Three weeks late on this one, but better late than never.

Disclaimer: dood, fanfiction. Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and the characters and universes therein are the property of Disney and Square Enix. I receive no remuneration for this work; it is a parody and as such utilizes the Fair Use clause of the Copyright Act.

It starts off with a flower placed delicately beside the mug of coffee that Tifa has sitting out for him on the kitchen table. Coffee is normal. Flowers most certainly are not. It's got a slender stem and several long, droopy white petals surrounding a cheery yellow center, and it looks rather like it belongs to the wildflower patch Tifa and Marlene had planted a few weeks ago.

At that thought, his ever-alert senses, still strong despite months of precious peace in their lives, make him aware of a familiar, childlike presence peeking into the kitchen behind him. Marlene is holding her breath as if it might disguise her sudden appearance, or at least delay Cloud's awareness of her, and a small, soft smile inclines the curious press of his lips.

He ignores the strong pull of the coffee to gingerly pluck up the flower and bring it to his nose. Marlene squirms happily behind him, the rubber soles of her shoes scuffing just slightly on the hardwood floor, and he can't help but feel a little lighter for the innocent hope that's almost tangible in the air around her. He smells the bloom again, taking his time and breathing in slow and deep to let her know he's enjoying the gift, and then he tucks the stem carefully into his breast pocket.

Marlene giggles breathily, believing her covert mission a success, and she sneaks away on her tippy-toes, leaving Cloud smiling a strange little smile into his coffee.

Cloud's next hint that something might be up is that Denzel is nowhere to be found. The boy shadows Cloud whenever he possibly can, especially on the weekends now that Cloud has elected to take more days off from deliveries to spend with his family. It's strange that he doesn't show up to help detail Fenrir, as is their new tradition on Sundays, or go with him to the market to bring back the next few days' groceries.

He asks Tifa about it as they sort the food into the fridge and pantry together. She shrugs nonchalantly and tells him Denzel has been working on something in his room all day and has asked to not be disturbed. It's a little odd, but certainly not anything to be worried about. Denzel is growing up fast—both the kids are—and Cloud understands exactly how valuable a little time alone can be.

Cloud carefully turns over the small wooden figurine in his hands. It's a little crude, shaped by hands that don't quite know what they're doing yet, but the overall shape and its meaning is undeniable. This is Denzel's reason for hiding away up in his room all day: a model of Fenrir on a tiny scale, carved with great care out of a piece of scrap wood.

Denzel stares up at him with a quietly hopeful expression, his now empty hands folded behind his back. Cloud can feel the weight of his gaze even though he hasn't yet torn his eyes away from the carving, too stunned by both the gesture and the warmth that floods through him because of it.

Judging by the effort put into the carving and the details the boy has tried to work into the pale grain of the wood, this wasn't a spur of the moment project or something he'd just started this morning. Cloud takes in the swept-back sword housings, the smoothly-sanded curves of the fenders and wheels, the stretch of the gas tank and seat and the tiny holes dug into the exhaust pipes with the tip of a knife, and he has to swallow to wet his throat before he can speak.

"...Thank you," he murmurs, a little awkward and a little shy, his fingers curling more securely around the figurine. He's earnestly touched by the gift even if he doesn't quite know how to express it, but the glow that fills the boy's bright eyes indicates that he understands well enough.

At six o'clock, the kids are both in the kitchen with aprons on like Tifa's little culinary sidekicks, and Cloud is shooed out before he can even offer to help with dinner. It's not unusual at all for them to be helping out, but they've never not wanted him there too.

The three of them herd him back out into the hallway with mysterious smiles, and Denzel shuts the door before Marlene has a chance to open her mouth and give away some little sideways hint about what they're up to. He knows it's definitely not his birthday and it's all very strange and suspicious, but he really doesn't have a reason not to play along, so he holds up his hands in surrender and retreats to the living room with a faint, easy grin.

"Okay," Cloud says finally after dinner, which, only adding to his suspicion, consisted of some of his favorite foods, including that dish his mother loved to make for him that Tifa somehow manages to make even better. He levels each member of his family with a look. "What's going on with you guys?"

Tifa crinkles her nose in a grin at him and then lifts her eyebrows encouragingly at the kids, drawing Cloud's attention to them as intended.

"It's Father's Day," Marlene informs him with a dazzling smile from across the table, emphatically like he should have known. "Happy Father's Day!"

"Happy Father's Day," Denzel echoes shyly, his voice soft and his smile less bright but no less genuine.

Cloud's skin warms immediately. Now the seemingly random delivery he'd just made for Marlene to Barret's oil field makes more sense, but he doesn't quite see how he should fit in to it all. Feeling painfully out of place in this sudden spotlight, he glances to Tifa for help, his eyes uncertain. "But...I'm not—"

She interrupts him with a tolerant shake of her head and a fingertip poking meaningfully at his chest. "You are where it counts."

She's his voice of reason, like always, and as he slowly breaks away from her open, affectionate gaze to look at the children, both of whom are smiling proudly in agreement, and then at the gifts they've given him today—the small wooden motorcycle laying next to his plate and the white wilting flower still tucked protectively into his pocket—he's more than a little overwhelmed by their consideration.

"I...don't know what to say," he admits eventually, looking between the three of them. And it's true, more so than normal, but none of them seem to mind.

Family is like that, he supposes, his expression softening as he watches them interact, the conversation moving effortlessly on to everyone's plans for the next day, the kids' summer homework, a girl who's recently begun chasing Denzel much to the preteen's chagrin. He thinks about all they've been through to get to this point, and how close they've all become as a result. There are no blood relations at all between them, no official ties to bind them together, but that's never really mattered before, and he doesn't see how it should start mattering now.

Maybe it's a little weird to realize that they do truly consider him a father figure...but it's a good kind of weird. It's a weird he can live with.