Author's Note: I had this idea hit me smack dab in the middle of work. I penned down one scene entirely at work in a flurry, rushing home to pen it all down. It is far darker than even I intended, especially for the Fourth of July. But I am really proud of this piece at the same time. It is my first venture into Final Fantasy VII and CloTi. I am a huge fan of the pairing by the way, but the whole C/A/T triangle has my brain running for a couple of days. Cloud put Tifa through HELL in Advent Children. She obviously loves him…and he cannot let go of a ghost. It makes for an interesting story, no?

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Final Fantasy or its subsequent characters. I just really love to play with them. Wait…*awkward.*

"Isn't the point of love to be happy? Why then do we associate it with pain?"-Miranda Davis aka Miranda Le Ginger

If only the clockworks could speak
I wouldn't be so alone
We burn every magnet and spring
And spiral into the unknown

Somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
Somebody make me feel alive
And shatter me~~ "Shatter Me" by Lindsey Stirling ft. Lzzy Hale

Crash. The glass mug Tifa had previously been holding had slipped from her lax fingers, smashing against the floor and exploding into thousands of tiny crystalline fragments. Cursing under her breath at the mistake, Tifa bent down to pick up the few pieces that were larger. She could sweep the smaller ones up after; the bar was closed now, anyway.

Her hand swiftly grasped the largest fragment, clutching it like a rare gem. However, the woman had underestimated just how sharp the glass was. Hissing in pain, Tifa drew her hand back after dropping the piece yet again and being treated to another shatter. Tifa brought her right hand up to her face, peering at the gash. The shard had cut clean through the thin fabric of her glove, slicing through pale flesh and leaving an oozing cut about two inches long. Tifa stared at the viscous liquid welling up in the gash, fascinated with the thin trails slowly seeping through the dark cloth and sliding down her arm. Droplets hit the ground with nary a sound, one bit caressing another medium-sized shard.

Blood was an interesting subject. Humans cannot live without the liquid; the sight of it can bring a person to their knees. When you think about it, blood is like a ruler. It may seem perfect at one moment and lull you into a false sense of security…and then the façade is up and the mask discarded. Tifa could see it all in the crimson lines dripping from her body. As the blood left her, Tifa fancied she saw the disease dripping out with it. If only love could actually leave her body as easily as blood.

Life would be so much simpler. No heartache…no pain. Merely existing with a purpose. Tifa smiled, mirth and warmth equally lacking in the slight movement. Love did not have a cure. It was an infliction of the worse sort, the kind you could not wear a mask to ward off, or fight in desperation. No, once you were infected you were fucked for life. Tifa unfortunately contracted the disease, and the reason was because of one man. A man who had grown with Tifa, morphing from an innocent boy with brilliant sapphire eyes and spiky hair resembling a chocobo (Tifa had once loved the chocobo more than anything) and into the tall, handsome man wielding a gigantic sword and even spikier hair. He had also shed his innocence and boyish charm and gained an affinity for misery and self-loathing. Oh yes…Tifa Lockhart had fallen hard for Cloud Strife…and it was slowly killing her.

She could hear him, hear his heavy footfalls echo loudly in her ears, grating and heavy in her very soul. He has finally come home after days of absence. Tifa lay still, holding her breath. The sounds got louder…louder. They were deafening now, seeming to resonate within her ear canal and thrum in time with her heart. The steps faltered, almost hesitating. Tifa could see Cloud now, standing in front of the door poised to enter but his own demons and fears holding him back. Muscles tense, shoulders bunching and a grimace on his handsome face. Torn between his past and future, one woman living…and one not. A choice had to be made; Tifa was scared of his answer.

Hearing a shaky exhale, one that rattled inside her chest cavity and was expelled through her own open mouth, the door slowly creaked open. Tifa did not move a muscle, lying stiff as a board. She could feel smoke sizzling on her skin as his gaze settled on her. Tifa was alight, burning hot and bright. She could almost feel his touch…until her dream was a reality. Slowly, the man set his fingers against her own warm skin. Her temperature rocketed up as Cloud ran his digits against the length of her arm, stopping just before touching her hand.

"Tifa…" The need in his voice was almost tangible, the soft syllables slipping from his mouth and hitting the air like a dark, ugly thing. It was Tifa's darkest nightmare…and her brightest dream. Her resolve shattered beneath his anvil, eyes with her very lifeblood reflected opening and drawing in electric blue. Tifa witnessed her reflection in rapidly darkening hues. Wanton…needy…desperate. Tifa was a whore, a whore for this man who ravaged her soul mercilessly as he took her body. It made Tifa sick to her stomach and yet…her very essence screamed for him.

"Tifa." Cloud, the great Hero in every legend and story, begged Tifa to let him in, to let him plunder her. The best thief in Midgar and he did not even know it. Somewhere, the gods were shaking their heads. Another child lost in a sea of torment and darkness…a victim of humanity and loss.

Tifa was a master at hand-to-hand combat, a martial artist of the highest rank and caliber. She could draw a profession from her skills and make ten times the salary she drew in from the bar. But she knew no defense, no block, against that silken voice paired with that expression of such pain and lost to the world. Tifa was the only comfort Cloud could get; maybe she was a masochist after all.

With a groan tore from her throat, Tifa spread her arms apart wide and bared herself to the molten gaze. Cloud sobbed in relief, the sound of a slave being freed from those holding over him. Finally, he was the master.

Cloud fell upon Tifa, the wolf capturing the lamb. His weight was heavy and oppressing, burning hot and seeming to draw the oxygen from Tifa's deprived lungs. She was swimming in the ocean with no lifejacket; kisses were peppered along the column of her throat. They burned like a brand.

Hands slithered down her body, grasping and kneading and rolling and sliding, sliding down. Her clothes are ripped off and thrown away, unwanted and unneeded. Cloud does not draw his head back and let his eyes wander the flawless perfection that is Tifa's body (the words of men, not Tifa), did not make her swoon with a platitude of the most romantic, cliché words a woman expected of an act such as this. He was not making love to her after all, not her.

Rough fingers pinched and pulled at her nipples, twisting until her slight moans turned into pained whimpers. He hefted her heavy breasts, full and pale. The man did not pay their due attention, merely a slight distraction in a sea of boredom. Hot pants sounded right beside Tifa's ear, his lips not even trying to muffle the small sounds Tifa could not even try to contain. She hated letting any pleasure show; it only humiliated her in the morning when everything dissipated into nothingness. Just like Cloud.

Cloud's chest was bare, the fevered skin meeting her own contracting muscles and leaving a sweaty mark joining their bodies. Small blonde hairs sparsely coated his chest and arms, a small trail leading down until being cut off by his pants. That and his boxers flew off, meeting her own plain white panties. Tifa no longer wore slightly expensive silk; he would not appreciate and they would only be a testament to how one-sided it all was when she finds them in dawn's first light.

Cloud spreads her open, strength in his actions. His member is standing tall, hard like steel. A buster sword in its own right. He positions it just outside her, readying to penetrate. With a sound ripped from his chest, animalistic like his fucking, the blonde rears back and plunges in. Tifa bows her back, a sacrifice of her own.

Mercilessly, Cloud moves back and forth in a tale Tifa's body knew when she was born twenty-four years ago. Like a boat rocking on rough seas, trying to stay above water. Cloud went deeper and deeper, leaving no area untouched. Tifa kept her eyes closed shut, not wanting to see his eyes. His eyes would always betray him, no matter what.

A coiling started low in her belly, spreading like wildfire through her veins. The plague assailed her sense, taking everything but her sense of touch. Tifa could hear nothing, see nothing. Nothing but her own future rapidly gaining distance. This is it. The finale.

The force of her orgasm is strong and violent, washing her away with the tide. Gasping and clawing, writhing and turning as Tifa tries to ground herself in reality. The fighter used to be an idealist before the ugly truth of life stole it away leaving a shell behind. Two breaths become one, slowly powering down as Tifa found her rock to stand on. Fearing what she'd see, ruby red eyes slowly open.

Cloud is lying above her, still sheathed inside. His mouth is open in an "O", blonde spikes branching out in every direction and wet from sweat. Though his body was still tense, a look of peace and relaxation had melted away the hardness of his face. He looked ten years younger. For a brief moment, Tifa feels hope blossom in her chest. Maybe tonight would be the night, maybe Cloud would wake and feel reality. The veil would be lifted and the blind could finally see. She hoped…and she lost.

"Aerith. Aerith…" Fuck. That hurt more than she cared to admit, and more than she promised she would feel when this happened. Just like every other time.

I am a fucking idiot.

A month passes and the limp from that last night of sex had faded weeks before. The cut on her hand was a faint pink, the tissue rewired. Her body fixed itself; why couldn't her heart?

Tifa told herself she was over her feelings. The next time Cloud pulled his shit, Tifa would stand her ground. She was not a toy, a play-thing to be discarded like week old trash. She was a woman, a fighter. A fucking coward in reality. Tifa wiped harder at the table, polishing the invisible speck of dirt that marred the otherwise pristine marble. Damn it, she sure needed a drink right about now.

About the time the thought of alcohol sounded really appealing, the bell on the door tinkled. Tifa twitched slightly, not moving her head. She knew who it was, could already feel his heartbeat and smell his masculine scent. The door closed with a thud behind him, nearly steeling her resolve.

Sending up a prayer to the heavens that were, Tifa slowly turned around. Cloud stood a mere few feet before her, his eyes a cloudy haze. Tifa slumped, knowing that glazed look. He was gone in his memories yet again. Did he ever truly leave?

Cloud reached out his hand towards Tifa, eyes bright and otherworldly. Slowly he stepped forward. The desperation shining in every line of his face was palpable. Tifa clenched her jaw, swallowing her feelings. They burned all the way down. Her expression twisted at the blatant yearning he emitted. His lips moved slowly, teasingly. It felt like Tifa had cotton in her ears, or maybe she was underwater.

"Aerith…"

Of course. Tifa closed her eyes, brow furrowing slightly in her distress and despair. She bit her tongue hard, a sharp copper taste burst in a colorful spectrum on her tongue. The fighter had to fight to keep her emotions in check. She swallowed again, a lump an unwilling prisoner in her throat. Her voice was strained and husky, slithering out into the air a breath later.

"No, Cloud. It's Tifa." Oh how her heart positively ached.

Cloud blinked confusedly, tilting his head left and right and holding out his hand in supplication. "…Teef?"

Tifa looked away from the beautiful blues that so haunted her every waking moment. Her heart lurched in her chest, puttering weakly on its last legs. Tifa felt trapped; claustrophobic. The martial artist could not breathe. A roaring sound fell on her vulnerable head, pounding in her ears without mercy or care.

Yeah, that's right Cloud. I am not perfect little Aerith you keep whispering about, dreaming about. Aerith had Zack; a good, funny, handsome soldier with a promising future. Zack was Aerith's soulmate. Why does she get him and you still go after her?

Confusion slowly cleared, leaving dull and listless blue. He is disappointed you do not have soft green eyes and light brown hair, bouncy and full of life. You are not her, and he does not want you.

It hurts.

You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, there is thunder in our hearts.

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?
You, it's you and me.
It's you and me won't be unhappy.~~ "Running Up That Hill by Placebo

Tifa stares at her reflection in the mirror, sees the bruises invisible to all others. But she always saw, saw the handprints that perfectly resembled Cloud. Tifa saw the bite-mark's that marred precious pale flesh. She looked like a monster, patches of her mixed with a pathetic coward. If this is what love looks like, it can go bother someone else.

Liar.

You crave the pain, crave the depravity of a love so blatantly one-sided a babe could see it.

Fuck off, you.

Tifa looked at her long, silky hair. Dark as night, a pride and joy of her father's. You have your mother's hair, stryker. You have my eyes…you are gonna be a knockout someday. You will break your father's heart. If only he knew how much her own heart was breaking…he had always like Cloud, had hoped the intelligent young boy would grow into a man worthy of his precious daughter. Cloud would have been that man, had Sephiroth not ruined everything.

Tifa sees a man, taller than Cloud and possessing a shock of black hair pointed into a disarray of spikes. His eyes were a blue just a hint darker than Cloud's, but only just. The main difference was the smile painted on his handsome face. Cloud never smiled that big, that unreserved. Zack's death had spelled the death of Cloud and marked the birth of Cloud Strife. Tifa loathed Cloud Strife, the man who killed her Cloud.

Tifa imagined taking a pair of scissors to her hair, chopping it all off until it lay in a heap upon the floor. Just like her hopes and dreams. A new look…a new life. Tifa could just pack her bags and run; run far away and never look back. Her legs itched to do just that, her arms reaching for salvation. But the kids…the bar. She couldn't…could she?

No.

Tifa held her arm back with all her strength, literally fighting against herself. She could not just up and leave, uproot her roots and become a nomad. She certainly could not live in another place, not without getting itchy and leaving. No, Tifa could not leave Midgar and the memories behind.

Maybe…maybe one day Cloud would realize the truth staring him in the face. Maybe Cloud would see that she was the one that always stood by his side, that she alone bled for him. Aerith may have been a sacrifice, but Tifa gave of herself every day for his cause. Aerith died once; Tifa died every day. Maybe the soldier would quit dreaming of a healer and start dancing with a weary war.

Maybe.

That's a lot of maybe's. Tifa decided she hated that word.

And she craved it.

I can't compete with a ghost…

But I am becoming one.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
With no problems.

If I only could
Be running up that hill
With no problems