The morning was drab through a curtainless window.
Elira blinked as she awakened fully. She wasn't wearing anything, she realized soon after; only a sheet covered her up to her collarbones. Her back was pressed solidly against something warm and her ear lay on something firm yet comfortable. An arm lay stretched out before her.
A golden arm.
Elira blinked again as the memory of the previous night rushed back to her in a flurry of emotion. Excitement, anger, frustration. Shock, passion. She lay next to Vincent, his shoulder supporting her head. His left shoulder. His left arm. The prosthetic arm. It lay motionless before her, the metallic fingers curled upward slightly. She moved forward slowly until her ear rested further down his arm, on the muscle.
The prosthetic began at the joint of his elbow. Elira was surprised to see how cleanly the metal had been grafted against the skin. She ran a finger along the inside of his elbow: seamless.
The muscle under her ear stiffened gently and the digits of the hand before her twitched. Elira turned her head, shifting a little under the sheet, to look at Vincent.
Vincent looked back at her, his head propped up on a pillow. It was odd to see him without his bandana; it was odd to see him without a shirt. His black hair lay spread around him, some trailing down his chest to mix with the smattering of dark hair there. He smiled as she noticed him. Her smile.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "That itches."
Elira ran a thumb along the inside of his elbow to remove the itch. She then turned back, smiling. "Good morning, Vincent."
He nodded once in greeting.
Elira turned her attention again to his prosthetic arm, letting her hand run down the length of it. She entwined her fingers through the metal digits. The digits closed gently around her hand.
"Where did you get this arm, Vincent?" she asked after a moment. "Did you have it made?" She thought of Barret's new prosthetic limb.
Vincent didn't answer right away. "It was made for me, yes."
Elira moved until her ear lay against the metal casing. As she took her hand back, the digits moved; Elira could hear the quiet buzzing of electronic parts inside the arm. "Did you have an injury?"
This time, Vincent's silence lasted a bit longer. "Something like that."
Elira scoffed, drawing back to the warmth of his side, sliding one arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "Do you always have to give cryptic responses?" she demanded, glancing up at him, a little irritated. Even after they had been intimate, was he still unwilling to give her any information about himself?
Vincent shrugged. "It depends on the question."
Elira scowled. Another non-answer. She pinched his side firmly with two fingers. He started, giving a grunt. "How do you repair it when it malfunctions?" she asked. Surely he couldn't refuse her an answer that had nothing to do with his tormented history.
"It's never malfunctioned."
"Well, what if it does one day? How will you fix it?"
Vincent shrugged again. Elira sighed resignedly. Another time, perhaps. Another time...
Time!
Elira sat up suddenly, but then blushed at her nakedness and covered herself with the sheet. "Vincent! We've got to get to work! Do you know what time it is?"
Vincent pulled his right arm up and looked at the watch fastened there. "Twenty to seven."
Elira settled a little and lay down again. They had almost two hours. She let her arm creep over to his right wrist, drawing it toward her to inspect his watch. It was small and sweephand, the thin black leather straps affixed together with a silver clasp. "You sleep with your watch on?" she murmured, idly interested.
"Not usually. My mind was...elsewhere last night and I neglected to remove it."
It was a few moments before Elira recognized the humor in his words. She laughed suddenly, looking up at him in astonishment. "That was funny, Vincent."
He raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprised."
Elira shrugged, turning her eyes to the watch as she strove to undo the clasp. "I don't know. You're just so serious all the time. It's hard to imagine you having a sense of humor." She slipped the watch from his wrist and held it up in front of her face.
Vincent took his watch from Elira and set it on the floor beside the bed. "I guess I haven't had anyone to share my sense of humor with for so long that..."
Vincent stopped his sentence as Elira drew a hand up and pushed her fingers through the hair over his ear. She was here now, and together they could share in all of the things both of them hadn't shared with others over the years of isolation. Elira looked to Vincent's features to find his eyes trained on her, an expression on his face that was not unlike the one he'd worn last night before pulling her unexpectedly into his embrace. She felt herself blush as her heartrate began to accelerate.
Vincent cleared his throat suddenly and dropped his eyes. "We'd better start preparing for work if you wish us to get there on time."
Elira nodded and shifted away from him, feeling strangely frustrated. If only it were the day she kept her shop closed according to the religious rule of Neo-Midgar so they wouldn't have to rush off anywhere. They could have the day to themselves, to talk, to learn.
To be at peace.
Elira was dimly surprised. Without a conscious thought, she had let Vincent through her defenses, where only Eagan had ever ventured before. Vincent didn't make her feel self-conscious as if he were judging her. He made her feel peace, a peace she hadn't felt in five years. A peace that came only with trust.
She trusted him.
She hoped one day he would trust her enough to tell her the things she wanted to know, the things that were keeping him trapped within himself, isolated.
The mattress sank as Vincent sat up, swinging his legs over the side. Before standing, he glanced over his shoulder. "Did you want to shower?"
Elira shrugged. "You go first. I'll just put on something of yours if you don't mind and make some breakfast while I wait."
Vincent nodded and stood. Elira looked resolutely at the pillow, uncomfortable with the thought of seeing him naked in the light, even if they had been intimate. That had been done in the dark. Elira tried to convince herself that, really, it was all the same, but still couldn't make herself glance up until he'd gone out of the room. Once she heard the bathroom door close behind him, she got up from the bed and carefully opened his closet, a little hesitant at rifling through his things even if he'd not shot down her idea of wearing something of his. After a few moments of searching, she came up with a long, black dress shirt. Slipping into it, she took the time to do up the buttons. Then, as an afterthought, she put her panties on.
As she passed the bathroom, she could hear the shower running. With a discreet knock, she opened the door. The curtain was drawn across the tub and Elira could smell lathered soap. "What do you want to eat?" she asked over the rush of the water.
"I don't eat breakfast," came the response.
"Well, you'd darn well better eat this one!" Elira retorted before pulling back into the hall and closing the door, not leaving the topic open for discussion. He was going to eat if she had to shove it down his throat. She found his kitchen somewhat understocked and, considering what he had, finally decided on scrambled eggs. Grabbing a pan she found in a cupboard beneath the sink, she turned on a burner of the stove and put a dollop of margarine into the pan. The eggs wouldn't take long.
They had slept together. Well, so what? She cracked an egg on the side of the counter and deftly emptied it into the pan. A lot of people slept together. It was what happened when two people loved each other. She frowned a little at this thought as she cracked another egg. Did she and Vincent love each other? She thought back to the forge when he'd silently taken the beatings from Terry. Yes...well, she liked him, at least. And she found him attractive. And these feelings seemed to be reciprocated. That doesn't constitute love, her mind argued. She sighed, opening the fridge and pulling out the milk.
The truth was, she made herself realize, she hardly knew him and he hardly knew her. The trip back to his apartment had been something they'd done on the spur of the moment, swept up in something too urgent to ignore. They had both needed it...
But had they needed it? If she hadn't hugged him, he probably wouldn't have kissed her, and then none of this would've happened. She would've gone home to sleep in her own bed and he would've come back here to do the same.
But, in the morning, they both would've been alone again...
Does sex take away the loneliness?
The bluntness of the question made Elira take a mental step back to review. Basically, they both were lonely people, and he had been in great need of physical affection. And she had given it to him. But had it been the right thing to do? Unlike when she had held him to her shoulder on the couch in her apartment, Elira was unable to say she had acted correctly. It had all happened so fast; had she taken advantage of his weakness? She scowled, irritated at the confusion in her mind.
Their one night of intimate passion wasn't enough to remove the loneliness, she recognized. Only by becoming close to someone as a person was true intimacy achieved. They would just have to get to know each other better now that they had been close physically.
But Vincent hadn't been anymore willing to talk than he had been last night. So, really, she was back to square one.
From the kitchen, Elira heard the bathroom door open and then the bedroom door close. After a little scrounging, she came up with two plates. Dividing up breakfast as evenly as she could, she grabbed two forks and went toward the kitchen table.
Or at least toward where most people kept their kitchen table.
Seeing his apartment for the first time in the light was like a revelation. Elira wandered out of the kitchen and into the livingroom. No couch, no coffeetable, no hutch; just bookshelves. And many, many books. With a sigh, Elira returned to the kitchen and set the plates down on the counter. They would have to eat while standing up. Elira glanced at the countertop and ran an experimental hand over it. It was clean and dry, and Vincent probably wouldn't care. Turning around, she hoisted herself up to sit on the cool countertop and started eating her breakfast.
Vincent wandered into the kitchen a moment later dressed in his usual black, ready for work. His hair was still wet as it hung down from his bandana. Elira smiled at him from atop the counter. He stopped walking to stare at her.
Elira looked down at herself and grinned apologetically. "Sorry. Were you going to wear this one today? It was the only thing I could find."
Vincent continued staring for a few seconds before shaking his head distractedly. "No, it's fine."
Elira nodded, but shifted on the counter, sensing his discomfort. Had she offended him by sitting on his counter? With slow movements, she slipped to the floor. And then she gestured to his plate.
"You'd better eat it before it gets cold. Cold eggs are absolutely disgusting."
Vincent didn't smile at her words. In fact, he didn't even look at her as he grabbed up his plate and wandered a few steps away to eat. Elira tried not to show her distress at his behavior. What was wrong? A few minutes ago they had been lying together in bed, and now he wasn't even willing to make eye contact with her. Maybe he was realizing within himself that he hadn't been ready for that level of intimacy. Maybe the abruptness of the change between them had frightened him once he'd been given a moment to consider it.
Once finished her scrambled eggs, she placed the plate into the sink and started walking toward him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she moved, but then looked away, putting another forkful of breakfast into his mouth. His manner proved him to be less than interested in a conversation. Elira was tempted for a moment to leave him and head for the bathroom, but she stuck to her course, eventually ending up next to him.
"Vincent?"
He swallowed his mouthful after a moment of chewing. "Yes?"
Elira let her eyes drop to the gray carpet, as if the words she wanted to say had fallen from her lips to the floor in front of her. "Do you...do you regret what we did last night?"
"Why? Do you?" The words were spoken calmly, without emotion. Elira wondered if the answer mattered to him at all.
"No. I mean, of course not. That is, unless you..." She stopped talking and sighed in frustration. "Look, Vincent. I didn't go with you last night with the intention of...of sleeping with you. I just wanted to get closer. You're the first person I've met who has listened to me...I mean, really listened since...since what happened with Eagan. And understood! I wanted to get to know you better, to become a friend to you, if you'd have me. Not to say last night wasn't nice. It was nice. It was great, in fact! It's just that..." She fumbled to a halt, her cheeks hot with a blush. And then she looked up to find his red eyes attentive. "Are we ready for this?" she asked quietly. "I mean, we hardly know each other. Are we ready for this kind of a relationship?" With these words, Elira suddenly realized that Vincent wouldn't be the only one having problems with their intimacy if it continued this way. She had lived alone for two years now, since the gunsmith had retired, and it had been five years since she'd had a relationship. Being with Vincent the way two people were in this sort of an arrangement meant a closeness she'd grown used to not having. Would she be able to handle that type of attachment on a constant basis? After all, they worked together, too. She'd be around him all the time. Was she ready for more than friendship in this case?
The edges of Vincent's mouth quirked downward almost imperceptibly and he looked away. After a few moments of silence, when Elira was beginning to doubt she would get an answer, he replied, "I don't know."
Elira bowed her head. Neither did she. She found herself wanting more than anything to slip her hands around Vincent and have him hold her back but, considering what had just been said, she knew it was the wrong thing to do. "Maybe," she began, her voice even softer now, "we should back off a little, just go back to being friends until we're ready." She almost added "and forget that last night ever happened" but caught herself at the last moment. She would never be able to forget.
Vincent turned to look at her and she raised her head. And then he nodded once, slightly. Elira felt both rejected and relieved in the same instant. He hadn't take more than a moment to think about dropping her. But, at least he'd taken it well, and she now was free of the fear that had only just started to disturb the peace she'd had with him, stolen with him. It did almost feel as if she'd stolen what she'd had, escaping fear's probing eye for a few short hours in the encompassing blackness of Vincent's apartment. The fear of intimacy, the fear that it would somehow cause him to loathe her so much that he would kill himself. The fear of the agony...the agony she'd already been through...
The agony she never wanted to experience again. She would rather die...
But she trusted him. He would never hurt her that way. He already knew that agony personally. So, she would strive to achieve intimacy with him as a person. She would fill the lonely ache inside her with him, and she would fill him. She didn't need physical familiarity for that. She was looking for something much deeper, something more meaningful...
Elira traveled to the bathroom and, after fiddling with the knobs on the tub, removed Vincent's shirt and her panties and stepped into the bombardment of water. She would distance herself a little, but remain friendly. She would measure every word before she uttered it, she would gauge every movement before making it. She would not give him reason to retreat again.
He'd thought himself long devoid of these kinds of things. After all, Avalanche had not been strictly men; there had been Aeris and Tifa. And, of course, Yuffie, though she had been little more than a child. But, although each of them had been attractive and, at points, had been dressed in less than Elira had been wearing moments ago, he had not felt this way about them.
None of the three had been Elira.
Why should that matter? But he already knew why. Elira was like her, the kind of woman he had been predisposed to as a young man. No woman had ever been able to turn his head before her. And now Elira. History repeating itself.
At least she had given him an out, sensing his hesitancy, his unreadiness. His fear. He hadn't meant to sleep with her either. It had all happened in a blur, her personal touch breaking through his walls in a way no one had been able to for years. She hadn't been afraid of him and his 'claw', his pale skin, his red eyes. She'd seen him beneath it. And he'd been so alone for so long.
He had a feeling that the out she'd provided had been as much for her sake as for his. Neither of them had been ready. Both of them had been afraid. So they would both 'back off' a little.
But would that be enough? He sighed again. He was attracted to her, and the way she wasn't afraid melted through him when they touched. If they became friends, would he have to request that she not touch him so that he could keep himself under control? It would be too risky. He remembered this feeling with her, before he'd fallen in love all those years ago. History repeating itself. It was too risky. He would have to back off, but further than Elira supposed. They would have to sever altogether. He did not want to fall in love again. Not when his loved killed...
He did not want to go through the agony again...
The bathroom door opened and the bedroom door closed. After a few minutes, a washed and dressed Elira emerged, smiling. Vincent did not smile back.
It would start now.
He stepped into his boots and, without waiting for Elira, headed out the door.