Elira had to admit, she wouldn't have been surprised had Vincent not shown up for work the next day. The surprise came when she found him in his usual standing spot by the door when she unlocked it at a quarter to nine for her employees. He gave her a little nod as he walked briskly past to enter the forge, his manner no different than normal, as if he'd left at the shop the night before at the regular time and was just seeing her again since then. Somehow, she was able to nod politely back through her shock before retreating behind her desk to wait for the last few minutes to roll by.
Benita was the next to show, followed by the others, Terry last of all, coming in at almost exactly nine. Elira gave Terry a warm smile as he entered, but he just glanced away as if he hadn't noticed her. He then entered the forge, his expression guarded. Elira tried to ignore the knot this put in her stomach.
There were no recent orders for guns to be approved; there was no paperwork to do; there were no deposits to take to the bank, no customers to call, no last minute reminders from the night before to read and finish. There wasn't even a wet boot mark on the floorboards to clean up. Elira sighed, trying desperately to think of something to do that didn't require her to enter the forge. But there was nothing, and she couldn't just sit all day at her desk. Not when there were orders to be filled, as well as shotguns and such to be fashioned for the upcoming hunting season. Putting down the pen she had been twirling in her fingers, Elira stood, mustering her courage to enter the place that, once her refuge, was now her emotional boat-rocking hell. But everything that had happened last night hadn't all been her fault. It wasn't her fault if Terry was so obsessed with her that he flew into jealousy fits about things that weren't his business. That was his fault, his own problem, one that he'd have to deal with soon. And it wasn't her fault if she had made Vincent uncomfortable.
Well, maybe that was her fault. But, she really believed that she'd made some kind of breakthrough with him, as if she'd somehow gotten on the inside by breaking a rule, picking a lock. She felt she had made a connection, even if she still didn't know with a certainty anything more about him than before. She'd suddenly had a moment of clarity where some of the questions about him had been answered in her own mind. And although she still had no proof that her answers were correct, it made her feel as if she understood him better, could condone his actions with more ease. She'd felt for a moment as if he'd accepted her into his world when no one else was allowed, even if she'd trespassed to get there. And it had made her feel special, his kind of special, their kind of special. And that had taken away some of the loneliness she'd never realized she'd had inside of her until that moment.
She just hoped that Terry's untimely phone call hadn't severed any hopes of furthering the connection altogether.
The forge was still fairly cool, the furnace warming slowly in its place in the wall, the red coals promising a familiar heat by the middle of the morning. And there was Vincent in his usual seat beside the furnace, already working on a small pistol for a customer. Elira wondered idly for a moment if he didn't get hot sitting so close to the coals while wearing all of that heavy-looking black clothing, but her mind was distracted as she caught Terry staring at her out of the corner of her eye as he stood at the table nearest her. She looked his way and met his eyes for no more than a second before he lowered them to the shotgun he was assembling. His movements were short and fast, like Vincent's Elira noticed, but with a certain hastiness that could've almost been classed as carelessness. He assembled the gun the way he knew how, the way he had been taught, but with no more knowledge about how the gun worked than about the workings of one of the obsolete mako reactors in the old Midgar, as if it weren't a weapon that could be used to kill someone. Elira suddenly had a picture in her mind of one of the younger punks of Virna holding the shotgun in his clumsy grip, firing it without any real intention of firing because he really didn't know how to use the gun, and killing some innocent person nearby. The impression was the same in both cases and Elira found herself strangely disgusted by Terry's casual laxity.
"Hey," she began after a moment. "I'm sorry I got angry over the phone last night. I guess I've just been stressed out or something. I...I haven't really been myself lately. It's like...I'm finding things about myself that are nothing like what I thought I was."
Terry gave a snort. "Yeah? Well, I hope these things you're finding out don't change you any more along the lines I've seen, or you'll wind up chasing everybody off." He looked up at her meaningfully as he said the last few words, his jaw set and eyes smoldering though his expression remained sheltered.
Elira knew Terry well enough to know that his irate words were only used to hide the pain he was feeling, but they made her angry nonetheless. Reigning her temper as best she could, she raised her chin resolutely and said, "You know, that was really rude."
Terry raised his eyebrows and gave a laugh of feigned shock. "Oh yeah? Since when did being concerned for a friend constitute rude behaviour?" He looked around, directing his question at everyone in the forge. Benita and Vincent ignored him, but the other three nodded their heads and muttered their agreement.
"Since you became my warden instead of my friend," Elira shot back, her anger beginning to rise to the surface.
Benita gave some quiet, unintelligible encouragement from where she was halted in mid-stroke while carving a design into the wood of one of Terry's finished rifles.
"I'm not your warden! I just want to know what's going on in your life sometimes! Isn't that what friends do?"
"Friends don't demand detailed reports of who you're with twenty-four hours a day and what goes on in your personal life!"
There was a sudden clattering of metal against wood. Elira glanced over with the others in the forge to where Vincent sat, the pistol he had been working on lying awkwardly on the table. He didn't raise his head or pick the gun up from the table where he'd dropped it. He just stared at an undefined point in front of him, his hand and claw resting protectively over the weapon as if he didn't trust his grip.
"What's wrong with Vincent?" Terry asked quietly. Elira didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head. "What's wrong with him, Elira? Is he flustered? Is he uneasy? Is there something bothering him? Something about last night?"
Elira kept her eyes on Vincent's bowed head, her teeth clenched on all of the retorts that were more than eager to pop out of her mouth. But through her anger, she felt a sort of pity. She wondered if her mentioning the details of her personal life in relation to Terry had made Vincent think she had revealed their encounter of the night before. Would that fluster him, make him uneasy? He'd never seemed to care what anyone in the forge thought about him before. But maybe that was only in relation to his aloofness. If someone were to find out that beyond his cold exterior was a feeling, hurting human being, as frail as anyone else, maybe it would embarrass him. She hoped she'd have the chance sometime soon to assure him that she wouldn't ever tell anyone, least of all Terry with the way he was acting. She wondered why he was so jealous all of a sudden. Vincent wasn't the only single guy working for her. What made him more of a threat in Terry's mind? She sighed inwardly, baffled yet again by male reasoning.
Terry turned his attention from Elira to Vincent as he sat unmoving at the table. "What's bothering you, Vince? Huh, buddy? Something you want to share with the rest of us? What were you and Elira doing in her apartment last night?"
Elira felt her temper boil over. Vincent had nothing to do with this. It was between she and Terry, and Terry should've known that. But, there he went again, hurling insults concealed in question marks as if Vincent were a bullseye. "Leave Vincent out of this, Terry! He didn't do anything."
"I'm not asking you, I'm asking Vince. Huh, Vince? What'd ya do up there? Sit around staring at each other?"
Elira felt like lunging at Terry and pulling his hair out, but she knew that was childish and controlled herself. "He came up to see the book, Terry. That's all. I told you that over the phone. You just blew it way out of proportion!"
"Did I?" Terry banged the palms of his hands on the table as he leaned forward heavily. "I bet you two were up there doing more than just reading! I'll bet he was doing what any red-blooded man in this sector would've done in that same situation!"
"You mean what you would've done!" Elira shouted, not caring anymore about governing her temper and thinking about what she said before she said it. She just needed a release for her building aggression, and lashing out was the quickest way. "And so what if we were doing something more than reading? What are you going to do about it? Call the police? I still think a girl has the right to have a man in her apartment in this sector!"
Terry's eyes burned with a fury Elira had never before seen in him and for a moment she was afraid he was going to attack her physically. But instead, he slammed his fists down with such force that the table bounced off the floor before he stalked out of the forge. Elira heard the squealing of the bell above the door as he fled the shop. She looked at the floor, still angry, but feeling ashamed of her words. She didn't want to hurt Terry. She just wanted him to back off.
After a moment of silence had passed, Benita muttered, "Well, that was better than anythin' I ever seen in a soap op'ra."
Normally, Benita's lighthearted phrases brought a smile to her lips, but not today. Her eyes beginning to brim with stinging tears, Elira slipped out of the forge and onto the stool behind her desk. Hoping feverently that a customer wouldn't walk in and see her like this, she began to cry quietly, her face buried in her hands.
But it wasn't to be. Not even ten minutes before twelve the bell over the door chimed. Taking off her plastic face shield, Elira entered the front room of her shop to discover one of her old customers who had recently opened his own weapons store at the other end of the sector. He was a few years over thirty and enjoyed talking more than listening. Elira sat on her stool, nodding and smiling, for over an hour while he detailed his successes to her in order from first to last since the last time she'd seen him, which had been more than a year ago. And she could hear Vincent still working away in the forge. The customer finally departed when, at almost a quarter after one, Benita poked her head out of the forge and loudly demanded for Elira's presence. Elira thanked her profusely once they were out of the man's hearing range. The only thing Benita asked for in return was an explanation of the events of the morning, but Elira was unable to give it. So Benita gave her a hug and told her it would all work out. And because Benita was the one saying it, it was easier to believe.
At precisely nine that evening, once his day's work was packed up and put aside, Vincent left the shop, not even stopping to give Elira a parting nod. Elira wondered if he had read in her mind the wish to talk with him and was now avoiding her. She closed the shop quicker than usual that night, almost shoving the last of her straggling employees out the door, before running down the sidewalk after Vincent. He already had a few blocks on her and was walking at a fairly quick pace, so it took her a few minutes to reach him. She hoped as she ran that she wasn't drawing too much attention to herself; the last thing she needed right now was to be mugged. And there was more of a chance of it today since it was the end of the week. Fortunately, though, the vultures of Virna seemed more interested in slow moving prey, and so she was left alone even though more than a few suspicious-looking faces turned to see her pass.
Vincent had his head bowed as he walked, his midnight hair billowing out behind him as he plodded along, his hand and prosthetic both shoved into the pockets of his coat. It struck Elira suddenly that he was an imposing figure, tall as he was and all dressed in black; he looked like the kind of man a girl like her would most likely run away from instead of toward. But Vincent, unlike any member of the criminal element, had no interest in murdering anyone. Actually, Elira realized, he really had no interest in anyone period. If she were to be hit by a truck and killed while running after him, he probably wouldn't even look back, uninterested in the tragedy except for the passing acknowledgment that he would be working under someone else from now on. Well, maybe not. Maybe he would feel some loss in the recognition that the person who'd reached out to him, made a small connection with him, was now dead. Maybe. Or maybe he'd be glad she was gone, since it would free him from her endeavor to get closer to him. Elira frowned, holding her coat closed against the wind as she jogged down the sidewalk; this train of thought was getting her nowhere. She didn't know enough about him to guess at what went on in his head; heck, most of the things she 'knew' about him were really just guesses on her part. And really, none of what she was thinking right now had any relevance to anything she wanted to say to him. She cursed inwardly as she finally came up beside him, breathing heavily, with no idea of how to begin.
First, she caught her breath. And then she cleared her throat and looked up at him as he walked. He ignored her presence. She folded the two zippered edges of her coat over one another and then crossed her arms to keep them closed together, her mind racing as she tried to think of some way to break the ice. But everything was ice; Vincent's expression, the atmosphere surrounding them, even the words that came to her lips only to be swallowed back down seemed to be frozen.
Finally, she gave a small, nervous chuckle. "You know," she began, her voice somewhat squeaky in her own ears, "you ought to show me how to use a gun, O experienced one. That way, I'll be able to follow you after work without the fear of being jumped." She chuckled again but the sound dwindled into a cough when Vincent didn't give any acknowledgment to her statement. After another moment of silence, she re-cleared her throat and decided to try the head-on approach. "Look, I'm sorry about what Terry said to you earlier. It was uncalled for. He's just a...a bully. A really...obsessive bully. He was just angry at me and had to strike out at someone. And you happened to be in the way. I'm really sorry. And I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted me to leave you alone from now on." She avoided looking up at him, almost regretting her last sentence. Almost, but not quite. She didn't want to push him away by trying to come close when all he wanted was to be left alone, and so she had to know what he wanted. And that required a question, a question with an answer that might not be the one she was looking for.
Vincent didn't say anything. In fact, he didn't say a word all the rest of the way to the train station. It was only when he was stepping onto the platform, Elira watching from behind, her arms still crossed and her eyes squinted against the blowing breeze, resolved to not getting a response, that he gave an answer.
"You shouldn't apologize for another's mistakes. Every man's sin is his own." And then he disappeared into the train.
Elira stood looking after him until the train's rumbling on the track was no more than an echo. Another cryptic response. How Vincent-ish. Every man's sin is his own. Was he referring, more than to Terry, to himself? She shook her bowed head in confusion. And then she lifted her face, realizing that, in responding in the manner he had, he'd taken all blame of the situation from her. Basically, he'd been saying 'It wasn't your fault' in his own way. And he hadn't answered her wondering about leaving him alone. So that meant he hadn't said he wanted her to stop pestering him. Maybe their encounter, as she'd started referring to it, of last night hadn't been as repugnant to him as she'd thought.
With a smile on her face, she left the area of the platform and started home. And, as if her contentment had lifted her out of the sector to where she was walking on air, invisible to all on the streets below, not one suspicious-looking character even attempted to grab her. As if they were afraid they would burn their miserable hands on her happiness.
Whenever Elira entered the forge over the next couple of weeks, she would refrain from looking at Terry; it pained her heart to see him, once a close friend, now an enemy. She would fill the orders, or make hunting weapons. And she would bite her bottom lip and try to ignore him when he would pass Vincent and shove him from his stool, or push him into the table. Because the first time it had happened, Vincent had turned to her and shaken his head ever so slightly. It wasn't her fault. She faked ignorance for the sake of the connection she'd seen in his eyes that day. Benita, however, was not as forgiving, and was too straightforward a woman to pretend not to see. Often, she would spring up to Vincent's defence amidst the chuckles of the other men, yelling, "Terry, yer a sad sight!" or "Leave'im alone, ya bully!" But Terry paid no attention to Benita. She bore no part of his wrath.
Coming to work was like pulling teeth for Elira. She began to dread it. It bothered her to the point where it was making her sick to her stomach with worry, making her an insomniac because of the dreams it was giving her. Because, no matter how many times Vincent could shake his head, she still felt that it was her fault. She didn't love Terry the way he wanted. And Vincent was paying the price without saying a thing in his own defence, as if it wasn't unfair. As if he deserved everything he got.
Sometimes, Elira thought she hated Terry.
And sometimes, Elira thought she was growing increasingly fond of Vincent.
In the beginning, when she'd started getting to know him, she'd wanted merely to help him escape from the trap she herself had fallen into a few years ago. But now, she found herself actually liking him; she respected him, admired him for literally 'sticking to his guns' when Terry bothered him, ignoring the taunts when most other men would've gathered up every last scrap of their immaturity and fought. And she liked his quiet, thoughtful, mysterious manner, even though it had annoyed her at their first meeting.
Perhaps Benita had been right. Maybe there was something attractive about a mysterious man. Though, she told herself again and again, she wasn't attracted to him that way. He was just attractive as a prospective friendship. And the fact that she found herself thinking about him an awful lot, found her eyes straying to him while she worked in the forge, just further proved how much she liked him, as a friend.
Nothing more.
Even though her fingertips still tingled sometimes when she remembered how his skin had felt to her touch. Even though her breathing became shallow and her heart rate quickened every time she thought about his arms around her waist.
These things didn't mean what they meant for other people. She and Vincent were different. His touch had just been a surprise because he was so aloof. And it had made her feel the way it had only because she hadn't been in anyone's intimate embrace for so long. That was all.
And she just ignored the wandering want to touch him again. Because it was hard to explain away. Other than that, she had no problem believing the things she told herself.
Until the day he smiled at her.
It wasn't a big smile, just a twitching at the corners of his mouth after her greeting and his courteous nod. Elira wondered dreamily for the rest of the day how such a small gesture could affect her mood so drastically. It didn't make any sense; it didn't fit with her reasoning. And this time she couldn't reason it away because the effects were so potent. She even found herself smiling for the first time in two weeks, humming a tune she'd heard on her old radio that morning. Benita had commented on the change of her disposition for the better when the older woman had come back from lunch, but instead of explaining, Elira had only smiled wider and continued working on the recent order forms.
Terry appeared to notice it, too, for after a couple of days he seemed to realize that he was no longer making her miserable with his behaviour and he stopped bothering Vincent. He would just sit sullenly, silently at his table. Elira would try every once in a while to talk to him, just light conversation like they used to, but he would ignore her. And Elira would again feel miserable. Until Vincent left that night, giving her a smile before stepping out the door.
And she would get home, feeling as if someone had been playing at tug-o-war with her emotions. She wished that things would just settle down so she could be absolutely happy or absolutely miserable; this jumping between them was so very tiring. And while she was wishing, she wished that she didn't live in sector four so that, on the evenings when she felt she couldn't stand it one more minute, she could go on a safe, evening walk to clear her mind.
But she did live in Virna, sector four.
Sometimes she felt like a tower built out of blocks, swaying unsteadily in the breezes of circumstance coming through all of the doors everyone was opening and forgetting to close as they wandered in and out of her life. She hoped someone would slam a door soon, whether they were coming in to stay or leaving for good. And then she could topple one way or the other. But this swaying, it was making her dizzy...
She needed to get some fresh air before she'd had enough and everything inside spewed out messily on everyone. She needed an escape, if only for an hour. One hour to clear her mind. That's all she was asking for she told herself, drifting off to sleep one night after a particularly hectic day. Surely someone, fate or God, would see fit to grant her this. Just one hour...