Disclaimer: I don't lay claim to any of the characters. Or the places. Or anything Square Enix.

Warning: D'awww. Cloud's an absentee father.

Rain. It seemed like it was always raining these days. The Edge of Midgar was gloomy, dank, and muddy. Denzel wished, for the millionth time, that Cloud was home. A raindrop slid down the glass, absorbing others as it travelled. It picked up speed, slashing across Denzel's reflection. He touched his reflection on the cool glass.

The white bandages across his forehead reminded him of the dull ache the Stigma caused. He put a limp hand to the bandages, making the dull pain flare into something worse. Today was a "bad day", as Tifa called it. The young man distracted himself by trying to find the raindrop again. They all seemed the same; he had lost it. Dejected, he looked out the window again, expecting to see empty streets. Occasionally, he would see a grey pedestrian skittering from sheltered place to place in an attempt to stay dry. Instead, he saw a dark figure slump from a monstrous motorcycle. He fell into a grimy puddle with a great splash. A broadsword hilt jutted out of the mud.

"Tifa! TIFA!" Denzel dragged himself out of bed, his sickness forgotten for the moment. He thumped down the hall, avoiding liquor boxes. Denzel called for Tifa again. He flew down the stairs and into the bar, named Seventh Heaven.

Several of the regulars looked up blearily from their cups, before dropping themselves back into their drinks. Denzel ran past a startled Marlene, explaining as he ran, "Cloud! Cloud's home!"

He thumped into the warm, solid figure of Tifa. "Cloud's in the mud, Tifa. He's gotta be hurt." The sick boy ran around Tifa and slid bare feet into black rain boots two sizes too large. Behind him, he heard Tifa grabbing shoes, but he was out the door.

Denzel felt the raindrops pound on his shoulders, stinging and cold as he ran around the corner of the building. He stopped. Cloud was using the motorcycle as support to stand. The rain cut tracks through the mud, revealing pale skin and angry red wounds. The black fabric of his battle-gear clung to the slender warrior's body. Denzel noticed rents in the fabric, and gouges in the leather. Cloud pushed himself from the motorcycle, stumbling.

"Cloud!" Denzel ran to his side to give support. Cloud put a heavy hand on the boy's shoulders. Tired blue eyes met feverish ones, and Cloud shakily pushed Denzel from him. He forced himself to straighten up and walked slowly to the bar, boots sinking in the mud.

Denzel pushed back his hurt and started to wheel the big bike to the shelter of the alley. His stigma caught up with him, though. He started to cough. Tifa, who had just put a hand to Cloud's elbow to subtly steer him into the bar, ran to the boy instead. She lifted the twelve-year old with minimal difficulties and carried him, following Cloud's mud path upstairs. As they walked, Marlene tugged Denzel's boots off and scampered downstairs to put them away.

Cloud had closed the bathroom door, and a shower was running. Denzel wondered if he would pass out in the shower again, too stubborn to ask for help. As if hearing his thoughts, there was a loud thump.

Tifa paused, dropping her head with a sad sigh. Denzel watched her struggle with emotions she couldn't hide from the boy in her arms. She gave him a reassuring smile (liar) and turned back to knock on the think door.

"Cloud? Cloud, you ok?" She was answered by the sound of the shower. "Don't make me call Yuffie to rescue you," she joked. Denzel snickered. He heard noises, and a groan.

"I'm fine," came the soft reply. "I'll be out of your hair soon."

"Stay as long as you need, Cloud," came the equally soft reply. "I'll leave the first-aid kit out on the kitchen table."

Tifa carried Denzel to the room he shared with Marlene, and sat him down on the floor beside the bed. She lectured him as she looked for a pair of pyjamas.

"You need to grab a raincoat next time, or you'll get sicker. I know Cloud doesn't visit a lot, but there's no need to work yourself so hard."

"Cloud fell off Fenrir, Tifa," Denzel felt the need to explain. "He's hurt bad."

"He'll be ok. He's always fine. Now, go to sleep," Tifa helped Denzel lay in bed.

"Fenrir!" Denzel shot up again. "Tifa, we need to bring Cloud's motorcycle into the garage." He tried to get out of bed. Tifa put a firm hand on his chest and gently pushed the boy back down.

"I'll get Fenrir inside, ok?"

"And the bags?"

"I'll make sure everything inside is dry and safe," she turned the lights off.

"Ok…"

"Go to sleep Denzel," Tifa turned to leave.

"Will Cloud be here in the morning?" he asked in a small voice. Tifa sighed. Denzel could only see a bit of her profile from the dim hall light. It seemed sad… and strong.

"…"

"Do you think uncle Vincent will visit soon?" Tifa laughed a little, and Denzel felt better. They both knew Vincent's habits. Tifa threw her arm around her face in an imitation cowl.

"I must stay away from humanity-"

"-to atone for my sins," Denzel finished. Tifa smiled, then whispered a soft goodnight.

"Night, Denzel."

The sound of yelling woke him.

"Why would you try to do a delivery in this rain!"

A muttered response.

"We don't need money that badly!"

Another mutter, and a pause.

"So what if you brought him here. He's ours now. Not just your responsibility. You're seriously hurt!"

Denzel remembered Cloud bringing him here to live with Tifa. Cloud had found Denzel outside of his church, the one he practically lived in. He tuned back in.

"…You really think you'll just heal overnight? That Guardhound Poisoned you!"

A click on the table, and one word.

"Esuna. Ok, fine. And what about this? The book in your bag…" Tifa's voice became softer. "You're researching the Stigma. For Denzel?"

Denzel sat up at that. He looked over at Marlene, who was sleeping soundly. He figured with a dad like Barret, she was used to loud voices. He looked to the picture frame beside his bed. His dead father and mother smiled up at him. He supposed Tifa was his mom now. In an absent sort of way, Cloud was his dad.

The tingling feeling of materia being used washed over Denzel, and he heard a grunt from Cloud. Denzel had seen Esuna being used before. He imagined the poison wafting from Cloud, and felt himself wishing the materia would work on his body as well. Nothing so far had worked. Cloud had even fused materia in an effort to make a combination that would heal his body from the Geostigma.

As if to mock him, the black marks on Denzel's forehead pulsed and ached. He got up, sliding slippers onto his feet, and a blanket around his shoulders. The slippers were special to him, as Cloud had given them to him one day after seeing the sick boy wince at the cold floors after getting out of bed. Denzel ripped the bandages from his head, and looked at them with disgust. They were black. It always seemed worse when Cloud was around, although Denzel would never say it. It was also worse whenever he met another orphan with the Stigma…

He heard Tifa walk by their room and go into hers. Denzel crept out of his room and downstairs to the empty bar. He saw bare feet sticking out from a booth, and crept up to see. Cloud was passed out under a blanket, out of his battle-gear for once. Denzel guessed it needed to be cleaned of all the mud and blood, and then repaired. Cloud had a black shirt and black pants on. He stifled a giggle. Cloud always wore the same color.

Denzel watched his father sleep for a bit, clutching the ring hung around his neck. Cloud's steady breaths hitched when a wisp of poison wafted from his body. Denzel slid his slippers off and carefully put them on Cloud's feet, where they dangled a bit awkwardly.

The booth was thin, but Denzel thought he could fit. He tentatively slid under the blanket with Cloud, who, up close, had a thin sheen of perspiration on his face. A bandage was wrapped around his forehead, and a bit of white peeked through at his shirt collar. Denzel was careful not to touch Cloud, because he might brush against his wounds. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he would be able to say goodbye to Cloud before he left again.

Cloud woke up warmer than usual. Someone… was sleeping with him? He looked down to see a head of red hair snuggled to his chest. Denzel. For a heart-stopping moment he had thought it was Tifa, and that would've been…

He tried to get up, but he had overestimated his healing ability, and underestimated the grip a sleeping child had. He winced as he looked down: the boy had a death-grip on his shirt, and the bandages underneath. Cloud saw that at some point in the night, the Stigma had acted up, and Denzel's forehead was smeared with black.

Cloud looked around, but it was still too early for Tifa to be awake. He slid the shirt up over his arm, careful to not wake Denzel. The bandages he had wrapped around his forearm and bicep was black as well. He wondered if the disease somehow called people together. He saw clusters of sick children together. That may just have been because they were almost all orphans with no where to go, and the world shunned them as lepers.

The radio broadcasts told people that Mako and Mako reactors were related to the disease, but Cloud didn't believe it. The medical books were no help, though, and he thought he would leave them with Tifa. She might get something out of them that he didn't. He had never heard of the Stigma before… a year ago. It had shown up soon after Meteorfall.

"…Dad?" Cloud shoved the sleeve down, wincing as the fabric caught the bandages. He turned to Denzel, who was still asleep but muttering. Cloud wondered if he was dreaming of his real family. Denzel let go of Cloud's shirt. Cloud sighed, and went to grab fresh bandages, and a washcloth.

Cloud peeked in on Marlene. To his surprise, she was up and coloring. He could see a finished page: Tifa smiling. She was drawing wild yellow spiked hair on a second sheet. Cloud, and he was frowning. He quashed the urge to go in and speak with her. He… wasn't good enough for this family. He quietly crept downstairs with the washcloth, a bowl of warm water, antiseptic, and bandages.

Gently Cloud wiped the black fluid from the boy's forehead. He paused every time Denzel winced, wishing he could do something useful. He wrapped Denzel's forehead, then went to work on his own wounds.

He hadn't seen the Guardhounds in the rain, and they had ambushed him. It was an easy fight made hard by weather conditions, and he had a hard time pulling off the motorcycle moves he had been working on. One of the monsters had poinsoned him before he killed it... At least the Esuna had worked. He was reluctant to use materia any more than he had to, so Cloud tried to heal naturally as he could. That meant disinfecting each bite and slash, then wrapping them up. He was glad he didn't need stitches. Cloud hated doing his own stitches.

The thought of having Tifa help crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as being weak. It was weak to need help when he couldn't help them himself. The only thing he could do was provide money through his delivery service and stay out of the way as much as possible.

He felt hunger gnaw at him, so Cloud cleaned up the supplies and went into the bar kitchen. He grabbed the first can he saw and opened it roughly. He had forgotten how much energy healing took. He stood in the kitchen, eating… creamed corn… from the can with a spoon. He hadn't realized how stupid he would look until Denzel wandered in and stared.

Cloud flushed, but Denzel simply clambered onto the countertop, grabbed a can too, and opened it. He sat on the counter, swinging his slippered feet, and ate in silence. Cloud wondered what he should do. He had wanted to be out of the house before anyone was up to question him. Last night, Tifa had told him off, and he didn't want a repeat. He had his burden to carry, and he didn't want to drag her into that as well.

"Are you… ok?" Denzel asked. He patted his forehead. "Thanks, for this."

"Yeah. I'm... fine." The Geostigma makes me weak.

"You said that after you passed out in the shower." You lie too.

"I heal quickly." Jenova cells. Alien cells.

"Lucky." I wish I could be strong like you.

"Not really." It's not how I wanted to be.

"Can I call… to check up on you?"

"…yeah."

"You won't pick up. I'll leave a message though."

"I-"

"-should visit more often," said Marlene. She stood in the doorway, pictures in hand. Cloud started to feel trapped. He needed to get out of here before Tifa got up and turned her doe eyes on him.

Cloud remained silent, throwing his and Denzel's can out. He rinsed the spoons while the two watched. He went into the main bar and picked up the bag with his armour. Even mad, Tifa had cleaned everything for him while he was detoxifying. He turned to the two watching his every move with baleful eyes. He rested a hand on each thin shoulder. Without his usual leather gloves, he could feel their warmth. For a minute, he forgot his sins. Then he saw the black slowly staining Denzel's bandages. The darkness was like a punch in the gut, a reminder of everything he had failed at. He left.

Denzel watched as Cloud rolled Fenrir out of the garage and started the machine up with a roar. He heard Tifa pound on the floor to the window, and knew she would be looking out of the window with the same expression they all wore. They were all watching Cloud's back retreat into the distance.

Denzel wished he could have said it… "goodbye… Dad."

It's not Desperate Measures, but it *is* something. I LIVE! I've been busy working. Is it normal to not feel your toes after a long shift? I have a couple little things I squeezed out during exam time to post. Mostly Turk related.

I can imagine this sort of thing happening a lot.