking his cock in her fluids, leaving him not wanting to wash off the moist essence of the satisfaction he had given her.

Truthfully though, he liked her underneath him the best; Tifa, so strong, but opened to him, vulnerable as if she was clinging to his strength, a soft touch to the event. Trusting him to take care of her, making her feel good, and it was that trust and love that drove him half-mad, passion and gentleness combining to a finale leaving them both flushed and happy, and all he could think was she was most beautiful to him in those moments.

Cloud owed an apology; Cloud had a promise to keep.

He thought he knew a way to do both.

He'd had Denzel on the bike a few times by now, a treat the boy absolutely loved. Now that Denzel was healthy, he was truly getting to know the boy as something other as an invalid. He liked the motorcycle; he liked photography. He loved Tifa's cooking, but who didn't? And he idolized Cloud. Looked to him as his hero.

That was part of what he wanted to show Denzel today.

He'd explained his plan to Tifa; she'd agreed. Staying back, letting father and son make this trip on their own. Denzel was puzzled about where they were going.

"A place that matters," was the only answer Cloud would give.

Denzel just shrugged, and hopped on Fenrir, trusting in Cloud.

They roared out of the city; Denzel stared open mouthed at the scenery around him. He'd never actually been out of Midgar and Edge (which was still kinda Midgar anyway); his parents had talked of vacations, to Costa del Sol, to Icicle Inn, but they'd never made it before… Nevermind. He didn't want to cry over that. Not today. Instead, he just clung to Cloud as they roared through the wastes.

"Are we getting close?" he shouted over the bike's roar, as the wind ruffled his hair and the scenery sped by in a dusty blur.

"Just a bit further," Cloud hollered back, never taking his eyes from the road. Well aware that his Mako senses were the only thing keeping them from biting the dust. "It's kinda the way I go on deliveries…"

"Are we delivering something?" Denzel asked.

"In a way," Cloud replied. "You'll see…"

Zack taught me to ride a bike. One of those flashbacks that sometimes occurred; memories forgotten still coming back to his hollow mind. He was grateful for every bit that he remembered, a part of him coming back. He remembered a crazy day, the first time he felt the rumble underneath him, the thrill of the world flying by. Zack, if only we could do that together again…

But today was as close as he could get to that.

Denzel laughed behind him in joy; a rare sound, and Cloud was glad to hear it. He himself knew all too well what it took to laugh again, to smile. Wasn't he still learning himself?

Another bond he shared with Denzel; ties of suffering, a bond of those who had survived Geostigma. The sort of affinity he felt whenever a healed child was near. He'd first felt it when Mina came to visit, the first time he learned the name of Denzel's friend; a reserved, slightly shy girl that nevertheless charmed the household with her presence.

It was good to have another friend.

Roaring up an incline, Cloud could already see their destination up ahead. The Buster Sword, standing firm – no one had knocked it over this time, but the rust covering it still pained Cloud's soul. Ashamed he had let that happen.

The strangest thing – flowers had grown up around it. An all-too-familiar yellow lily. Cloud smiled inside. Aerith, keeping Zack company.

Don't worry, Aerith. I'm bringing him home to you.

He'd thought he was leaving it as a memorial of sorts; but seeing it now, alone in the empty landscape, a solitary icon overlooking a hill, he wondered if he had been just running again. Hiding from Zack, unsure he could fill his legacy. But now… he knew. Zack was proud of him. Zack was by his side. Eternally.

He could keep that promise after all.

As they dismounted, Denzel wandered, looking alternately at the grave and over the cliff, towards Midgar. Cloud's eyes drew to the distance as well. That first journey to Midgar, Zack's death muddling his barely awakened-mind, Jenova trying to get her claws into him as well. But he'd made it… and how far he'd come, in more ways than one.

A journey full circle, to bring him back home. He looked at the boy he'd brought with him; his chance to pay forward everything Zack had done for him. Would Denzel be his legacy too? What legacy would that be? A legacy of fighting, of war, or the brighter future he hoped he'd helped to create?

"Is this someone's grave?" Denzel's voice broke the silence.

"No," Cloud replied, walking to the sword. He stroked the hilt reverently, lovingly. How many times had this sword been in his hand? "This is where a hero began his journey."

He didn't know if he meant himself, or Zack.

Denzel joined him at the sword, looking to Cloud, a request. Cloud nodded. Denzel grabbed the handle of the sword and gave it the mightiest tug his healing body could; it wobbled. He gave it one more pull, and it loosened free of the ground; but Denzel was startled by the weight, and he felt ashamed of himself as it clattered to the ground.

Cloud put his hand on Denzel's back, picking up the sword himself like it was nothing. Denzel only stared. Cloud really was super strong, if he could use that. He'd tried to lift Cloud's Fusion Sword; the smaller blades, no problem, and he could kinda lift some of the larger, but all together – forget it. No way.

Cloud looked down at the rusted sword. This sword had meant honor to Zack; but Cloud had only used it as a weapon. He thought of the Fusion Sword inside hits compartments on the bike. He'd defeated Sephiroth three times; once by using the Masamune against its wielder, once with this sword. And the last, with a weapon that was truly his own, a battle to protect those that he loved.

In the end, that was the battle that meant the most.

Zack, I understand now.

Cloud sat on the ground, laying the sword neatly next to him; one leg pulled to his chest, the other extended. Denzel joined him cross-legged. The boy was still skinny, but slowly starting to put weight back on, and had grown an inch or two besides. Little things that made a difference.

Cloud touched the rust coating. "It began with pain, Denzel. It always does." Zack and Aerith, finally together. Sharing happiness in the beyond. Were he and Tifa its own tribute to that? "It's not just about fighting. Otherwise, we would all be no better than Sephiroth." To his surprise, he realized he could speak that hated name without anger – even after all the man had taken away from him, down to taking away Cloud's self.

But even after all he'd been through, part of him had always stayed himself, been Cloud Strife. He'd always had that, and it had brought him to what he had and what he cherished, the family and friends close to his heart.

And here, by his side, the newest addition to that precious group. Zack, this is Denzel, he said inside his mind, hoping the thought could be heard. I'm passing your legacy on. One step further.

He wouldn't tell all the details to Denzel today; too much to lay on a young boy's shoulders. Barret had told Marlene some already, but the full details… well, when they were older, Cloud would tell them all; face his own sorrows and loss. But today was just the start, coming here with his son.

Cloud didn't have a father; but at least he had a mentor, some sort of role model he could emulate for Denzel's sake. Being the best of what Zack was, while still being himself. Zack's stories along the journey were coming back as fragmented memories, all the lessons he'd been taught. Honor and dreams.

The price of freedom.

Denzel had opened up a bit to Cloud about his own father; Cloud pondered the man whose place he was taking, a man he'd never met and now never would. He had been from a backwoods village, made his way to Shinra. Worked his way to the top. Well, he and Abel had at least some of that in common, Cloud supposed. Denzel's memories were slim, as he'd expect from a boy orphaned at seven; not to mention they were overshadowed by the traumatic events of the Sector Seven plate drop, of Metoerfall. Blazed memories that still gave Denzel nightmares.

Did he have it in him to be a father, like Tifa said? The term father was still reluctant on his tongue – it didn't seem to suit him as easily as mother fit on Tifa, sliding on as smoothly as her gloves. But it was a gift he'd received, this boy and this experience.

He thought of the new family photo he'd placed on his desk. Replacing the one where he stood away, afraid to call himself part of the family. This one, taken at the church on the day Denzel was healed, put him at the center, surrounded by his friends and loves, gave him a warm feeling every time he looked at it. Made him realize who he was.

He hadn't even realized he'd put his arm around Denzel's shoulders until Denzel squirmed closer, the man and boy silent together.

"What happens when you're done being a hero?" Denzel finally asked. "When there aren't any more monsters to fight?"

You fight the monsters within, Cloud thought. But he didn't want to drain Denzel of hope. "You become a different kind of hero," he said. "A smaller one. Maybe just to a few people." A hero closer to the heart.

Denzel pondered for a moment. "Marlene says Tifa is the only mother she can remember," he finally said. "But… I already had a mom. So do I still call Tifa mom, too?"

"Of course you can. If you want to," Cloud assured him. "I'm sure Tifa will be happy with whatever." They knew they were family, either way. He saw it in Tifa's eyes every day. She wanted this family, and so do I.

"And you love Tifa, right?" Denzel continued.

"Yes," Cloud realized, realizing how inadequate that one word sounded for everything he felt. More than you know; more than I can even explain to you yet. When you're older, I'll tell you it's not just about finding a woman you love… it's about becoming the man she wants you to be.

Tifa, you taught me that.

Being a hero was about being a man. He hadn't yet explained how Zack gave his life for him… but eventually, he would. If Tifa was the one who let him be a hero, Zack was the one who showed him the how.

A hero is about being a man.

"Cloud," Denzel asked nervously, "so does that mean you're going to be my father from now on?"

He looked softly into this boy – his son's – eyes. "I'm going to try." To teach you a different way to be a hero. If you'll let me.

His chance to be a father. To give what he never had.

Denzel nodded; only now did Cloud notice his eyes had begun tearing up. He's borne his losses on his own; Tifa and I have shared most of ours.

But not anymore. He knew all too well the torment of trying to endure by himself; Denzel won't have that. Not if I can help it. It would take time – a lifetime – but it was his to teach this boy those hard lessons learned.

Their destination still lay ahead – today, and forever. It was time to go. "Come on," he urged Denzel, gently tugging him up. Popping open the sword compartment, he slid the Buster Sword neatly in against the main blade of his own sword, appreciating the metaphor. Introducing one to the other.

"What are we going to do with that?" Denzel asked.

"I'll explain on the way…"

Cloud's hand touched the sword… and Zack could see.

It had been some time (how much time? Time was something that belonged to the other side; Zack was slowly losing the sense there was any time, as Aerith had assured him he would) since he could see Cloud, and this time it was far more clear. Aerith had been right. He was getting stronger, though he still needed that old link, the Buster Sword, to see what he could today.

Cloud and Denzel. The boy Aerith had sent to his friend. He could see them as a shimmer; he could hear their words, as if through water, but he could. And even though he knew Cloud couldn't hear him back, not without Aerith's help, he sent the thought anyway.

Cloud, you're MY hero.