Title: Catharsis
Characters: Cloud/Tifa (tiny cameo by Denzel and Marlene)
Rating: G
Summary: Tifa has some unresolved issues Cloud needs to address.

The day she'd realized Cloud had left Seventh Heaven with no plans to come back, Tifa didn't cry. Although something had broken inside her, she'd consciously refused to dwell on it. Tears and noise wouldn't change anything or help anyone. Shoving the confusion and disbelief back, and forcing herself to breathe normally through the tightness in her chest, she'd pretended – for the sake of Denzel and Marlene – that the absence was only temporary. They'd needed the semblance of stability and normality more than she'd needed to break down and let the pain inside her escape.

Better that they believe she was lonely than without hope. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could even believe it herself.

A few weeks later, when she and Marlene found Cloud's bedroll in Aerith's church, Tifa had again refused to let the hurt show. Accepting it with a sad sort of dignity, she'd shunted her foolish, romantic notions and unproductive, jealous questions aside. If she wasn't what he needed or wanted, recriminations wouldn't change that; nor would they let her say the things it seemed Cloud needed to hear. At least not calmly enough to make sense or be effective.

If she had to stifle her unhappiness to get him moving, it was a small price to pay.

That attitude – the willingness to ignore her wounded feelings and swallow her pride in order to get things done – had kept her going until the crisis was finally over. But a few days later, when the world had calmed and their friends had dispersed again, the routine of their lives resuming, she'd found that the unresolved emotional maelstrom whirling inside her needed an outlet. With the security and stability of their family dynamic reestablished, Denzel and Marlene no longer needed her to be their rock. Cloud seemed to have overcome his issues, or at least learned to shoulder them more easily, and was moving forward under his own steam. In the absence of their emotional burdens, her own had risen, clamoring, to the surface. The doubts and injuries and regrets she'd ignored before demanded expression and acknowledgment.

It was during dinner that the knot first began to loosen, writhing free of her control. Marlene had innocently asked Cloud where he'd showered while staying at Aerith's church. It was a fair question: he always took a shower in the evening after being on the road all day.

Tifa never heard his answer, was only peripherally aware that whatever he said had both kids laughing. She was too busy dealing with the sudden remembrance of the fact that Cloud had left her. Not that she'd forgotten – not really – she'd just... let it slip her mind so she wouldn't have to address it. Now it was as real and fresh as if it had just happened, as painful as when she first saw his makeshift pallet. He had chosen to sleep on the floor in Aerith's church, forgoing such simple amenities as mattresses and hot water, rather than stay at Seventh Heaven. What did that say about her? About them?

"Tifa?"

Brown eyes blinked at the sound of his voice, refocused on patiently attentive blue.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He smiled, gesturing with his fork at Denzel and Marlene. "They don't believe you've ever had to take a bath in a rain barrel," he said.

Oh. They were still discussing bathroom facilities or the lack thereof, and Cloud was sharing tales of their trip across the planet. Wrinkling her nose at Marlene, she nodded. "It's true, I did. There was moss or algae or something on the bottom, and it made my feet slip."

"Ewww!" Marlene's expression matched her exclamation, while Denzel's was vaguely impressed. The two continued to ask questions throughout the rest of the meal, revealing a wealth of childish curiosity they'd obviously held in check while the bar was filled with guests. Listening to their piping voices and Cloud's answers provided an amusing distraction from her new awareness of unhealed wounds.

Unwittingly, she'd picked at them too soon, and they were bleeding again. Or maybe they'd always needed to be lanced before her heart could properly repair itself. Either way, her emotions were running high, her thoughts churning, the dam she'd built ready to burst.

The new look in Cloud's eyes when they said good night didn't help her wildly varying disposition either. Uncertain what it meant, whether it was good or bad, Tifa had smiled and quickly excused herself to take a shower. His gaze followed her as she jogged up the stairs, and she couldn't escape the feeling that now she was the one running away. That impression only increased when she exited the bathroom to find his light out and his door closed. Although he'd usually slept with the door closed before he left, this was the first time he'd done it since he returned. Did it mean something? Had he wanted to talk? Or was it the other way around, and leaving it open had been some sort of sign?

The next thought struck with unwanted abruptness: Was he even in there?

Soft but rapid footfalls carried her down the short flight of steps, her fingertips brushing the doorknob before she stopped herself. It wasn't right for her to doubt him after he'd promised to stay. If she opened the door, of course he'd be there, and the fact that she hadn't trusted him would confuse things further.

More than anything, Tifa was tired of being confused. Of trying to make sense of his mixed signals. Was it even fair to call them mixed, if half of them had been sent while he was sick and running? Or had things been reset – the buffer cleared – when he was cured? She didn't know, and thinking about it just made her throat tight with unshed tears. What were they to one another? What did he want them to be?

Slightly trembling fingers curled into a fist, and she turned away from his door to pad into the bar. There she found the reassurance she needed in the presence of the fusion sword propped in a corner, his spaulder and sword harness dangling from the back of a barstool. It should have eased her, but this, too, was unlike Cloud: although never particularly neat, he did tend to confine his scattered belongings to his room.

Unbidden, the first tear slid down her cheek, and she angrily swiped it away. Don't cry, she told herself sternly. There's no reason to cry. What would she be crying for, anyway? Because he'd taken to leaving things where she could find them and know he was still there, at home, where her heart said he belonged? "Don't be stupid," she muttered to herself, even as her eyes continued to burn, and a second tear painted a trail on the opposite cheek.

Dropping down to sit on the bench that ran the length of the room, she closed her eyes and took long, deep breaths in an effort to push back the welling emotions. This time, though, they refused to go. Maybe because her turmoil didn't stem from any single, particular thing. Not his leaving, not his seeking solace in the place where Aerith's presence was strongest, and not his mixed signals. Certainly not the sight of his sword or armor and not his changed habits. It was about all of it, all at once, and the physical and emotional need to give vent to everything she'd kept bottled up over the last few months. Despite her resistance, the ache grew until it was unbearable, and her next breath escaped as a sob.

Cloud opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Lighter than Denzel's, but slightly heavier than Marlene's: Tifa's. They hesitated outside his door, and only then did it register that he hadn't reopened it after changing his clothes. Denzel and Marlene practically vibrated with anxiety whenever he was out of their sight, and even Tifa hadn't completely gotten over the urge to check that he hadn't disappeared; so he'd been sleeping with the door open, allowing curious eyes of all ages to verify he was still there when they awoke in the night. Although he was a fairly private person, he found he didn't mind the change in his routine. There was something soothing about being able to clearly identify where Tifa and the children were, and what they were doing, anytime they stirred. He was making an effort to give the kids other small signs that he was there as well. His boots were on the landing, right next to their sneakers. His sword had spent the last few nights downstairs, blatant and obvious where it leaned against the wall. Armor and sword harness were casually slung over a chair.

He wasn't sure, but he thought it was helping. At the very least, Tifa had yet to complain.

After the span of a few heartbeats, just long enough to have him swinging his legs to the floor and sitting up, Tifa's quiet movements continued on down to the bar. Getting a drink, he decided, pacing over to open the door before going back to bed. Stretching out and pillowing his head on his folded arms, he settled himself for sleep, half-listening for her return.

It never came.

Two minutes stretched to five, and finally ten. What is she doing? Frowning, he stood and moved onto the landing, noting that the lights were all still out, and the television silent. In the quiet he paused to listen to the soft sounds of the children's breathing, and for any movement from the bar. Even straining to hear, he still almost missed the faint sound of an odd, gasping sort of breathing. Eyes wide, he hurried down the stairs. Was Tifa... crying?

Tifa didn't cry. Not over little things, ever, and very rarely over big ones. Yet mako enhanced vision easily spotted her in the darkened common room: knees drawn up to her chest, tears on her cheeks and her breathing soft but ragged.

Why?

It was actually somewhat frightening, and definitely disturbing, to see. Bare feet carried him swiftly but quietly across the floor, where he crouched in front of her, hands splayed on the leather cushion to either side. He leaned forward and her head came up, their bangs brushing against each other. Her breath sighing across his cheek, she spoke: "You've got to stop."

This close, the wet spots on her pajamas were visible and numerous, and he internally flinched at this verbal cue that they were his fault. "Stop what?" the question was soft and genuinely puzzled.

"Confusing me." Tifa sniffed after she said it, rubbing moisture away with the back of her hand.

Cloud tipped his head to the side slightly, resisting the urge to move closer and enfold her in a hug. He didn't – at the moment – think it would be welcome. "Am I?" She nodded, just slightly, slow tears still traveling down her face, making his thumbs itch to wipe them away. "I don't mean to."

"You left." The whisper was both accusation and explanation in one, conveyed in a shaky but utterly factual tone.

His fingers curled slightly, a regretful, aborted action. He'd explained – somewhat – to Marlene, but Tifa hadn't asked, and he hadn't offered. That had apparently been a mistake. "I came back," he answered, and when she didn't respond, he tried again. "Tifa... I didn't want to leave."

A shake of her head, the motion still small but more forceful than her earlier nod. "You said you wanted to be here, with me. Then you left." He drew breath to explain – belatedly – but she wasn't finished. "You left me and went to her."

He blinked. "Who?"

A huff of exasperation as she reached out and poked him in the shoulder. "Her, Cloud." The emphasis and the tone were clarification enough. There was pain and love and regret in Tifa's voice, along with a familiar but forgotten touch of jealousy. The last time he'd heard it, that jealousy had been tinged with playful teasing; this time it was faintly bitter.

"Aerith?" he asked, and knew he sounded incredulous.

Frowning, she wiped her face again. "Who else?" With a sigh, she let her head fall back against the cushion behind her. "You didn't even say goodbye."

Her voice was small and sad and it hurt him to hear it. "Aerith is dead, Tifa," he murmured, feeling foolish for stating the obvious, yet still feeling it needed to be pointed out given the conversation. The last of the Cetra was dead, if not really gone, and – from what he'd seen -- completely happy.

"I know that Cloud," and he wondered at the particular emphasis she put on the pronoun. "If anything, that just makes it worse." Her brown eyes opened to stare at the ceiling. "I loved her, too. We all did. I just... didn't expect your feelings to still be unresolved. I thought..." she drew a shuddering breath, and swallowed. "Well, it doesn't really matter."

"Tifa..." one lightly calloused hand came up to push her hair back, and she stiffened.

"Don't!" Cloud drew back at the vehemence in her tone, and her fingers twisted, fisting in his shirt. "I'm serious, Cloud," she told him, and she sounded world-weary and worn out. "You can't keep confusing me. If you still miss her, if you still love her, I understand. It hurts, but I understand. But you can't have it both ways. You have to choose." Her crying was still quiet, but the tears were coming faster, and she let go of him to swipe both hands across her cheeks. Brown eyes met blue for just a moment, and her mouth twisted into a gentle but wry smile. "You can't spend your time missing her and then come home and hug me. You can't imply that you want me if you don't. You can't... you can't kiss me if you wish you were kissing her."

What?! For a moment he could only stare, a dozen different questions coming to mind. Then comprehension kicked in, and a large part of him wanted to be angry. He was not fickle. As far as his feelings were concerned, he was more constant than... than something very constant that he was too shocked to think of at the moment. The speed of light. The rising of the sun. He was not substituting. He knew who he wanted, the same way he'd known when he was fourteen. One look at her distraught face, though, and the anger fizzled and died. Somehow, some way, they'd gotten their signals crossed. Maybe even as long ago as when Aerith teased him about going on a date. Whenever or wherever the mix-up had occurred, it obviously had colored her perceptions of everything that had happened since: his leaving, his guilt, his admittedly rare displays of affection.

Even the night under the Highwind...?

No wonder Tifa complained that he was confusing her. Thinking about it was confusing him, and he knew how he felt.

Slowly he brought his hands up to cup her face between his palms, his forehead to rest against hers. "Tifa," he began, speaking slowly and deliberately, "I am not in love with Aerith. I have never been in love with Aerith. As far as I know, Aerith was never in love with me." Her expression was disbelieving, her breath still hitching in tiny, shuddering sobs. Cloud shook his head, pressing closer as his arms went around her, fingers threading through her hair. "There are a whole handful of reasons I ended up at the church, but none of them are the one you think. The only woman I've ever – ever – been in love with, is you." Her face twisted and she turned to bury it in the hollow of his shoulder, body shaking. "When I hold you, it's because I want to hold you. When I kiss you, it's because I need to kiss you." He nuzzled her ear, letting his tone turn soft. "I don't know how things managed to become so muddled," he added, "but I promise it's the truth." Sighing, he tightened his hold. "Please don't cry anymore, Tifa," he begged. "Please."

"I need to," she sobbed into his shoulder, "I'll feel better if I let it out." Each word was broken and more gasped than said, hard to understand and painful to hear. "Too much bottled up."

So for the next little while he held and rocked her and murmured wordlessly. Despite all the things he'd seen and done, sitting there as she soaked his shirt, her arms clenched almost desperately around his neck, was among the more nerve-wracking experiences of his life. Fifteen minutes of anxiety and sympathetic pain, wishing he knew some way to help. When she calmed, he was the one sitting on the bench, and she was cuddled in his lap. If it weren't for the fact of how they got there, it would've been heavenly.

"Better?" he asked, resting his cheek against the top of her head when a long sigh seemed to signal the end of the storm. Although he tried to keep his tone even, his anxiety and hopefulness still rang clear.

Tifa gave a watery chuckle. "No," she answered, leaning into him. "But now I just feel stupid and embarrassed rather than sad and confused and irrational."

Cloud smiled a bit as well, wiping the last of her tears away with his thumb, the way he'd wanted to earlier. "You've been through a lot," he offered gently, "and it's just me. There's no reason to be embarrassed."

"Easy for you to say," she countered. "You're not the one who's been wallowing in ridiculous worries and has a splotchy face." Drawing her bare legs up, she tucked them under the circle of his arm, letting the chilled flesh soak up some of his warmth. Beneath her ear, the beat of his heart was strong and steady and soothing. Lulling.

"No," he agreed, "I'm just the man who's so bad at relationships that you weren't sure I wanted one."

That, she felt, deserved a poke, but she was far too comfortable to move. "I'm sure now," she whispered instead.

"Good." And maybe, after the speech he'd made, he deserved to sound a bit smugly satisfied. The room was silent for a few minutes, and Tifa, exhausted from her crying jag, was starting to feel drowsy when next he spoke: "I did say goodbye." Her answering sound was wordless and sleepily questioning. "When I left. I did say goodbye."

Tilting her head back to rest against his arm, she eyed his profile, brows drawn down in consternation. He looked... nervous, although it was too dark for her to really tell. His feet shifted in an aborted attempt to fidget under her scrutiny.

"You were asleep," he explained, and then paused, and when he spoke again his voice was even more shyly reluctant than before. "Or, rather, I cast sleepel on you so I could talk to you without waking you up." He angled his head to focus on her face, and she could see the faint glow of his eyes. "You were dreaming, and pulled me down onto the bed with you..."

Abruptly she was awake, one hand lashing out to smack him on the arm. "Cloud!" Her face was flushed, and he expected an angry lecture on taking advantage.

What he got was far more surprising.

"Don't you ever do that again without waking me up!"

He blinked, and she returned the gesture. Then she was smiling, reaching up to trail her fingers along his jaw. "I mean... you shouldn't have done it. But. I remember that dream." And it had been fantastic. Knowing that it had really been Cloud – that it really had happened – just made it better. Of course, she'd suspected it... but being certain was subtly different. "I'd rather remember the reality," she scolded lightly, "and not wake up the next morning wondering what had happened."

Tucking his chin, he offered an apology, his expression sheepish but optimistic. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be," she answered, and then ruined the lofty tone by sighing and snuggling against him again. "You know... you only ever kiss me when we're in the middle of some sort of crisis."

That surprised a chuckle out of him. "Is that what you think?"

"Yes." One word, simple and truthful. It had been part of the problem, really, with believing he was really interested in her. "The night before the final battle with Sephiroth? You kissed me. The night you left because of geostigma? You kissed me. Bahamut destroying Edge? You kissed me. You never just... kiss me to kiss me." Her tone had taken on a wistful note by the time she finished.

"Hmmmmm." The wordless sound was low and thoughtful.

"What does that mean?" she demanded.

"It means I didn't realize there were different reasons for kissing someone." His voice was amused, and somehow conveyed a verbal shrug as his lips brushed her temple.

"Oh." Really, what else could she say?

"Don't worry, though," he teased, light and playful as he rose to his feet, holding her securely against him, "I won't forget."

"Cloud?"

He chose not to reply until he'd carried her back to her room and deposited her carefully on the bed.

"I don't want there to be anymore misconceptions," he told her, blue eyes intent, words earnest and firm. "I want..." his grin and expression turned boyish, "I want to start over, and do things the way we should've from the beginning." The way they would have in Nibelheim. With no doubts and no questions: just them.

Tifa cocked her head, a smile tugging at her lips. The suggestion was tempting: neither of them had ever really had the chance to date or be teenagers. But... "I don't want to wait six months to let you kiss me good night, Cloud," she said. It had been an old joke back in their home town, a complaint about how adults always wanted things to move more slowly.

His grin widened. "It won't take that long," he assured her, reaching out to stroke his thumb over her bottom lip, "I can be very convincing." His gaze flickered from her mouth to her eyes and held, voice going deep and smoky with promise. "I'm going to make absolutely certain you know, the next time I kiss you breathless, that I'm doing it for all the right reasons."

Two weeks later when he slowly backed her against her bedroom door, lips moving soft and languorous over her own as her knees melted and her fingers tangled in his hair, she hadn't a doubt in her mind.