Disclaimer: I do not own ANY part of Final Fantasy VII in any way, shape, or form. I own nothing!

A/N: This is the somewhat sequel/continuation/follow up to Broken Hearts and Maladies. However, it is NOT required that you read that story before tackling this one. It is merely recommended since it follows the same rules, regulations, and format, only this story is told from Cloud's point of view instead of Tifa's. It will take place between Final Fantasy VII and Advent Children and ultimately, after Advent Children through Dirge of Cerberus.

This will essentially be a collection of chronological one-shots and/or drabbles where I interpret, enforce, imply, and promote Cloti in a canon setting. I'm not entirely sure where this will go or for how long but I'll add content as it occurs to me! Enjoy!

Harmonies for the Haunted:

Part I

Show me a hero, I'll write you a tragedy.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

The day Cloud Strife realized he had Geostigma, all he could utter was: "Damn."

He should've known. He shouldn't have been surprised. If there were any kind of justice in the universe or on the Planet, he would get Geostigma. It was only fair. If true justice existed, he would've been patient zero. All the same, getting Geostigma only reiterated that fact that he did indeed deserve it.

It had materialized on his arm, on his bicep near his shoulder. It was small now, but it would spread.

It started as sharp pain. He thought he had pulled something or one of the monsters he encountered while on a delivery did something to him. He blew it off, but now that it was here before his very eyes, he couldn't deny it.

All he did was reach for a towel after a shower. The action was far from strenuous but pain had shot through him, cutting through him like a hot knife, his hand instinctively went to the source. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in black gook, and he knew.

He had Geostigma.

It was misery, and he felt even worse for Denzel than he already did. What Denzel had described didn't even begin to cover what having Geostigma was actually like. It was much worse than anyone had described or could put into words, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone…except for himself.

Cloud had to be careful. He and the Planet were the only ones who knew he had Geostigma, and he had every intention of keeping it that way. However, living with three other people made this challenging.

Tifa wasn't stupid, far from it. She was arguably one of the smartest people he knew, which meant she could easily catch on at some point. Because of this, he treated himself while on jobs and tried to stay away more.

He didn't want them to know.

Stripping his bed, Cloud hauled his dirty sheets down to the laundry room, but damn it all if Tifa wasn't there…

Laundry basket in hand, she peered over her shoulder and smiled at him. "Morning, Cloud. Need me to do some laundry for you? I'm already working on a load, so I can go ahead and do yours too."

"No. That's okay. I'll do it myself." Cloud could already sense a fight erupting from this. Tifa didn't like having her help turned away, and their relationship lately was nothing if not strained.

Tifa's eyes fell, and she began tossing more of her and the kids' clothes into the washer. "I don't mind. Just leave them here and I'll—"

"Really. I can do it."

She sighed and began folding the clean clothes she hauled out of the dryer. "I don't get what the big deal is. I've done your laundry before."

"You've got a lot going on. I don't want to—"

A bit harder than necessary, Tifa threw the rest of her clothes into the washer. "Fine, Cloud. You win. You can do your own laundry."

She finished her current task, tucked the now empty basket under her arm, and stormed out.

He'd succeeded in making her angry.

Cloud sighed, carelessly threw his bedding to the floor, and leaned against the nearest wall, banging his head against it in frustration.

It seemed like all he did anymore was disappoint her or piss her off. She drifted further and further away, and he had no one but himself to blame for that. Hell, sometimes he even thought that was what he wanted, but the ache he felt in his chest now suggested otherwise.

It hurt, doing this to her. It hurt because he knew it hurt her, and hurting her was something he never did intentionally. It was something that seemed to occur constantly regardless of intention.

This particular incident, however, seemed worse than it was. It seemed like he wanted to do his own laundry to spite her, but that wasn't it at all. He just didn't want her to see the dark stains on his sheets. She'd know what the black stains spurred from. She cleaned Denzel enough to know that the black ooze came from the sores Geostigma created. If she saw it, she'd know he had Geostigma, and he didn't want to worry her. She had enough to deal with, and he didn't want her to know, not yet if ever.

Everyone thought he was making some kind of fashion statement by wearing only one sleeve. They were wrong. He had one sleeve because he had Geostigma on one arm. He used it to hide, to deceive. It was wrong, but he would just add it to the seemingly endless list of all the things he'd done wrong.

Today was going to be a rough day. He could feel it in is diseased bones.

He had a fever. He was sore. He'd double wrapped his stigma to be safe. He couldn't be leaking while on the job and judging by how he felt, he would be oozing a lot.

There was cluttering and shuffling around in the empty bar, which meant Tifa was awake.

Rounding the corner, he saw his assumptions were correct. She was pulling bottles and glasses down from the shelves, doing some kind of inventory. She was either sorting out the old from the new or something to that effect.

Tifa was standing on a stool trying to reach the highest shelf and failing miserably. Her fingertips would brush the dark green bottle she wanted, but no mater how high on her toes she got, she couldn't wrap her fingers around it.

Cloud could hear her cursing under her breath and grumbling to herself. She was a few good shifts on that stool from falling.

Subconsciously, Cloud crossed the bar and placed his hands on her waist to steady her.

Tifa let out a yelp and her muscles tensed uncomfortably beneath his touch.

"Careful," he chided halfheartedly as he secured his hands around her waist despite her body's objections.

She glanced over her shoulder at him momentarily. She looked surprised either to see him or to see him helping her. He wasn't sure which. Maybe both?

"I got it," she objected and proceeded to try to grab the illusive bottle of alcohol herself.

Tifa was all about teamwork and working together, but apparently, she was still too mad at him over the laundry incident.

Or worse…

Maybe she was just used to doing things on her own now. Maybe she didn't want his help because she felt she didn't need or want it anymore.

Given his absence, it made sense. He was staying away more than he cared to admit.

Resolving to attempt to make this better, he held fast and helped her. He even lifted her a bit so she could reach.

Tifa stopped resisting, and her muscles relaxed against his hands. She was no longer ridged against his touch; she welcomed it instead. However, he couldn't bask in the victory. Lifting her - although she didn't weigh much - sent a shot of pain through his arm, his bad arm.

Cloud winced and his hand shot to his Geostigma. Everything blurred and lost focus. His hearing muddled. He couldn't feel anything but the sharp, seething pain.

"Cloud?" Tifa's voice rang clear, shoving the haze away as it always did.

For a moment, he felt like he was back in Sector 7 at the train station, lost, mumbling to himself, confused out of his mind…until he saw her, heard her, felt her.

Blinking a few times, he could focus again but not on much. He honed in on the sound of her voice, on her face, her soft features. Tifa was close. He could tether himself to her, and everything else would come back into focus. It would all fall back into place if he could grasp her. He knew that for a fact. After all, he'd done something similar another lifetime ago. No wonder it was instinctive now.

"Cloud, are you all right?"

Her hands were on him. He could feel them. He felt something other than the pain, and he panicked shortly after. She'd reach for his head, and if she did that, she'd feel his scorching fever. If she felt his fever…

"I'm fine." Cloud tried his damnedest not to slur.

"Did you hurt your arm?"

"Yeah. A monster got a hold of me the other day. No big deal. It's just taking a while to heal up," he lied, and he knew he lied, but what choice did he have?

"It might be infected. Here, let me see." Tifa reached out for him, and he flinched away as if she were coming at him with a scalding, hot poker.

"It's fine."

She held her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright. I won't look, Mr. Touchy. Just promise me you'll treat it and make sure it isn't infected. We can't have you getting sick too."

"I promise." His promise was empty. It was too late. He was already sick.

Tifa smiled, pacified as she vanished further into the bar.

'You know you should just tell her the truth. Tifa is a lot of things but stupid isn't one of them.'

Cloud grimaced at the familiar voice and turned to see Zack sitting at the bar passively as if he were a normal, living, breathing patron waiting on a drink.

'She'll understand, and she will be a lot less angry if you tell her yourself. She'll find out anyway.'

"I can't…" he whispered.

'Why not?'

"She has enough to worry about without me telling her I've gotten Geostigma. I can't bring myself to throw that at her too. If I can take a little of her worry away, if I can give her one less thing to worry about, I will."

'Suit yourself.' The apparition shrugged. 'But if I were you, I'd tell her.'

Cloud closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Zack was gone as if he'd never been there at all, and Tifa was back, asking him about his routes for the day.

The fever was getting worse. He'd officially begun hallucinating.

Cloud Strife lived in what could only be described as a perpetual fog and haze. He'd zone out, come to, and not know what he was doing or how he got there. He had conversations he didn't remember and pieces of his memory (more than normal) were gone. It was like he'd skipped forward or lagged behind and missed things. Then, suddenly, they would be there and he wouldn't know how.

Autopilot. He worked on autopilot. Maybe he should ask Cid about the dangers of autopilot or if he had any suggestions for how to stop running on autopilot. Maybe Cid could help.

Damn. He was delirious again, musing about Cid and airships… No ghosts yet though…

"What then?" Denzel asked, looking up at him expectantly.

Cloud's brow furrowed with confusion.

Had he been telling a story or something? He couldn't remember. He'd zoned out at some point, and now that he was back, he wasn't sure what'd he'd done while he was gone. Apparently, he'd begun spinning some manly yarn…

Why in the hell would I do that?

His maps were everywhere, and Marlene and Denzel were at the table in the center of the bar with him. They were acting as his assistants, which suggested he'd started mapping out his routes for the next day.

It wouldn't do him any good now, given he didn't recall making these routes.

Great. Now I'll have to stay up even later to go through what I already did…

"I…" he finally regained the power of speech, but he didn't know what'd he'd been talking about prior. Desperate, he gazed across the bar at Tifa and asked for help. Oh, how he hoped he'd been telling a story she'd been a part of.

Understanding as always, she jumped in and saved him. She finished the story for him, and he couldn't have been more relieved. He'd thank her for saving him once the kids went to bed.

Denzel looked skeptical and cast his gaze back to him. "Is that really what happened?"

"Yeah," Cloud replied, and it was true. In fact, Tifa remembered more than he did once he realized which story he'd been telling. Tifa was better at telling stories than he was. She was better at speaking period. However, for some reason, Denzel (and sometimes, even Marlene) preferred to hear things from him. They found him more credible, something that he thought was ill advised.

He didn't need to be telling these stories at all. No one needed to sing his praises. He didn't deserve it. He needed to be blighted, cursed, and damned for what he'd done and even what he didn't do.

It got harder and harder to tell their stories as his guilt and regret mounted. Thus, he told them less and less and when he did get coerced into telling one, he kept it brief and as to the point as possible. He didn't add anything or exaggerate or try to make himself sound better than he was. He tried to keep the story to its bare bones, nothing flashy, nothing over the top. If anything, he toned it down to make it sound less impressive, but the kids would always look at him with awe and wonderment regardless and it always made his stomach sink.

"Where do you go?"

Cloud looked up, following the voice and expecting to see a ghost, one of the many that haunted him lately. He looked for her or maybe even his mother but found Tifa looking down at him instead, concern carved into her soft features.

"Huh?" he choked out, his voice rough from lack of use.

"When you zone out like that, where do you go?" Tifa brushed his hair away from his face so she could corner his gaze.

Cloud shrugged. "Honestly, I don't even know."

Easing back into the bar after a long day of deliveries, he could see that Tifa had fallen asleep waiting on him to come home. Again.

He wished she wouldn't do that. The chair she slept in couldn't be comfortable, and he knew she wasn't sleeping properly in it. But she continued to do it.

Quietly, he made his way across the bar and lifted her up into his arms as gently as he could. She shifted accordingly and conformed to him instantly, her face burying in his chest as she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt.

His mouth twitched at the sight. Small things like that did his wounded heart good.

Holding her bridal style, he journeyed up the stairs to her room. The same path he took almost every night he came home late. It was their routine. Tifa would sleep in her chair and wait for him until he came home. Sometimes she was awake and sometimes she was asleep. If she were asleep, he'd always scoop her up and take her back to bed where she belonged.

A part of him hated that she waited for him like that but the more selfish part of him loved it. He knew deep down if he were to ever come home to find her not there waiting for him, it would devastate him. He feared it and welcomed it. He didn't want her to make herself miserable, but at the same time, he liked the assurance that she still cared enough about him to wait for him.

Cloud pulled the covers back with one hand and slipped Tifa into the feathery expanse. He pulled the covers up over her and brushed her hair off her face. He was tempted to get in with her.

She was pretty when she slept. She was always pretty, but this was a different kind of beauty. It was peaceful and serene. Worry didn't mar her features. It was similar to the way the kids slept. He envied that kind of sleep. He couldn't even find peace in his sleep anymore.

Despite her still being able to find peace in the arms of sleep occasionally, he knew Tifa had trouble sleeping too. He knew because they'd often found each other awake, dodging sleep and the nightmares that accompanied it. He couldn't count the number of times they stayed up, talking about nothing until dawn. They'd found that insomnia wasn't as unpleasant if they didn't have to go through it alone.

He found himself sitting beside her, watching her. She was clad in nothing but a white tank top that almost covered her navel and some tight, black shorts. Her dark hair was splayed everywhere around her, a beautiful contrast to the white pillows beneath her.

Sometimes, he still felt like that boy from Nibelheim. He couldn't understand how he could be this close to her but still feel so far. He was still on the outside looking in, because he was still afraid to go inside…but now, he was afraid for completely different reasons.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thought away. He wouldn't let those emotions ribbon out and consume him. Not now.

His eyes suddenly felt heavy and so did his bones. He was tired and achy and lacked the strength and motivation to go back to his bed, so he lied down next to her.

He didn't hold her like he used to occasionally in the past. He didn't get under the covers or really get that comfortable, but being close to her, smelling her in the sheets, knowing she was a few feet from him, was nice. It was nice knowing that he could hold her...if he wanted to. Being around her seemed to be good for his mood, his health. Besides, he knew she wouldn't mind. He'd close his eyes…indulge in the smell of sweet heather and fresh gardenias…just of a minute…then go back to his room….

He didn't ever make it back to his room. When he came to again, he was still in Tifa's bed and orange dawn was starting to stain the sky. It poured into her room through the window, bringing in a soft, golden warmth that attempted to blanket them both in another layer of covering.

It was the first time he'd slept through the night in months.

Cloud tensed and looked over to see Tifa still asleep next to him. Her mouth parted as she drew in small breaths.

A part of him loved watching her sleep and another part of him hated it. Sleep looked a bit too much like death to him sometimes. It was instinctive to panic and think: 'What if she doesn't wake up?' He was so accustomed to death it was instinctive to think such things. Not to mention he remembered Tifa's coma. That was one of the longest weeks of his life, waiting to see if she'd wake up, hearing everyone say she wouldn't make it, hearing everyone blame him…

'Cloud, why would you do such a thing? You know how dangerous it is out there…' Mother had asked, and Cloud offered nothing in return. He'd just held his head down and accepted the blame but inside, he was screaming. Everything kind of spiraled out of control after that, and it would only get worse.

Deep sleep also reminded him of her, and the thought of her made that horrible, gnawing feeling resurface. It was always there, bubbling underneath the surface, but sometimes it came to the forefront, and it was more painful than anything the Geostigma could dish out.

Swallowing hard, he tried to gulp that negativity down, the feeling of weakness, the feeling of utter worthlessness, the sensation of unrivaled guilt…

He couldn't swallow it down. It swelled inside him and rose up in the back of his throat like bile.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to focus on Tifa, and seeing her even breathing put such thoughts to rest, it doused the fire that was eating him from the inside out, the downcast disease that spread through him with unrivaled vigor.

It slept. It had been tamed. It was subdued. For now. He still felt it.

He always felt it, but it was calmer, bearable.

Tifa is okay. Tifa is here.

His fingers ached to touch her, and his body ached to hold her as close as humanly possible, but his mind screamed for him to get out while he still could, so he did.

Staggering into the hallway, he made his way to the kids' room.

They were still asleep. It was barely daybreak. He could probably go back to bed, but he didn't really want to. He might dream if he slept, and if he couldn't go back to sleep, he would end up thinking, and thinking was a very dangerous thing. Thinking was bad for his health. That was why he kept himself busy, to keep himself from thinking and being drug down into that dark, seething place in his soul.

Before leaving their room, Cloud tucked Marlene back into her bed. She had a nasty habit of kicking her covers off in her sleep.

He then moved to Denzel's side of the room and placed a hand on his head.

Denzel was warm. He had a fever, but it was low grade. He'd tell Tifa to give him something to keep it down.

Cloud wiped the ooze on s forehead away and changed his bandages before going back into the bar. He went to his table, picked up his maps and routes, left a note on the bar for Tifa, and headed out before his thoughts and the painful memories could catch up with him.

Honestly, Cloud couldn't remember much from…before. He still struggled with the mangled mesh some people dared call his mind. He could only describe it as being thrown into Shinra Manor with countless towers of boxes inside every damn room then having someone come in, eye the boxes with you, then shrug and say: 'Eh, some of it's yours.'

Memory would always be an enemy, a struggle, but that struggle only caused him to treasure what he knew for a fact was his all the more.

What he did remember, he remembered clearly, and as he road Fenrir though the dry, tawny wasteland outside Midgar, he could easily recall the first time he kissed Tifa Lockhart.

He could never forget that no matter how many times he tried. It was one of the many memories he fought to keep even though it was from a time period that was supposedly safe within his ravaged mind. He still didn't want that memory to sink into his mutilated subconscious and vanish forever like so many of the others…

FLASH

Even though they'd stopped talking hours ago, they were still beneath the Highwind. She was sitting casually between his legs, her back leaning against his torso. She'd cemented herself there after silence settled upon them.

They needed to sleep. They had a big battle ahead of them but-

She wasn't looking at him. Legs brought to her chest, she was drawing aimlessly in the dirt beneath them. It amazed him how she could make even the simplest of actions endearing. Tifa was beautiful and inviting no matter what she did.

His forearm was resting on his raised knee, and he'd selfishly placed the other on her shoulder, needing to touch her, needing her closer although he'd never been so close to another person before and not just physically.

He and Tifa, they connected on a level that many people couldn't fathom, one that even he couldn't really fathom. It was strange and undefined, but he felt it. Whatever it was, it was special, unique, catered to their own specific, unconventional circumstances but still special nonetheless. He knew that much.

She felt his persistent gaze, and she turned her head to meet it, leaving them a breath apart. Her face flushed, not anticipating him to be that close to her. Surely, she knew he was close, but she didn't think that close.

Surprisingly, he had no qualms with the close proximity. A long time ago, he'd wanted nothing more…

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips in spite of everything.

There was so much more they needed to be worried about in that moment. He shouldn't have been able to even think of smiling after everything, but he was because there was absolutely nothing else in the world at that moment but her. Every single one of his senses were filled with her, and in that precious, demented moment, nothing else mattered. They were lost inside of each other. He'd honed in on her as if she were the very last thing on the Planet.

Shyly, she laced her fingers together beneath her bent knees and watched him intently over her shoulder. She didn't look away. His eyes locked onto hers and vice versa. His fingers curled on her shoulder, and he brought her even closer. He leaned in, and she met him halfway as if she were afraid he'd change his mind before his lips could meet hers.

She had no reason to worry about that.

There was a split second of hesitation. Their lips grazed, and he could taste her breath. She flinched a bit as if she were shocked as he angled his head over, placing his mouth over hers but not kissing her, not yet.

She shuttered, and a shiver raced up his spine. Seconds later, his mouth melded to hers. His eyes closed, and he felt nothing but pure, undiluted bliss. It felt good and good was something he hadn't felt in a really, really long time.

She was sweeter than any candy and headier than Corel alcohol.

He shifted against her and deepened the kiss. He was greedy, needing that fleeting feeling of contentment. He knew it was fading and that if he pulled away, everything wrong around them would bash him over the head, leaving him anxious and empty.

He wouldn't let that feeling leave, not until he sucked it dry, not until he licked up every single, solitary drop of flickering comfort and satisfaction he could find.

Cloud resolved to take as much of this as he could because it would probably be his last chance. Sephiroth and Meteor would see to that.

He resolved to take all he could, so he did...

FLASH

The memory stung. It burned down to his core, and his eyes felt like they were being rubbed with sandpaper.

In hindsight, he knew now that it was the closest they would ever be to another human being, and he began thinking of what he would give in order to recapture what they had that night. What he wouldn't give to be able to hold onto that pure, contented feeling. What he wouldn't give to have that closeness with her again, to regain that connection, that magic that sparked between them so effortlessly. But even if he did obtain it, he knew it would terrify him, and he would throw it away to keep it from backfiring because he knew the better something felt, the worse it would feel when he finally, inevitably lost it.

The morning after that night together, she'd begged for a moment longer, just one more flickering moment, and he'd humored her because he knew what she knew: that they would never get that day, that feeling, that moment back.

She'd been right.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!

I've said this before, and I'll say it again, I don't think there are enough Cloti stories that cover the angst and complication of their relationship, especially considering how things were described in On the Way to a Smile: Tifa's Case and how things are portrayed in Advent Children. Neither of them are in a good place, and it irks me to see stories/fics interpreting them as cheery and happy IMMEDIATELY after Advent Children. That's cute and all, but I don't think life works that way. I try to be very realistic in my works, and this one will be no different, so things will be pretty dark and angsty for a while before things get better. That said, things WILL get better! I don't plan on leaving this story on an ambiguous note like I did Broken Hearts and Maladies (at the moment, I may go back and make it a one shot collection too). I'm going all out with the Cloti interpretation here!

I'd also like to point out that I've probably tampered with the timeline of the canon series. Not a lot but a teeny, tiny bit. I think that Cloud getting Geostigma was effectively the last straw that caused him to leave his home with Tifa and the kids, and it will be in this story too but I'm drawing it out. He won't be leaving immediately after learning he has Geostigma. We are gonna watch him squirm a little bit first!

Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoyed part one!