He coasted to a stop out in the plains, wondering about the noise Fenrir was making. Cloud dismounted and grabbed the toolkit from his saddlebag before removing the body panel concealing the engine. Sighing as he discerned nothing was visibly wrong, he began checking various parts for wear and other damage. He had been riding far more than usual recently and had skimped a bit on the maintenance.
Working silently his thoughts began to drift to the chestnut haired woman he left with tears forming in her eyes. Nothing hurt him more than watching her being anything but happy. How he longed for the days from just a few weeks ago, where he would surprise her with little gifts hidden in the bar, little notes she would find while working, flowers waiting for her in random places, pick her up and carry her in to the bedroom without a moments notice.
How could he tell her though, tell her what was happening to him? Nearly a decade of harsh fighting and Shin-Ra experimentation had taken its toll on his body leaving his crystal blue eyes tired and pained. The scars on his body from their fights with Sephiroth he had concealed well from the others, but after Tifa began to explore his body during their lovemaking she found more and more, always a little worried but not understanding their true significance.
"Dammit to hell, the spark plug is shot again." Cloud leaned back groaning. This was the third one in as many months. He had been worried about the electrical system on Fenrir and now he knew something was definitely wrong, meaning he had a lot of work ahead of him and should head back soon. After piecing back together the last few components, he checked everything over once more before replacing his tools and mounting back up.
After starting the engine, he turned around and headed back towards Edge, dreading the awaiting confrontation with Tifa. She had brought him so much happiness the last few months. He knew it was cruel, distancing himself, but he had no answers for the questions she would have. No doctor in the world had answers as he had discovered over the course of the last month. His death was coming, and quickly, with no discernible cause.
Scars had been showing up on his body beginning about two months ago, scars that had no rational reason to exist. They were all faint, but their numbers were growing. All of them were painful, too, and as much as he craved his lover's touch, when anything touched them the pain became excruciatingly unbearable. He always tried his best to hide his winces and gasping when something brushed them and had managed well enough. Terrified of letting her knew just how severe it all was, he had hidden the coughing up of blood and the blood that would seep from his nose and eye sockets.
Something had to change. Whether he liked the result or not, something was going to change. Either he would die of these unexplained injuries, or he would get better and live for a while longer.
Cresting the top of the final hill before Edge, a wave of nausea came over him. Pulling over he quickly dismounted, getting a few feet from the road before his stomach relieved itself of contents. He opened his eyes to see large amounts of blood mixed with the remnants of his lunch.
"Hell, not again," he managed to squeak out before falling backwards unconscious.