Denzel didn't want to stay in the apartment another night, but the bruising on his face had gotten worse and everytime he stood, his head swirled and dizziness overwhelmed him. His skull pounded, his nose kept bleeding periodically. Even mako couldn't alleviate the intense vertigo which kept him confined to the sofa as daylight faded once more.

He dreaded the sunset. The apartment had taken on a sinister quality, as if it knew it must expel him like an intruder. Cloud's coat was his only comfort, and he wrapped himself up in it tight.

His mind was unraveling, he knew it. He felt the unease stirring in his brain, unable to separate consciousness from dreamlike memories. It was hard to tell how long he'd been awake or asleep. Everything felt cold, and he was exhausted.

Just a few more days, he told himself, and when the swelling went down, he would leave Junon. Take an airship to Corel, maybe find Barret and Marlene.

Dread gnawed at his nerves as the sky dusked. He silently entreated Tifa to keep him safe.

The apartment grew darker and silent, an isolated pocket removed from the world, surrounded by the ocean. He was in one of the most densely populated cities on the planet, yet he'd never felt so alone, so distant from anyone or anything.

There was no single point where he remembered falling asleep, just a long period of incoherent images surfacing beneath the pain the mako barely kept at bay.

Then he startled awake. In the ambience of faint city lights through the windows, his heart jumped.

Cloud sat next to him. Very close. Nearly within arm's reach.

Denzel shot up, excruciating pain throbbed in his head. The room spun, and he tucked himself as far into the back cushion as possible. As far away as he could from this thing that had appeared.

"Hey kiddo."

Cloud looked over. He was perfectly intact, no stab wounds. His hair and skin were clean, even his complexion was no longer that sickly pallor. He seemed entirely normal, like how Denzel had remembered him years ago, before Tifa's death, before Junon or any of it. Except he wore the black flexible armor that Denzel had seen in Kalm.

"Hope I didn't scare you."

Denzel steadied himself, gripping the arm of the sofa, eyes glued to Cloud. Surely it was a dream.

"Cl-Cloud?" His voice sounded like a small child, frightened and alone.

"Yeah," Cloud responded with warmth. "Yeah, I'm here."

Denzel stole a glance at the door. Cloud's boots were next to his in the entryway. The swords were untouched on the kitchen table. Cloud seemed to be sitting here, but then again so had Tifa, and she'd been a mirage. A cruel nothingness.

Cloud peered into him. "Who did this to you?"

The tone carried the faintest suggestion of violence towards the culprit. He sounded so real.

A myriad of emotions roiled within Denzel, each demanding a different reaction. He was terrified that Cloud was here. He was relieved that Cloud was here. He felt sick. He felt joyful. He wanted to run and he wanted to collapse. Nothing won out, and his body sat paralyzed under the strain of a thousand commands.

"There was an associate," Denzel stammered out. "At the cafe."

But Cloud should've known that. He was there, wasn't he?

"Is this…? Are you real?" Denzel asked.

Cloud frowned. "You must've really hit your head." He reached for his pocket. "I can heal you."

"No!" Denzel shrieked, jolting up, but the sudden movement made his head spin and he swayed, hanging onto the couch, unable to go further.

Could he hear those blades clicking? See the green glow of a restorative materia enveloping his body before Cloud would cut him apart, as he had Yuffie?

"N-No, please, don't," he implored, keeping his voice soft.

Cloud nodded, looked away. The reason for Denzel's fright didn't need to be said.

"Then I'll take you to a hospital," Cloud replied.

But that, too, brought up terrible memories. Of confusion and bloodshed from the abandoned hospital in Junon, and guilt and shame from the hospital where Elymra had died in Edge.

Denzel shook his head, which only made the dizziness worse.

Cloud reached out to him, open arms, clean hands.

"C'mere. Sit."

It wasn't a command, but an invitation. Denzel wanted to believe that Cloud was real. He wanted to grab Cloud's hand and let him pull the boy back onto the sofa, maybe into his arms and hug him tight. Maybe Cloud truly was alive, somehow surviving that immense loss of blood, the steel through his lungs and heart.

Denzel did not move. He couldn't trust it. This version of Cloud was far too much like the one he'd always wanted in his head. It couldn't be real.

Cloud realized Denzel wasn't going to comply, so he withdrew his arms and leaned back, moving his gaze to the oceanview. Moonlight crested on the rippling sea, and the sky was grayscale.

"I know what you saw," Cloud began. "I know what you think of me."

He paused, giving Denzel an opportunity to speak. Denzel didn't dare say anything. His heart was pounding fast, silent alarms going off. He looked to the door of the apartment. It was so far away. He'd never make it there in his condition. A voice in his head, one he hadn't heard in a very long time, was telling him to run.

"I just…" Cloud struggled with his next thought. He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "I just thought I could protect you from it, but you didn't listen to me. You didn't stay in Gongaga."

Denzel was about to protest that Cloud had never told him to stay in Gongaga, had never said he shouldn't seek him out in Wutai.

But Cloud went on, "You didn't tell Yuffie about us, did you?"

The question cut sharp, the tone suggesting that the answer had better be no. The eyes watched him without blinking, searching for a response to the contrary, a betrayal. It scared him, this sudden turn.

"N-no, of course not," Denzel confirmed.

Cloud visibly relaxed. "Good. Good. She'd kill you."

But it wasn't clear if he meant it as a joke or not. Denzel was sure he'd heard the undertone: I'd kill you.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Cloud said. "If you won't let me heal you or take you to a hospital, please at least try to rest. I'll be here if you need me."

Cloud stood, and Denzel felt the sofa shift as his weight lifted. Could he actually be real? Could this not be a dream? Terror and relief dominated the vast sea of emotions now, both equally potent.

"I can tell you're on mako," Cloud added, "which I don't blame you for, seeing as how much pain you're in. But you know it won't really stop the pain."

Cloud took a step closer.

"Take off my coat."

This time it was a command. Denzel shivered. It was the only thing he had that was protecting him, his brain reasoned.

Cloud noticed the hesitation. "I'll bring you a blanket instead," he added, qualifying the demand.

Denzel still didn't move. Cloud's posture was shifting, shoulders squaring tall. He wasn't used to being denied. For a moment, Denzel thought Cloud would tear the coat off him, a dark anger flashing. Then it was gone. Cloud smiled.

"Look, I know things are tough between you and me right now," he said. "But I've only ever had your best interests at heart."

This burned Denzel, igniting fresh accusatory thoughts that burst through the danger holding him silent.

"Is that what you think?" Denzel spat, sounding more vicious than intended. "Is that what you really think? Then what happened between us in Icicle Inn? What happened to you that day?"

It was the ultimate demand. Denzel felt the power of his words pressing on Cloud. He raised his forearm, showed the scar that ran thin and deep. The injury Cloud had bestowed. How many years had Denzel waited to say this to him? How long had he wanted to know Cloud's real answer?

"Answer me!" Denzel shouted, ignoring the ringing in his head, the throbbing in his skull.

"It was a mistake…"

"That's not good enough!"

"So you won't ever forgive me."

It should have been a question, but Cloud said it as a statement. A cold truth, more to himself than anything. Denzel bit his lip.

Cloud sighed. "That was a long time ago."

Tears blinked down Denzel's cheeks. He rubbed them away, holding onto his fury. But Cloud wasn't arguing or denying, not giving him any more fuel. The anger dwindled. He didn't like seeing Cloud so despondent, even after everything they'd been through. But the momentum of courage had him.

"T-Tell me what happened to you that day!"

Because he knew that was when the monster first appeared, enveloping Cloud in its grasp.

"Do you really want to have this conversation right now?" Cloud replied flatly. "Do you really want to hear what I have to say?"

Did he? Denzel grew flustered. The room spun as he backed away. Cloud stepped closer.

"Because I think you already know the answer."

The loving tone was gone. The voice was transforming.

"I think you already know I've always been this way."

Denzel's back hit a wall. He pressed one palm against it to steady the spinning, kept the other raised in defense, pointing the scar at the advancing figure as if that could help.

"Nothing happened to me that day, Denzel."

Cloud was getting closer, but something was wrong. Dark circles grew under his eyes, his complexion was getting paler, the Mako more vibrant. There was a squishing sound.

Denzel's mouth went dry.

Bloody footprints trailed behind Cloud as he advanced.

"Isn't that what you're most afraid of?" Cloud continued, except blood was pouring from his mouth, trickling down his chin and neck. "That I've always been this monster? That I've always been your... worst... nightmare…"

The voice broke apart as blood gurgled up his throat. Cloud smiled, teeth full of red, and those terrifying blue eyes pierced Denzel to the spot. He could not move. He could not scream. Cloud was all he saw. It filled his vision, this rotting monster.

Stab wounds appeared in Cloud's chest, the two Yuffie had given him. He began laughing, a strange terrible noise, low and devious.

"Well? Aren't…you going...to… run?"

Run. Yes, run. But Denzel couldn't. He was frozen, endlessly watching his own imminent death.

Not real, he promised himself. Not real. Except blood was pooling beneath Cloud as he staggered forward. The blonde hair was splattered with red. The gloveless hands were drenched, reaching out.

"You...always do as I say… don't you?"

It was right next to him now. It would have him in seconds.

Denzel cried out in desperate prayer, sweaty palm slipping from the wall.

"T-Tifa! Tifa, please!" He couldn't think of anything else that could stop Cloud. "Tifa!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, prepared for the worst, when the sudden scent of salt water and rot filled the room. It was a water-logged putrefaction, stinging his nostrils and sending his stomach into whorls of nausea. He opened his eyes.

Tifa was there, yes, standing behind Cloud, but she was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Her skin was rotting off, blue and sunken. Pale green algae covered what remained of her body, and her hair floated in long dark tendrils, drifting in the air. Gashes had been cut across her abdomen, exposing white bone, and her throat was sliced open. The edges of her torn skin were jagged, as if flayed by tiny insects. Her eyes were gone. Her lips curled into a smile, a withered hand lifted.

Abject horror filled him. It seared away everything, the fear, the pain, the adrenaline, silencing all thoughts, all reason. Until there was nothing. Nothing left except a plummeting sensation. His brain disconnected. Shut down.

Tifa said nothing, but it was clear she was not there to protect him.

She stood with Cloud, her bloodless corpse in stages of decomposition well beyond his. The macabre pair were close, so close that Denzel could see Tifa's innards squirming with a thousand worms. He could taste the dripping gore from Cloud's bloodied body.

And he ran. Or, he tried to.

A hot current of electricity flew his body into action. He stumbled, clutching the wall, clawing his way, eyes locked on the aberrations. He wanted to get to the apartment door, to flee out into the city, screaming, but dizziness overtook him. He could not navigate any which way in the apartment. He was terrified of falling because he knew they would take him. They would drag him down to wherever they'd come from. He would die.

His hands followed the wall. His body went with them. He found a corner, an empty doorway, and flung himself through. It was his bedroom. He slammed the door, barricaded it with anything he could find in a feverish scramble. His stomach reeled. He somehow found his bed and collapsed. The room spun faster now that he was stationary.

He pressed into the corner of his bed, up against the wall, clutching handfuls of sheets in his fists. He faced the door, certain that it would open at any second. His breath was so loud and rapid it hurt his ears. The swollen skin over his eye pulsed.

But the monsters didn't show. He could hear them, scraping around outside the door, the click of blades, the slosh of water, but they did not enter or call out to him.

Denzel remained that way all night, eyes locked on the door, adrenaline spiking at the slightest noise. His mind chattered, drawing nonsense conclusions and convincing him that he would die before sunrise.

At last dawn came through the window in his bedroom, shedding orange light beneath the shade.

He hadn't slept, and the adrenaline couldn't hold him up for much longer. It was settling, as much as he begged it not to, leaving a vacuum of exhaustion in its wake. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist it, this fatigue. His muscles ached, head whirled. He could not fight the inevitable.

"Please…" He cast the small word into the universe, in a quiet defeated voice. He felt it fading, insignificant, useless.

Sleep enveloped him. Unwanted. He drifted, away from Junon and the ocean, away from Cloud and Tifa, up and up, down and down. He floated for an impossible long time, yet time was meaningless. This was death, he knew. He felt it. Perhaps he welcomed it.

Only, something woke him. A weight on his bed. A creak of the mattress. He didn't want to come back. He didn't want to see whatever it was. He'd checked out, mentally, physically. He was done.

Blearily, he opened his eyes.

A figure sat on his bed, very near, and in the failing light outside, he knew instantly who it was.

"Cloud…" He said the name in finality, acceptance. It had come to kill him.

He should've been afraid. He wanted to feel the surge of adrenaline wake his muscles and spring him far away, but there was nothing. His body was empty, devoid of any survival instinct. It had been torn out of him.

"You're here…"

It had to be near dusk, Denzel reasoned from the dim light. He could hear the ocean outside, churning as it always did. It was hard to focus his eyes, the swelling hadn't gone down.

"Yeah, I'm here," the figure replied. "It's me."

Denzel laughed, but it hurt his throat and came out a feeble rasping sound.

"...You're dead," he informed Cloud. "Dead."

The blonde leaned into his view. This Cloud was wearing dark blue, no armor or mask. His hair was clean, but his skin was still sickly pale. He did not look okay.

"I'm so sorry, Denzel." The eyes searched his with sympathy, the voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

But the words were lost as Denzel's psyche broke apart.

"So you're here…" he croaked, lips cracking with dryness. "You're here to kill me."

Instant confusion took Cloud aback.

"What? No, no, of course not," he soothed, and his hand extended just a bit. "I didn't know you were here when I first got home. I thought for sure you had gone."

But Denzel knew this game. The other Cloud had also been soothing and kind, at first.

"Please, don't," Denzel moaned, rolling away except his head still spun. It wasn't fair that he was this debilitated when the threat was so close. It all seemed to have gotten worse overnight.

Except he was ready for death. He just wanted it to be quick.

"Please just get it over with," he mumbled to Cloud. "I...I can't stand it anymore."

Cloud didn't speak for a while. He watched Denzel with care and concern. He rubbed his hands together anxiously.

"You're injured," Cloud said at length, so calm, so gentle. "Let me help."

"I know what you do to injured people," Denzel cut back, grimacing. "I don't want your help. Just end it already."

Cloud gave him a hurt look.

"I deserve that," Cloud said. "And I won't ask for your forgiveness. I won't ask for anything from you."

Something was different about this Cloud. He was… weary and sad.

"I...I should go," Cloud continued, looking away. "I'll come back to check on you in a few hours. You're welcome to stay here, with me, as long as you want. I won't be leaving for a while."

He wouldn't be leaving forever, Denzel thought grimly. This monster was trapped here just as much as Denzel was.

But something was digging around Denzel's resignation.

Cloud stood, took a slow step away. If he was going to kill Denzel, he certainly wasn't doing a good job of it.

"I'll be… I'll hear if you call for me," Cloud said, then made for the door, moving quick.

"Wait."

Denzel said it without knowing he would. It had been a gut reaction, a desperate final plea from his soul for Cloud to be real, to exist as a kind and loving person, to help him and care for him like Tifa had. A softness bubbled through his hard resolve, his emptiness. It cracked open the shell that had closed him off from the dominating surreality.

"Yes?" Cloud stopped just next to the bed.

"I…" Denzel began, then found it hard to speak. When he did, it was not much more than a whisper. "I miss you. I miss you so much."

It broke him, the admission, like a dam succumbing to an impossible overflow. The fear had scraped him clean, and now this final visit was scattering him like dust in a violent storm. He was becoming less, falling to pieces.

"I know," Cloud replied, strained.

Denzel crawled forward, reached out. The impossible was there, right in front of him. He only wanted it to be real. A dying wish, he thought reluctantly. Don't those have to be granted? Doesn't the universe need to give him something after taking everything away? A moment's respite?

"I just wish you were real…" Denzel breathed out, crying now. Stupid tears trailed down his face, stinging.

He reached for Cloud, just as he had for Tifa the other night. He knew it wasn't real. He knew his hand would pass right through, but he wanted it, more than anything. He'd give his life for Cloud to be real.

And his hand grasped warm skin.

Cloud squeezed his hand back, sending jolts through his body.

Sudden panic blazed up his muscles, cleared away the sluggish doubt, the childish longing. Intense fear levitated him off the bed. He stood, feet planted on the mattress, back up against the wall, eyes wide in fresh horror. His heart exhilarated.

"Y-Y-You!" Denzel's chest compressed with wild terror. "You're not dead!?"

Cloud was just as startled by Denzel's erratic movement, and he'd stepped back, hands open to diffuse the tension.

"Yes," Cloud said, equally in shock. "Yes, I'm right here. I've been here, talking to you."

"That's not possible. That's not true. I… I saw you die! I saw all the blood!"

Terror gripped him once more in its sinewy claws. He felt it branching hot through him, invading and taking over. Cloud couldn't be alive. He couldn't be real, because that meant…

"Here, touch me. I'm real." Cloud extended one arm.

The palm was open, the sleeve pushed up, the innumerable scars that Denzel knew existed on the real Cloud were visible. He felt his breath leave his body and he could not catch it again. He began hyperventilating.

"Denzel, here, take my hand."

Cloud leaned over and grabbed Denzel. The shock of it did something to him. The grip wasn't tight, just a light touch really, yet it pulled him like an anchor into the immense gravity of incomprehensibility. His mind shattered. He began screaming. In pain, in terror, in denial of the phantasmagoria around him.

He heard his name being called. Felt Cloud's hand steadying him in the midst of panic and spiraling discord. He kept screaming, hearing nothing but static.

Arms were around him, hugging him. That embrace he'd longed for was keeping him safe, protecting him from the collision of impossibilities threatening to tear him to pieces.

Cloud was shushing him, holding him to his chest. That peculiar scent of Mako and chemicals cut through Denzel's madness, a lifeline back into reality. He began to breathe. The static eased.

"You're freezing," Cloud remarked, resting his cheek atop Denzel's head.

At last Denzel returned. The fog was gone. His fear was replaced with joy. He could allow himself to fully revel in this version of Cloud existing. Against all odds, his meager prayer had been answered. What debt did he now owe to whatever deity had been listening?

"The power's been out since I've been back," Cloud continued. "Are you wearing nothing but a t-shirt, and is this my coat?"

Denzel pulled away in exuberance, but did not release Cloud. He clutched both of Cloud's arms tight. He didn't want to ever let go because it could vanish and have never been real.

"How?" was the first thing he wanted to know. "How are you alive? I saw you! I saw your...your corpse!"

In a frenzy, he padded Cloud's chest, searching for the stab wounds that he absolutely certainly had seen crunch through bone and artery right in front of him. There was nothing but slight indentations.

"Ouch," Cloud snapped, whisking Denzel's prying fingers away.

"How?" Denzel repeated, "How is this possible? All that blood!"

Cloud hesitated.

"You can't just not tell me," Denzel said.

Cloud regarded the request, and seemed far away for a moment. Then he chuckled to himself, and when he addressed Denzel he looked lost in thought.

"Sometimes I think she won't ever let me die."

"She?"

"It," Cloud corrected, then he said, "I don't really know how I survived. I don't have a good answer for you. I woke up somewhere else. In Wutai, but nowhere I knew. It was…"

Cloud trailed off and shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. I'm here now, right?"

Except it brought a chill across Denzel's skin. The alien cells, the ones Cloud had alluded to as being part of him from his days working for ShinRa, were immortal, he remembered hearing. They could only be destroyed by the Lifestream. And if that were true, and if Cloud really was a host of such cells, then Cloud could never be killed. Not by normal means.

Suddenly his return home wasn't so jubilant. He was real, which meant everything that had led up to his death had been real too. Yuffie… the terrible things he'd done to her.

Denzel wanted to ignore the clear logic surfacing, that Cloud was still dangerous, a killer. But he was also warm and caring. Could two people exist in one body?

Cloud sensed the shift in Denzel's attitude.

"And how did you get home?" Cloud asked. "I saw my swords on the table. You must've brought them back. Thank you."

The gratitude brought a smile to Denzel, a lightness to his heart. Maybe he didn't care that Cloud could be a killer. Wasn't Denzel a killer, too? He'd killed—

"Godo!" The aftermath of that night came swimming back. "Godo is dead," he exclaimed to Cloud.

"I know. Dax told me. I was planning to tell Yuffie."

At the mention of her name, both of them fell silent. It was a simple slip, exposing the depths of Cloud's darker half, that he would've added to Yuffie's torment by telling her that her father was dead. What else would he have done?

Denzel wasn't sure how to proceed. He elected to make his own confession.

"Godo is dead because of me," he said quietly. "I...was in Wutai because our plan in Gongaga didn't work. I wanted Godo to find the drugs in his home. I went to the palace. I dissolved it into his drink with nobody watching. I'm the reason he was poisoned."

There was a long silence. Cloud gazed at him, eyebrows raised.

"How many pills did you put in his drink?"

"All of them."

Cloud laughed. "No wonder! That wasn't pure mako. It was cut with—" then he caught himself and settled his excitement. "I told you not to take any of them for a reason."

Uh oh, Denzel thought, recalling his fantastic time at the Gold Saucer. But he wouldn't tell Cloud about that.

"There's been cases of overdose, but nothing like this," Cloud went on, talking to himself. He put his hands on Denzel's shoulders. "You did very well. You did amazing, in fact."

The praise sang through his bones, washing out the guilt.

"I'm so proud of you," Cloud said, smiling wide.

It was like a panacea, filling the hollowness with warmth.

"Y-you are?"

"Of course I am. With their leader gone, the remilitarization efforts will be stunted. They will likely pull out of Junon, maybe even discard Godo's ambitions of purging the mako industry. Don't you see? You've done great."

Denzel had done great. He was great. It resonated deep.

But the moment passed as Cloud tossed away his business demeanor and resumed attention on Denzel.

"You're hurt. Let me heal you. Please."

A brisk fear came and went, stifled by the pain still wrapped around his head, the dizziness still swallowing everything except for the steady pillar of Cloud.

"Sure," Denzel said, suppressing the echoes of terror.

Cloud released him, and Denzel sat on the bed. Everything was okay. Everything would be alright. Just an hour ago, he'd been so convinced that he would die and now the hazy hellscape had turned golden. The ghosts were gone. Cloud had made everything better.

The materia glowed a brilliant green, and a wave of particles swirled into the air, searching. The reaction Cloud coaxed from the orb was so far beyond what anyone else could achieve. Was that also because of the alien cells? Did they augment his sync with the Planet somehow? Or was it the real Mako bleeding through those eyes? Cloud was an enigma, Denzel realized. An anomaly.

The green light coated his skin, instantly alleviating all bruising, all pain. His damaged eyelid opened fully. It was incredible.

With the sensation of crippling pain gone, the mako he had taken no longer had anything to fight against. Instead of merely numbing the very worst of the pain, the drugs now had free reign of Denzel's system, and the instant high took him by surprise.

"Denzel? You okay?"

Cloud was doubled-over, swallowing his own pain, but gazing at Denzel in concern. That's right, materia sometimes made him sick, he'd once said.

"I-I'm fine" Denzel replied. "Better than fine."

"I know you're on mako, and I bet it's hitting you pretty hard right now so just relax. I'll take care of you."

The drugs made him feel weightless, queasy. Serene and ultra focused.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked Cloud.

"For taking mako?"

"For getting you killed."

Cloud didn't respond right away. His expression darkened. His jaw tensed.

"You didn't kill me…" he said, and the slight strain could not be concealed.

If it weren't for the mako, Denzel was sure the weight of all the pain he'd caused Cloud would've crushed him flat. He felt it on his shoulders and in Cloud's gaze. He could never make amends.

"I never meant—"

"It wasn't your fault." Cloud waved the conversation away. "I let my guard down. I should never have done that near her."

Denzel fell quiet. Cloud avoided the obvious. Denzel had intervened in his work with disastrous consequences. He should've been furious, but he was more interested in Denzel's welfare than allegiances.

"Can you be killed?" Denzel asked. There was no malintent behind the question, just pure curiosity.

This time Cloud did not acknowledge the inquiry. He was studying Denzel.

"Who hurt you like that? Your face was completely bruised," Cloud said. "Was it Yuffie?"

Denzel shook his head. Yuffie would never hurt him, he wanted to say, but that didn't seem like safe territory to tread. He explained the encounter with the associate in the cafe, the way the other man had sprang upon him, beating him senseless. He left out the part about the shadow presence, rising like a hungry predator.

Cloud listened and asked questions about the associate's physical appearance. It made Denzel giddy knowing that Cloud would handle his assailant, would punish the one who'd smashed his face in.

Noticing Denzel's interest, Cloud said, "Do you want to be there?"

He didn't quite catch Cloud's meaning. "Be there?"

"When I confront this associate."

There it was. The dark nature scratching just below the surface, savoring the power it held. The control. Cloud relished it. There was no need to specify what would happen to this associate. The connotation was clear.

"Do you want to be the one to show him how wrong he was?" Cloud asked darkly.

It sent a shudder through Denzel's flesh.

"I...I don't know," Denzel admitted, searching the dichotomy within himself.

Cloud backed off, looking down at his fist, flexing it a few times.

"You have time to think about it." He went to the doorway. "For now, just rest. Put on some warmer clothes. There's no telling how long the power will be out. You can keep my coat on, if you want. Lay off the mako, if you can. I know you're using mine."

Cloud had never openly admitted to being an addict. He did now, unapologetic and casual. It wasn't worth pointing out.

With the pain gone, Denzel did feel exhausted. The delicate pull of mako made him feel good, but underneath the induced tranquility, his body and mind begged for sleep.

"Don't go," Denzel said, suddenly realizing the next time he woke it could be night. "Stay with me. Please."

"I'll be right in the other room."

"Please, Cloud." A foolish fear gripped him.

Cloud remained in the doorway, leaned against the frame.

"I know you are—" Cloud trailed off, tried again. "I know what you saw was a lot. But it took a lot out of both of us. I need to recover, too."

"So I'll stay with you in your bedroom." Like a baby, Denzel thought, a fucking baby, but he didn't care. He was scared of Cloud disappearing forever.

"No, Denzel. I… I need to be alone. I nearly died. I have a lot going on right now," he tapped his temple, "up here."

And Denzel thought he saw Cloud's eyes flicker to something else in the room. An empty space.

And out there, was the unsaid final part of Cloud's sentence. Denzel wasn't sure how splintered a near death experience could make someone. He had to respect Cloud's wishes.

"O-Okay," Denzel conceded.

And Cloud vanished, shutting the door to Denzel's bedroom behind him.

His presence had been such an intense focal point that once he was gone, Denzel felt like the wind was knocked out of him. The space where Cloud had stood left a vacuum, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to chase after Cloud and hold onto him.

But Denzel couldn't go after him. He had to leave Cloud alone.

It was only then that he realized he hadn't addressed the issue of Yuffie at all. He should've been furious for what Cloud did, should've condemned it outright, but it hadn't even been top of mind. And he felt shame for that.

Yet losing Cloud the way he did, so savage and sudden, had wrung him out, left him without the ability to hate Cloud, no matter how validated that hatred could have been. He felt no anger. No disgust. He forgave Cloud. He forgave everything because his ultimate plea had been answered.

There was a pile of clothes heaped at the base of the door, and he stared at it for several seconds, puzzled. That had seemed so long ago, the frenzied rush to escape the supernatural. He wondered if Cloud would be okay out there, with those specters, with Tifa.

He tried to sleep, but couldn't despite the exhaustion. He gave up after night had fallen, and went to the door. He pressed one ear to it, listening for any signs of life. All was quiet.

He opened the door. The apartment was dark, lit barely in silver moonlight. Cloud's bedroom door was shut. He flipped the lightswitch, but the power was still out. There were open take-out containers on the counter, half-eaten. The swords were gone. The apartment felt safe again. He was welcome now that Cloud had returned.

The mako had worn off, but he did as Cloud bade and did not take another. He didn't need it.

Only now he truly had to decide what to do. His plan to take an airship to Corel was no longer necessary, but staying in Junon meant continuing with this life of bloodshed and terror.

He'd nearly gotten Cloud killed just because he'd been standing helpless and crying. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Even if Cloud was a terrible person, he didn't deserve to die, as Yuffie seemed to think. What good was Denzel if Cloud would drop his guard to such an extreme to come to his rescue?

He was a liability, just as Cloud had initially feared. He'd become that weakness, and the guilt spread heavy.

He took a bite of the cold take-out.

What if Cloud wasn't immortal? What if they were in a situation where Denzel's survival came at the cost of Cloud's? He couldn't bear to think of it. And what did that mean about staying in Junon?

He looked around at the apartment. The lily remained dead and wilted in its tiny vase. The sofa that had been his prison sat innocent.

There was something more, too. Cloud would always be the boss of a network that thrived on death and narcotics. The core person Cloud was, that Denzel knew he'd always be, needed that control. He'd never leave Junon willingly, never return to Marlene in Kalm, never stop this type of work.

If Denzel stayed here, he was staying with Cloud in every sense, following like a shadow. Even if he didn't want to punish the associate who'd bruised his face (and he did), it wouldn't be possible to escape the lifestyle Cloud brought upon them. And if Denzel didn't participate, could that make things even harder for Cloud?

A part of him wanted it, the power that came with violence, the drugs clouding his system. It was easy to want those things, but he wasn't sure if he could handle it. He'd barely survived the night. And none of that had been real. What if someone had held him hostage, as Cloud had Yuffie, and tortured him in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Junon? This way of life could lead to such an end.

He chewed, thinking. The obvious solution was to go. To leave Cloud and Junon behind, for Cloud's safety and his own.

But… Denzel didn't want to leave. Yet there had to be a reason to stay other than his selfish desires, his own fears.

He wondered what Cloud would do to Yuffie if they ever crossed paths again. She'd nearly killed him afterall, but Cloud wouldn't actually take her life. Would he? If Denzel left he'd never know.

Yes, if he left Junon now, he'd never know if Barret or Yuffie or Cid or Shera were ever targeted by Cloud's organization. He wouldn't be able to help them from the outside. There'd be no opportunity for him to change things, like he had with Yuffie in Wutai.

He grabbed this thought with fervor, quickly convincing himself that he had to stay with Cloud to be in any position to help his friends, should it ever come to that. Cloud would teach him, train him, maybe bring him into the fold if Denzel expressed interest. Maybe he could talk to Cloud before any violence started, get him to understand.

He finally removed Cloud's coat and hung it back up in the closet. That protective aura he'd felt in the cafe was here now, in this apartment. He never wanted to leave its embrace.

Yes, this would all work out. He felt like he was finally making a good decision. The right decision.

He ate another forkful of take-out, listened to the wind shake the windows and the rain pelt the glass. For the first time, his mind was clear, his heart was calm. Everything was in balance, and he was home. He'd never leave.