Author's Note: Disclaimer found below.

(Two)

He fell asleep again soon after, apparently exhausted. She lay tense and still, afraid to make a sound, tangled in the blankets on the pallet with his arms still around her.

Tifa stared at the reflected light tracing its courses across the ceiling. There had been a time, brief and nearly two years ago, when Cloud had held her like this, and she'd thought that all was finally well with the world. She missed him so much, Cloud as he'd been then, powerful and warm and there...

She couldn't hate Cloud, even if she sometimes thought that it might be better if she did. Better still if he'd hate her. But he didn't. He simply didn't care enough to stay with her. When he did come back, it was to see Marlene and Denzel. He barely spoke to her at all any more.

It was all her own fault. It was her fault that Cloud nearly hadn't found himself again. If she'd just told him as soon as she'd known that something was wrong, that his version of his past didn't match up with what she remembered...

Loz moved in his sleep, pulling one arm away to curl it beneath his head, the other arm still draped over her. Tifa turned her head and looked at his face.

She couldn't hate him, either. She wanted to hate him; she should hate him. But she couldn't. Not when she felt that she'd somehow brought this on herself...

It wasn't that he was undeserving; he was unmistakably a monster in near every sense of the word. But the clumsy comfort that he tried to give, even as he violated her - it was sincere. She was certain that he was her elder, but he behaved like a confused teenager, too distracted to accept his actions as evil.

It hurt that after so long alone, being held again felt good, even in these circumstances.

She wondered if she'd fought him as hard as she could have.

She hated herself.

Perhaps it was simply her fate. It wasn't only Cloud that she'd wronged. When Avalanche had been fighting, before Sephiroth had reappeared, they hadn't been as precise as they pretended. People had died. More people than would have, if they'd been more careful - or if they'd found another way entirely, rather than resorting to destruction. And then when the planet had lashed out against Meteor, the Lifestream rising like floodwaters, she'd been happy...

Perhaps this was her penance, then, finally - to be thrown to the wolves, the creatures that had menaced the planet, to be punished for her hubris.

If that was even what Loz was. She glanced over his arms again. She'd thought that all of the Sephiroth clones had been tattooed with identification numbers - but his arms were bare and unmarked.

She realized that she was shaking, but she couldn't stop. The air felt cold enough to sear her lungs, the blankets uncomfortably damp, his skin too hot to bear so closely any longer.

She frantically kicked the blankets away, pulling herself from the pallet, free of his touch. For few minutes, she crouched on her knees, hugging herself and trying not to be sick. He stirred in his sleep, turned onto his back, but didn't seem to wake.

At last the cold became too much for her, and her body calmed. She slowly let go of her arms, opening her eyes and feeling about the floor. She finally found her discarded undergarments, at least, and pulled them on again.

She still couldn't find her clothes. She could find his, and she considered stealing them, but the fit on her would've been bad enough to just slow her down.

Assuming she could even get away this time.

She walked to the door - less cautious than when she'd tried before - and peered out through one of the cracks that the dim light of the setting moon still seeped through.

There was no point in even trying. There was a black-clad man standing at one of the windows across from the door, chin propped in his hand, eyes open, long hair shining silver-white. He stared out at the night forest; if he heard her, he gave no sign.

She moved away, toward the room's single small window. The moon was out of sight this way, but the sky was bright with stars.

She remembered a long-ago night in Nibelheim, sitting on the water tower with Cloud, under the starry sky.

He'd promised to come for her... But he'd already done that, many times over. She felt that she'd worn her paladin down to nothing.

Tifa closed her eyes and turned her back to the window, slowly sliding to her knees. She raised her arms to hide her face, sitting and drawing her knees up to her chest, trying to stifle her sobs.

Loz gave a start, sitting up quickly, casting about the room until his gaze found her.

She couldn't stop crying, and she didn't care. She couldn't bring herself to do more than glance at him when he came to sit next to her. She couldn't even cringe when he slid one arm around her waist, the other over her shoulders, and drew her in to rest against him. With her head against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat, unreasonably steady and strong.

She gave another choking sob, grinding the heel of her hand into her brow. No, no, how could he do this? How could he look at her like he couldn't figure out why she was crying? How could he act as though he were sympathetic?

How long had it been since Cloud had looked at her like that? How long had it been since she'd let him see her cry?

The door creaked. The one outside had heard. "Loz?"

"Hmm." His response was soft, but the vibration transferred to her like warmth. How could he be warm? He should be cold and cruel and nothing like this...

"You're losing sleep..." There was a hint of uncertainty to the otherwise cool voice.

He'd been resting his cheek against her hair; now Loz raised his head, actually giving a soft laugh. "Yazoo." The amusement left his voice, replaced by concern. "How is Kadaj?"

"Drained. Sleeping. Are you sure -"

"Not now," Loz rumbled, laying his head against hers again. "Tomorrow."

Yazoo lingered a moment more, but finally the sound of the door signaled his exit.

Loz waited until her breath no longer caught so badly before shifting, pulling her to her feet, his arms still around her. "The bed is warmer," he suggested, guiding her.

She let him lay her down, curling on her side with her back to him as he adjusted the blankets. It was warmer, at least.

He pulled himself up against her back, putting his arm around her again, making himself comfortable. It had been so long since she'd been held so closely...

He moved still closer, burying his face in her hair, his breath hot on her neck. His body curved against her; the arm around her was steel. She wouldn't be getting up again.

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