Elira silently thanked the construction workers for building a bathroom just across the hall from the guest room.
She raised her head from the toilet bowl and burped. And then she scowled at the foul, burning taste in her mouth. The room was still spinning and the area behind her eyes was throbbing angrily, but she was able to stumble to her feet and to the sink where she washed her mouth out with some cold water. Holding onto the counter with white fingers, she flushed the toilet. And then she lay her aching head on her forearms, closing her eyes, willing her stomach to stop bucking within her.
Had she let herself get drunk last night? She sighed in annoyance and rubbed one temple against the inside of her elbow. She stopped a moment later to wonder how she had managed her way back to the house. And into the room. And out of her shoes. She raised her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror, starting at the bloodshot eyes that stared back at her. Had someone come to get her? She rubbed her face, hoping fervently that she hadn't made a fool of herself, or of whoever had brought her back. It could've been Cloud, she thought to herself. But she didn't really believe it. Why would a complete stranger come to get her? It had probably been Vincent.
She cringed, imagining herself dancing around a bar full of men as Vincent walked through the door. The idea made her flush in embarrassment. She doubted Vincent would mention anything about the previous night, however, with the way he was. Part of her was suddenly thankful for his social courtesy; if it had been Terry or Benita, she would've never lived it down. But another part of her wanted to know. It bothered her to think that she might've done something to incriminate herself in the town she'd used to live in. Perhaps she'd be able to worm it out of Vincent, with a little patience. She sighed again, blinking her dry eyes. Right now, she didn't feel much like worming, she realized. She felt more like going back to bed.
Elira stood from the sink and clenched her teeth as the room swayed. She turned to the doorway.
Vincent stood there. Elira gasped, but was able to recover fairly quickly. She spent a moment wondering how he managed to keep his footsteps so quiet. And then she did a brisk search of his face. His expression was unreadable, as usual, but it seemed to Elira that he looked somewhat more disheveled than normal; he seemed almost...tired. It worried her a little; what could've sapped his energy? An internal struggle? She calmed her fears a moment later with the thought that it was going to be over soon. They would arrive at the Northern Continent, travel to the City, and...and it would be over.
Vincent dropped his eyes abruptly, as if ashamed to have been staring. Less than a second passed, though, before his pupils returned to her face in that steady gaze. Elira grimaced inwardly, wondering again if she'd embarrassed him. She pursed her lips.
"Vincent, what happened last night? I can't remember anything."
Vincent didn't answer. Elira thought she saw a flicker of something cross his face, but before she could be sure, it was gone. She sighed, questioning how bad it had been.
"I'm sorry. Whatever I did while I was drunk, I'm really sorry."
It was a moment before Vincent shook his head. "I found you in the process of passing out in the bar. You did nothing..." He stopped a moment as if searching for the correct words. And then he frowned in defeat. "It was not you," he finished finally.
Elira found herself more confused than relieved by his odd answer. "So you were the one who brought me back?" she asked after a pause, though it wasn't the question she wanted to ask. What's wrong...what's wrong?
Vincent nodded almost imperceptibly. And then he turned and began walking down the hall silently. Elira turned out the bathroom light and followed unsteadily, deciding she'd slept long enough. She put a hand against the wall to keep herself balanced as her socks made her slip a little on the cold, polished hardwood of the floor.
By the time Elira reached the living room, Vincent was disappearing into the kitchen. The windows showed the hazy morning outside and, although the light was dimmed, Elira was unable to keep herself from squinting in discomfort. Walking had already made her headache worse, jarring her with each step no matter how softly she tried to tread. She shivered a little as the chill of the dawn slithered in beneath her slumber-rumpled clothes, caressing her skin and raising goosebumps. She wondered what time it was.
The house was very quiet. Elira continued after Vincent and soon found him standing with his back to her at the kitchen counter, pouring some black coffee into a mug. He then put the pot down and turned to offer the mug to her. She took a few steps forward and accepted it from him with a nod, raising the rim to her lips with both shaky hands. She frowned at the bitter taste. "Where is everyone?"
"Asleep."
"Oh." Elira took another sip. It didn't taste quite so bad this time so she drank a little deeper, letting the strong flavour break through the pain and fog in her head. And then she pulled a chair away from where it was pushed up to the table and sat down, nursing the mug in her hand. Vincent, she noticed, did not move to sit down; he didn't even lean casually against the counter, but stood straight and still, staring at an undefined point across the room, the epitome of unease.
"Are you all right?" Elira asked after a moment.
Vincent nodded without looking at her. Elira gazed into her coffee, feeling almost like asking him again. She sighed a little instead. He still wouldn't let her in, even though he'd said he was willing. He still wouldn't let her help him with his burden, keeping it selfishly to himself. Elira sloshed her coffee around a bit distractedly. After a moment, she lifted her head and fixed her eyes on Vincent's face. He didn't look at her, but she was almost sure he was aware of her gaze. "You can talk to me, Vincent," she stated quietly, firmly.
He glanced at her, his dark eyes brooding. And then he looked to the floor in what almost appeared to be resignation. Elira thought he was going to start talking to her about what was on his mind, but he asked instead, "Why did you enter the bar last evening?"
It was a blatant shift away from the original topic. Elira was irritated by Vincent's constant evasion, but she let it go. What could she do? She couldn't make him open up; she would have to wait on his timing, though she was beginning to wonder if he'd just brought her along because she'd convinced him he needed a traveling companion.
Elira took another sip of her coffee before setting the mug down on the table. She, at least, was willing to open up. Maybe it would encourage him to do the same.
"I actually didn't go out with the idea of going to the bar," she started, looking at her fingers. "I went out to see my father. He owns a barber shop here in Kalm. After the visit I had planned to come back to the house, but I ended up wandering a little." She shrugged. "Kalm hasn't changed much in five years.
"I ran into...into Eagan's father," she continued, suddenly hesitant, though she told herself she didn't have to be. It was Vincent. He wouldn't misunderstand. "I...I don't know if he meant to make me feel this way, but I walked away afterward feeling as if I was the murderer of his family. It was...horrible." She closed her eyes and shook her head on the tears that were forming against her will. "I really, really never meant to..."
"Hurt anyone."
She glanced up at Vincent, but he wasn't looking at her, lost in his own thoughts. Elira felt a warmth go through her. He knew the feeling. He knew it inside and out. He would never have meant to harm Lucrecia. They were amidst the same storm, in the same boat. She wasn't alone.
Elira wiped her eyes discreetly with her fingertips. "Vincent, it hurt so much. I felt in that moment that..." She swallowed at the thickness in her throat, noticing how her eyes were beginning to sting. "That...I deserved to die, painfully and slowly, the way Eagan's mother did once her son was dead. I deserved to let his father kill me..." She trailed off. Speaking her heart was becoming increasingly difficult as the world dissolved in a rain of tears. She suddenly felt very dirty, as blackened as her coffee. She had to resist the urge to go to the kitchen sink to wash her hands.
And wash them. And wash them.
Vincent watched Elira crumple in her seat, her shoulders shivering with muffled sobs. He turned his head; he couldn't watch the outpouring of what he had always just hidden away. His self-hatred, his self-revulsion for what he had done. He was so tainted with his sins, so fouled with the buckets of blood he had spilled. He deserved whatever punishment fate saw fit. He deserved to be a freak; he deserved to be alone, without any solace; he deserved the torture of his own mind, his own body.
He deserved Chaos.
But Elira didn't. Elira hadn't been at fault the way she believed. It had sounded from what she had once told him in her apartment that Eagan hadn't been a completely stable man. Much like himself, he realized sourly. Vincent could recall the temptation to kill himself when things hadn't worked out the way he had wanted, when Lucrecia had rejected him. But something had stopped him.
He'd known how Lucrecia had blamed herself for Hojo's anger and moods. She'd apologized to Vincent again and again while they had been friends, apologizing for Hojo's behaviour toward him as if she had had some part in it.
He'd known that Lucrecia would blame herself for his death if he'd taken his own life. In much the same way he blamed himself now for her death. They had been so alike in so many ways...
The way he and Elira were so alike now...
Elira gave a sniffle from her lap and whimpered. Vincent could almost see her teeth fastened into her bottom lip to stifle her crying. He hadn't cried. He'd thought it weak. Sometimes, now, he wished he had. Because he couldn't anymore. His tear ducts carried no moisture. There was no release for him.
No mercy for a soul that couldn't shed a tear for its past wrongs.
Elira's crying pained him. He'd never been able to watch someone cry. Not once he'd seen Lucrecia cry after she'd told him about the abuse she'd suffered through as a child. He'd vowed in the mansion with her huddled against his shoulder, soaking the material of his dress coat with her tears, that he would give up killing. He'd been ready to quit upon returning to Shinra. Lucrecia had changed him, somehow. She'd been his epiphany, shedding light into his painful darkness and showing him a piece of life he'd never known.
Of course, he'd never returned to Shinra. He wondered sometimes what Hojo had told them had happened to their prized Turk. He doubted the man would've told them he'd died in the line of duty. He'd probably been listed as just another AWOL.
Crying and crying, their pain so much the same. He wanted to tell her she wasn't at fault; he wanted to comfort her. But he didn't know how. He started to take a step in Elira's direction, but stopped before he'd finished. And then he started again, making himself walk until he was at her side. She didn't look up. Hesitantly, he reached out his gloved hand and gently touched her shoulder.
She started as if recoiling, but then she settled and attempted to control her weeping. "I'm sorry," she said between sniffles after a moment. "This is probably making you uncomfortable."
Vincent said nothing for a few seconds. And then he asked, "Do you wish me to leave the room?" If crying was her release, he didn't want to cap it. It would probably do her more good than anything he could offer. He glanced sharply at his hand as Elira slipped her fingers over it, turning her head to smile at him through her tears.
"No. I think I'd rather have you stay."
Vincent was at a loss for a reply. She was gripping his fingers tenderly in her hand, and there was something in her eyes. Something bright besides the tears. His mind screamed at him to look away, but he couldn't. He couldn't look away from the caring gratefulness he saw staring back at him. She needed him just to be there. She wanted him to stay.
And he wanted to stay.
But she had no comprehension of the depth of Hell that lay within him. He had nothing to offer that wouldn't turn to poison in the end.
The sound of footsteps descending the stairs made Vincent glance up. Tifa was approaching. Pulling his hand from Elira, he took a hasty step backward. Elira's face contorted with a little confusion; it made him feel bad. She didn't understand his distance. Because she didn't know the evil inside him that he didn't want touching her. His curse. And the blood, all of the sinful blood.
She didn't know. And he couldn't tell her. It was ugly. She would hate him for all of the death he had caused. Perhaps she could understand the guilt and shame he suffered with from the death of Lucrecia, but she would never be able to accept all of the needless killing. He was too evil. Fate would never allow it.
History would repeat itself.
Vincent pivoted and left the kitchen. He could almost feel Elira's fingers still holding his. He needed a walk. A walk to clear his mind of a fool's dreams.
A walk to remind him of what this journey was really about.
Elira turned from Vincent's departing form as her ears picked up the sound of someone entering the kitchen from the stairwell. The noise of the front door closing reached her as if it was the only sound in the world.
Elira watched the woman, Tifa, walk over to a cupboard and pull out a mug. She then poured herself some coffee and proceeded to drink it black, leaning against the sink. She was dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of too-big boxer shorts Elira guessed weren't hers. Yet, despite her casual dress, her hair looked as if it had been brushed thoroughly, falling below her waist in beautiful brown waves. Elira found herself feeling a little jealous; she'd always wanted long hair, but it hadn't suited her face. So, she would have to be content with the red curls that fell almost to her shoulder blades.
Tifa put her mug down on the counter and took a breath, as if recovering from the heat of the drink. And then she smiled at Elira. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Elira returned, realizing that compared with Tifa, she sounded as if she was croaking.
Tifa didn't seem to notice. A small silence followed and Tifa turned to the sink, leaning her hips on the edge of the counter, looking out of the window over the back yard. Elira finished her coffee, but didn't stand up to leave immediately, still feeling a little hung over. She sat looking at her hands until Tifa spoke, her voice soft and almost conspiratorial in a way that made Elira's ears perk up.
"Vincent brought you in last night, carrying you in his arms." There was a small pause and Elira felt herself grow a little warm at the image of Vincent holding her. "He didn't say what had happened," Tifa continued, oblivious to Elira's reaction, "but I'm guessing he was bringing you in from the bar. You looked drunk. He took you to bed."
Elira's blush deepened into one of shame. She hadn't been to a bar in years; she hadn't been drunk since the time she had dated Eagan before their marriage. The headache, the pounding behind her eyes, the nausea; it made her feel like a teenager again. An irresponsible teenager. She waited for Tifa to start saying that she didn't want Elira to do it again because there were children in the house.
But Tifa didn't say that. Without turning from the window, she spoke, her tone still quiet.
"Is there something between you two?"
Elira glanced up, half-expecting to see the woman looking at her with a smile on her face, her eyes twinkling mischievously. But this wasn't Benita. Tifa continued to gaze out of the window as if she hadn't said a thing. Elira was reminded vividly of Vincent; these people seemed so much like him, secretive and closed and solemn, as if they all knew something she didn't.
As if they knew danger, and knew how easily it could crop up and the different guises it could wear.
Elira cleared her throat. "Um, no. No, there's not really anything between us the way you think. I'm just helping him get to the Forgotten City."
Tifa nodded slowly as if only half listening. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way," she began after a moment, "but, why you?"
Because we need each other.
"Because I'm his friend." Elira chuckled after a moment. "And because he let me."
Tifa nodded again. Elira could almost see the tight smile on the woman's face as she spoke. "That's Vincent." She turned suddenly from the sink, looking up at the ceiling in a little thought as if she was talking to an old friend. This made Elira feel a little more at ease with her; talkative and friendly once one had warmed up to her a little, gained a little of her trust. Like Benita. "You know, this is going to sound kind of dumb, but when we were in Ava..."
Tifa stopped talking suddenly and looked to Elira in some shocked fear. Elira couldn't wipe the wide-eyed expression from her face in time.
"Shit." Tifa turned back to the sink. "I really shouldn't get up this early."
There was a silence. Finally, Elira decided she would try for the rest of the story. "You, your husband, and Vincent?" she began in an almost uninterested tone. "You were all a part of Avalanche?"
Tifa gave a sigh, bowing her head as she nodded. "Yes." Suddenly, she gave an ironic laugh. "I manage to keep my mouth shut for ten years around townspeople I live with and walk among everyday, and then you show up and I blurt our secret out after talking to you for five minutes." She shook her head again.
"I'm sorry," Elira said, though she knew it really wasn't her fault. "If it makes you feel any better, though, I had guessed it already."
Tifa laughed again. "No, actually, that makes me feel a little worse." She turned from the sink, leaning her back against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrowing, she asked, "Are we really that obvious?"
Elira shook her head. "No, I kind of heard some things I wasn't meant to, and then Vincent let some clues drop. It wasn't hard to figure out after that."
Tifa nodded a little. And then she smiled. "Vincent. He was always the last one I thought of when I worried about one of the group giving us away."
Elira shrugged. "I've started to realize that it's impossible to peg him down as one thing and not another," she murmured, remembering how shocked his first kiss had made her. She hadn't thought he'd had it in him. "Now, what were you saying about something sounding dumb?"
Tifa smiled thinly. "I guess I can tell you now, hmm?" She ran a hand through her hair. "Well, in Avalanche, it sometimes felt as if we were somehow privileged to have Vincent fighting with us instead of it being his privilege to travel with us. The fact that he had chosen to come along made us, maybe, special." She shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know, I guess it's just the way he is."
"Yeah." The way he was. As if nothing could touch him; as if nothing could break through his defenses. So when someone finally did, it made them feel as if there was something different about them, something extraordinary that made Vincent feel, made him feel that there was something about the other that he needed. Something he needed badly enough to warrant sacrificing the safety of his valuable solitude.
Elira smiled. Vincent made her feel special. She traced a knot in the wood of the table for a second before asking, "How old was Vincent when he joined Avalanche?"
Tifa's expression became suddenly serious and she turned back to the sink. "It was ten years ago," she answered elusively after a moment.
"I know that," Elira replied. "How old is he? How old was he ten years ago?"
Tifa didn't move, her back stubbornly straight. "Why do you want to know?"
Because I'm wondering if he's older than he looks. The way Barret talked to him...and the way he talks...
"Just curious."
Tifa found her mug with searching fingers and downed her cooling coffee before putting the mug into the sink. "Well...I...I think that, maybe, I should let Vincent answer that one for you."
Evasive. Unwilling. Why did this all seem so familiar? She wondered if she would ever have all of her questions answered since Vincent seemed hesitant to talk, and these two people he knew seemed to be trying to protect him. This led her to another mystery. Why protect him? What was there about him, his past, that required so much protecting when she already knew about Chaos?
Elira was about to stand to go shower and change when Cloud descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, fully washed and dressed, looking ready for work. He nodded once to her before taking the mug of coffee Tifa offered him. He took a quick gulp before glancing around the room, wiping the fingers of one hand over the downy yellow hair around his mouth.
"Where's Vincent?" he asked.
Elira sat up a little. "He left a few minutes ago."
Cloud turned to her and took a step forward, his expression grave. "Left? You mean outside?"
Elira frowned. "Uh...yeah."
Cloud threw his hands up in the air and gave a sigh of exasperation.
"What's your problem?" Tifa demanded as he thumped his mug onto the counter.
Cloud ran a hand through his thick hair, making some of it stand on end. "He was turning back into himself as he landed!" he expostulated. "What if someone recognizes him? I wouldn't put it past the people of this town to shoot first and ask questions later."
Elira hadn't even thought of that. Kalm had once been a trusting and open town; perhaps the people had become wary after Meteor. Wary enough to want to kill whatever they didn't understand, she realized, remembering the man in the bar with the white scar beside his ear.
Cloud thudded out of the kitchen and into the living room. Elira stood and walked to the doorway, Tifa behind her. Cloud was slipping into his boots. He looked up at them once before heading out the door.
"I'm going to go find him. Stay here."
The silence in the house after his departure was deafening. Elira stood in the kitchen doorway for a full minute after Tifa had wandered away, replaying in her mind the scene where Vincent had been unconscious, thrown over Cloud's shoulder, with all of the townspeople looking on. Cloud had been telling them that everything was under control. But, the conversation of the men in the bar hummed in her ears, making her believe that the former Avalanche members weren't well liked or trusted in Kalm. So, it was possible that, if someone recognized Vincent as the man who had first been a 'monster', they would ignore what Cloud had said. They would try to kill Vincent, try to protect their small town.
And, although Elira didn't doubt that Vincent had sense enough to take care of himself, she was still worried. She was worried that someone would shoot him down, and that once he was dead, Chaos would arise to take control of the soulless body. And the fate Vincent had predicted would come true: he would leave a bloody massacre in the wake of his death.
And she would crumble, alone again with her pain...and with her grief. She would have grief. Because, she cared...about him...
Elira shook her head, returning to the bathroom to shower before she changed. Everything would be fine. She was just letting herself become paranoid. Cloud was going to bring him back. And they would find out when a boat was leaving for the Northern Continent. And they would leave.
They would make it to the City. Chaos would be banished. It would be. The power was there, they just had to find it, to tap into it. And Vincent would be free. Free to...
...love...me... No! She shook her head again, violently, as she stepped into the water streaming from the shower nozzle. Where had that silly notion come from? Maybe they would continue being friends. Or maybe they would part, go their own separate ways, never to see each other again. It didn't matter. She didn't need him to love her. She just needed him to be there for a little while longer, until she was healed enough to stand on her own feet. And then, once Chaos was gone, they could both do whatever they wanted.
They would be free to go and live normal lives with the rest of humanity. And that meant there was the possibility that they would find love and fulfillment in being able to trust again. But not love with each other. Probably not. By the time this was ended, what was saying either of them would be ready? It would take time. Time that would allow them to meet other people.
But, Elira decided, if Vincent didn't want to leave her after everything was done, she would allow him to stay. He could stay with her if he wanted.
She would...like him...to stay...
Elira realized that it had been a few days since she'd had the chance to bathe and the hot water made her feel better, taking away some of the headache and sickness. Once she was clean, she turned the water off and stepped out of the tub, scrounging until she found a towel large enough to wrap around herself. She opened the door and, after grabbing up her discarded clothing, went out into the vacant hallway. The cold air attacked her mercilessly, covering her in goosebumps and making her shiver. She dashed across the hardwood floor, leaving wet footprints, and slipped into the relative warmth of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her.
She flicked the light switch and went to her pack, beginning to pick through her clothes. As she dressed, she realized that, had Cloud and Vincent returned while she'd been showering, Vincent could well have been in this room. And she hadn't even knocked before she'd stepped in wearing nothing but a towel. She chuckled as she slipped a clean shirt over her head, pulling her wet hair over the collar, wondering what he would've done. She couldn't imagine him blushing. He seemed too...old for that. Or too stoic. She spent another couple of minutes running a brush through her curls to tame them. He would've probably left quickly.
Or maybe he would've just glanced up, unimpressed. This thought made her feel a little self-conscious.
But what did it matter? She shouldn't even be thinking about how to 'impress' him that way. Because he'd said he wasn't interested in that kind of a relationship. And she didn't need him to love her.
But...did she want him to love her? Elira found it a hard question to answer. She wanted to say no, but...no wasn't the truth. And yet, yes was so difficult to accept.
Still, he wasn't interested, so it didn't matter. It would only cause unwanted complications if she ended up falling for him. And complications were one thing they didn't need. With a breath, Elira put her dirty clothes and her brush into her pack and left the room, flicking the light switch deftly before closing the door.
The sound of men shouting reached her ears even before she'd come to the living room. Feeling a rising panic, Elira ran out of the hall to see Tifa standing at the front door, her hands clutching the door frame in concern. Elira joined her, but was forced to retreat against the wall as Vincent dashed inside suddenly. Cloud then followed him, backing into the doorway to face the crowd that had gathered, his hands raised before him in silent entreaty.
It was difficult to tell with Cloud blocking her line of vision, but Elira guessed that about a dozen men were gathered outside of his house, all of them shouting, some waving balled fists or guns in the air. At first, she believed that she didn't recognize any of them. Why should she? But then a familiar face caught her eye. It was a moment before she was able to place it to the man with the scar who'd been seated beside her in the bar. He was at the forefront of the group, grinning as he glanced around at all of his supporters. Elira was suddenly disgusted, ashamed to have to admit that Kalm had once been her hometown.
Cloud raised his hands over his head for a moment. "Would you all just shut the hell up?" he shouted.
"Why should we?" someone yelled back. There were cries of agreement, but the crowd of men settled after that, seemingly willing to quiet down for the negotiations.
Cloud lowered his hands. "Look, just go back to your homes. There's nothing here that concerns you."
"Yes, there is," the man with the scar argued, his eyes angry and, Elira noticed, a little glazed with intoxication. "That monster is in your house." The other men broke out in wrathful assent and the man from the bar glanced around again, grinning foolishly at the bellows of "You tell 'im, Lud!" and "Let him know we mean business!"
Cloud didn't move. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and more than a little threatening. "Go back to your homes."
"Not until we've killed that creature," the man with the scar, Lud, seethed, leaning in closer to Cloud's face in a way Elira guessed was supposed to be menacing. However, it only reminded Elira of the kind of boys she'd seen sometimes on the street, the kind that were more than ready to make a threat while with their friends, but were complete cowards when alone. It made her want to laugh scornfully, but she kept her peace, letting Cloud handle the skirmish.
"He's not a creature," Cloud defended. "He's a man, just like any of you. So why don't you all go back about your business?"
"A man, huh?" came a shout from the crowd. "Then what's with the wings?"
"Yeah!" someone else cried. "I've never seen a man who looks the way he did when he landed in the square!"
Lud continued to grin impudently. After a moment, though, his smile dropped and he began to speak as if giving counsel. "Just let us have the monster, Strife. It'll be better for everyone that way."
Cloud didn't speak for a moment, but when he finally did, his voice was so low and deadly it made Elira want to back away from him. "Are you threatening me and my family?"
Lud shrugged casually. "If that's what it takes."
"My friend hasn't done anything to harm anyone. Why don't you go find someone else to pick on?"
"This isn't about us picking on anybody. It's about the safety of our town from weirdoes like your friend, there."
Monster, creature, weirdo. Elira wondered how they were making Vincent feel; after all, she wasn't the one on the receiving end and they were paining her. However, when she turned around, Vincent was nowhere in sight.
"What's going on?"
Elira glanced toward the kitchen as Aeris padded into the room in her nightie, rubbing at an eye with a balled fist. As she noticed her father standing in the doorway talking heatedly with a group of men, she stopped to stare.
Tifa took her cue, coming up to her daughter and beginning to usher her away from the scene. "Come on. Back upstairs. Where's your sister?"
"Still in bed. What's going on? What do all those people want?"
"Nothing that concerns you, sweetheart. Now, come on."
Elira watched Tifa herd her unwilling daughter back into the kitchen. And then Elira headed for the hallway, guessing that Vincent would have returned to the room.
The light was off, but Elira could see Vincent in the light from the hallway, standing unmoving in the middle of the floor. She approached him, closing the door on the voices filtering in from the living room. He didn't look at her, even when she stood right in front of him, continuing to stare straight ahead, his red eyes burning. She felt a pity well up in her and had to fight the urge to put a hand on his arm.
"Vincent?"
He didn't move. From the daylight peeking around the closed curtains, Elira saw that his hands, both gloved and gold, were clenched into fists. Elira thought immediately of a wall. ..no you don't...don't you dare retreat like this...
"Vincent." She thrust out her arms and grabbed his gloved hand. His head snapped suddenly so that he was looking at her, his face set, his eyes dangerous. He attempted to pull his fist away, but she kept her fingers locked firmly around his wrist. "No, Vincent, listen to me. Don't bottle it up. Talk to me. That's what I'm here for, remember?"
Vincent stared at her, hard, for an eternity of seconds. "You would not understand this, Elira." His voice was measured, the words clipped as if chiseled out of ice.
Elira returned his stare unashamedly. "Like I didn't understand before?"
"This has nothing to do with Lucrecia."
"Neither did Chaos."
Vincent didn't answer immediately, though his eyes never left hers, burning with stubborn anger, burning with pain. "You would hate me," he said after a pause, his voice cracking in a way that tore at Elira's heart. She looked at him with compassion, her anger melting.
"I couldn't hate you, Vincent."
Vincent turned his face away, the rigidness of his body receding. Elira let go of his wrist as his hand relaxed out of the fist.
He was shaking his head. "I deserve your hatred. I deserve the hatred of the men outside," he murmured as if to himself.
"No," Elira reassured him. "No, you don't."
Vincent faced her again, his eyes glowing in the dimness. "There are things you don't know," he said harshly. "Things that have nothing to do with Lucrecia. Things that make me...evil." He looked away again.
He was so dejected and in so much pain, Elira wanted to hold him. But she knew that would only serve to drive him away. And she didn't want that. She wanted him to open up to her, to let her help him carry the pain.
"Please, Vincent. Trust me. Talk to me. Tell me what these things are."
Vincent was silent and still for so long that Elira began to wonder if he'd heard her. But, just as she was about to entreat him further, he started to speak, his voice muted as if he was speaking to her from a great distance.
"I lived in Midgar once. I worked for the company known as Shinra. I was a..." He gave a soft laugh, but instead of being mirthful, it was filled with bitterness. "A part of the Shinra Manufacturing Department in Administrative Research." The laughing continued.
Elira began to worry about him, wondering if stress had pushed him out of his senses. She put a hand forward to touch his shoulder, perhaps to get him to look at her again, but she withdrew before her fingers reached him. "Vincent?" she beseeched instead.
The resentful laughter trailed into nothingness. "It was a euphemism. I wasn't hired to do any research in any department." There was another pause. Vincent did not move, still turned away from her, his shoulders hunched a little as if under a heavy burden, his hair hanging haphazardly, covering his face. "I was a Turk," he said finally, the words fast and running together as if the fact would be less painful if it was over with quickly.
A Turk. The word made Elira feel cold, but she couldn't tell if it was because it had meaning to her or because of Vincent's tone of voice. "What is a Turk?" she asked.
Vincent turned to look at her, his red eyes feverish though his expression remained unchanged. "If you had lived within Midgar, you would know. Everyone knew. The Turks were an organization hired to..." He turned away from her again, his eyes becoming unfocused as if he was looking at something only he could see. "Kill people."
Elira had to force herself not to take a step backward. He had killed people? Suddenly things fell into place. The expertise with guns, the way he walked without sound, the sharpness of his gaze: he had been a trained assassin. He had probably been very, very good.
And it was tearing him up inside.
Breaking through her cautions, Elira followed her impulse and thrust out a hand to touch his back. He flinched away, nearly stumbling in his hurry to retreat from her. Stopping at the bed, he turned and straightened. His form was blocking most of the light peeking out from around the curtains, but Elira could still see his eyes boring down at her.
"Don't touch me. You don't know all of it." He seemed out of breath, as if it was an effort just to keep himself from fleeing.
Was he going to tell her all of it? Elira wasn't sure what to do. His actions seemed to imply that he didn't want her to stay, but the intensity in his gaze called to her, urged her to remain and comfort him. But how? She was so used to comforting physically, but for him, touch was uncomfortable. Perhaps all she needed to do was listen. Listen the way he could listen...
Vincent continued to stare at her, his eyes hard and cold. But Elira knew it was a front, a front she'd used before to mask the raging hell in her mind, in her soul. It didn't, couldn't intimidate her. It only made her resolve quicken; she was going to help him. He needed her help, finally needed her.
She just hoped she would have the strength he needed her to have to withstand the scalding lava of the eruption.
Vincent seemed to find what he was looking for in her expression and lowered his face, though he didn't seat himself on the bed. His next words were almost inaudible and Elira had to strain to hear him.
"I had no conscience. I killed hundreds of innocent people without remorse, and..." He stopped for a moment and Elira could almost see his frown, though in the darkness it was hard to tell. "...I found pleasure in it."
Vincent fell silent again and Elira wondered if he was finished speaking. Perhaps he was. He didn't look up, as if afraid to meet her eyes. But she wasn't going to judge him. It was a part of his past and he obviously felt regret for what he had done. She approached him and he glanced up, stepping backward until he nearly stumbled against the bed, one of the very few graceless blunders she'd seen him make. She was less than a foot away from him when she stopped. His eyes were darting around her face as if he feared what she might do. She smiled.
"I'm not going to touch you, Vincent. I just want you to know that I don't hate you."
It was a moment before he raised his eyes, focusing them on a spot a few inches above her head. "You are a fool," he sighed.
Elira couldn't stop her smile from growing larger. "Maybe I am, but I don't know what I can do about it."
Vincent's jaw twitched. "Sephiroth was also a merciless killer. You would fear and hate him if it was he who was standing before you now."
Elira pursed her lips. Would she have hated Sephiroth the Mad if she'd seen him? Yes, she probably would have for all of the death he had caused. But, not if... "Not if he was standing before me feeling guilty and regretful for what he had done."
Vincent met her eyes with his blood red ones. "You are stubborn and a fool," he stated coldly.
Elira sighed through her teeth. "Vincent, do you want me to hate you, to reject you? Would that make you feel better?"
Vincent turned his head away from her, looking toward the closed door, his expression unmoved.
Elira felt like putting a hand up to force his eyes back to hers, but she didn't, knowing that would only push him further behind his walls. "Vincent."
He didn't acknowledge. Elira took a breath to calm her rising temper. "Vincent, I don't hate you. I can't hate you! I know too well what it's like to feel hated and rejected. I felt that way when I was standing in front of Eagan's father. It's a horrible, horrible feeling that I wouldn't wish on anyone."
Vincent continued to look toward the door as if she hadn't spoken. Elira lowered her head in defeat. He didn't believe that she could possibly not despise him for his past; after all, he so deeply despised himself. But, she understood his unwillingness to believe. It had taken a little while of continued friendship and acceptance from Barret for Elira to believe that he hadn't loathed her once he knew about Eagan. She would just have to do the same; she would have to keep on accepting him, remain his friend until he was forced to see that it was possible for someone to know about what he had done and forgive him for it.
If only he could forgive himself...
If only she could forgive herself...
Elira stepped away from him without looking back and exited the room. There was nothing more she could say, nothing more she could do right now. It would take time.
Laughter. She could hear men's laughter. Elira entered the living room to see that Cloud was still in the doorway, but he was leaning casually against the jamb, gesturing as he spoke. "And we all know what a fine, upstanding citizen of Kalm you are, Lud."
The crowd broke into another round of mirth. In front of Cloud, Lud was seething, his face red with anger and humiliation.
Cloud ran a hand over his beard as if in deep thought. "Now, why don't you crawl back to your bar stool and just stick to what you know. The blacksmith expected me to be at work a quarter of an hour ago."
There was a little more laughter as the men dispersed, a few apologies called out over departing shoulders. Cloud raised his hand in acknowledgment before closing the door.
"How did you do that?" Elira asked him in bafflement. When she'd left to find Vincent, the mob had seemed ready to burn the house down.
Cloud turned to her and gave a lopsided grin. He shrugged. "They're good people, most of them. It's just that fellow, Lud. He's been trying to drive us out since we moved in here."
Elira frowned. "You mean, it really didn't have anything to do with Vincent?"
Cloud ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I dunno about that. But, I do know that if Lud hadn't riled the people up, we wouldn't have had this scene. Most people trust me here. I got rid of the monsters that wandered in for the first while." He smiled, but the smile faded after a moment. "Oh, damn. I'm late!" He ran suddenly out of the room.
Elira shook her head. What a house. She wandered around the living room aimlessly for a minute before finally seating herself on the couch. It had been a hectic morning. She could do with a walk. And this time, she could. This wasn't sector four of Neo-Midgar and she wasn't working during the daylight hours. She could go where she wanted, as when she had been a child living here.
So, she decided that, once she'd mustered enough gumption to retrieve her shoes from the room Vincent was more than likely still occupying, she would go to the docks and find out when the next ferry was heading out for the Northern Continent.