It took Vincent a few moments to realize that he was dead.
He felt surprisingly good. All of the searing pain of the last few moments had disappeared, leaving only peace. And then, as if he had opened his eyes, though he couldn't recall having closed them, he found himself standing on the walkway of the temple facing the crystal. On the dais he could see Elira. She seemed to be hunched over something, motionless as if concentrating with her entire being. And then she sat up slowly.
And he saw that it was his body she was kneeling beside.
"No," he heard her say softly. "No, no, please." She leaned over him again, taking his face tenderly in her hands. "No, you can't. You can't just leave me here. Please." She began to sob quietly.
Vincent wanted to go to her, to tell her that he was all right, but he couldn't move and his voice seemed to have been taken from him. He could only watch as she lay her forehead onto his chest, her body shaking with her weeping.
It startled him when she suddenly sat up, turning her face to the ceiling as she let out a mournful, broken cry. When next she looked down, she gripped his shirt in her hands and began to shake him as if to wake him up. "No! No, it's not fair! Please! Please, bring him back! I love him!"
There was no answer to her plea, only the echo of her cry bouncing back to her. She collapsed on top of his body with a defeated sob.
After about a minute, she sat up again and, wiping her face dry with the sleeve of his coat that she still wore, positioned herself and, tilting his head back carefully, began to perform what Vincent recognized from the Turks as artificial respiration. He wondered for a moment where she'd learned it, but this question was forgotten as she continued and he began to wonder whether it would work, waiting anxiously. But, after nearly ten minutes when she had been breathing into his lungs and pumping on his chest with her hands, he realized that it was futile. His body had been too badly damaged over forty years, unable to support life without Chaos' possession. It would have taken a miracle for him to live once the demon had been exorcised. He should've known; perhaps he had, but had been unwilling to admit it to himself. Now, this way, it had been unfair to Elira; it had given her false hope. Perhaps it had made her less wary about falling in love...with him.
Perhaps it had been unfair to himself as well, giving him false hope...making him less wary...
But she'd known the risks, and she'd been willing to take them from the beginning. He hoped she'd been telling the truth about her willingness, hoping she'd said it with a knowledge of her own limits. The last thing he wanted her to do was sink back into the hell she'd described her life as after Eagan's death; the last thing he wanted was for her to kill herself, to be drawn into death with him, the fading legacy of his curse. He wanted to shout, to tell her to leave this place, to get on with her life, because love was possible for her even from one who knew her intimately, who knew the person she kept from others...
If only he'd told her before he'd died...
Perhaps his fatal flaw was not being weak and falling in love; perhaps it was the unwillingness to act, the hesitation. Perhaps that had been his mistake with Lucrecia. If he'd told her how he felt, shown her at any point...
But he hadn't, and it had killed her.
Elira, please, defy the curse...and live...please know that I love you...
The crystal was getting steadily brighter and brighter, but the brightness didn't hurt Vincent's eyes. Soon, he found that the light was taking over everything he could see. He set his gaze on Elira until she disappeared in the glow from the crystal, watching as she finally gave up trying to revive him and lay down dejectedly beside him as if she, too, had died. The sight unnerved him, but there was nothing he could do now. He could feel himself being drawn in by the light of the crystal and there was no way to fight it.
His life was ended and the lifestream would not wait any longer for him.
//Elder Naam, the demon Chaos has finally been exorcised.//
Naam turned from the woman he had been speaking with and glanced at the man who had interrupted them. With a smile and a nod, he dismissed the woman. She walked past the man with a slight smile before exiting the small house, almost more of a cottage, that belonged to Naam.
//I am not an Elder here, Cemus.//
Cemus smiled a little. //Sorry, it's an old habit. I was sent to fetch you and one other to accompany me for the purpose of passing judgment.//
Naam raised his eyebrows. //I haven't been asked to pass judgment in eons. And Chaos, you say? That errant demon we thought we would never see here? How was that done, or do you know?//
//The human who had been possessed accompanied by another found the words of freedom written in the hidden temple.//
Naam nodded, impressed. There was no room for racism, or any other evil, in the Promised Land, but Naam knew it for a fact that humans usually treated their religious practices as old traditions without any power, and he was surprised that any of the humans would've thought to use them. Perhaps the afflicted human had finally turned to the scriptures after trying every other means available.
//Yes, I will pass judgment. I think it will be harsh, too. I have no patience for demons.//
//Like the rest of us here. Now, come. The human host will be arriving any moment and we still must inform the third person that she has been chosen to pass judgment, though I wouldn't doubt that she already suspects she has been chosen.//
//Ah, because she knew the human host. Very good.// And, with that, the two Cetra of old headed off towards the Place of Justice.
Vincent had never been in the lifestream before, but from the descriptions given by Cloud and Tifa he found himself recalling from ten years ago when they had both fallen into a fissure in Mideel, this was not it. Had he been shown this environment and asked where he thought it was, he would've said:
...the Promised Land...
The grass beneath his feet was a perfect green, not one sprig was brown or out of place, even when he stepped away to look at the ones he had had his weight on. They just straightened back up into position as if straightening from a bow. There were trees scattered about, each one majestic and tall and full, every leave twitching though there was no breeze, twitching as if with laughter. The sky was a magnificent, indescribable shade of blue and, although there was no sun that he could see, light was everywhere. Absolutely everywhere; there weren't any shadows in this place, though Vincent looked for them, looking for a dark place to shroud himself in, to think and perhaps get a better idea of this place. Despite the fact that he sensed no danger or threat, he still felt the need to get out of the open. It felt as if he was being watched from all sides, as he had felt in the Sleeping Forest, though here he felt no malicious intent. He just felt the need to get away from the probing gaze of the grass, the trees, the sky, feeling as if he was tainting things with his very presence.
As if it had just appeared behind him, Vincent noticed a monolithic structure at his back, built in the softly curving style of the Ancients. Pillars surrounded it, four of them supporting the stone awning that sheltered the steps, worn neither with age or use. He took a hesitant step toward it, wondering whether or not it would be prudent to venture inside. And then he noticed that he wasn't in his usual black garb.
Barely recognized by him after all this time, he was in his old Turks uniform. The black dress shoes polished to a perfect shine, the blue pants complete with crisp creases, the white dress shirt and blue suit coat just as he remembered them, the holster that fit around his shoulders to carry his gun over his heart; it was as if he'd been transported back forty years. He touched his hair to find that it was still as long as he'd had it for the last ten years, even more if one counted the time he'd spent in the coffin, but his bandana was gone.
And then his eyes fell upon his left arm.
He spent what felt like hours just staring at his hand, flexing the forgotten flesh fingers, tracing the once familiar contours with his eyes. Finally, he moved his right hand and touched his left as if to test its reality. It was solid and he could feel the touch of his own fingers on his skin. Urged on by years of having no feeling in this part of his body because of the cursed claw, he pushed his sleeve up to his elbow and examined his forearm. The skin wasn't pasty, but a healthy colour, if a little pale because he'd always been pale. He bent his arm at the elbow and was gladdened that, for once, the soft skin of his inner elbow wasn't pinched by the metal of the heavy arm.
And then he remembered something that had touched him at the time, so gentle and innocent a gesture, so unafraid. Elira lying beside him in bed, thinking him asleep, examining his prosthetic arm with her eyes, running her finger along the seam where he ended and the metal began, tickling him tenderly, inadvertently. And then twining her fingers with his pseudo ones, letting them close around hers, not even seeming to realize how dangerous they could be. She had seen him as a man, as a human, first, recognizing his pain, seeing it when most people saw his freakishness before anything else. Instead of keeping her distance, she'd approached him, even pushing his boundaries when he'd tried to brush her off.
If only he'd had more to give her, if only he could've loved her...
Though maybe it was better this way. He really wasn't too experienced when it came to love. As a young man, he hadn't believed in it. Until Lucrecia. He'd seen women as objects for physical pleasure, though he'd never really been interested, until she'd come into his life, so real, so caring, so much more than him. And he'd had no idea what to do. She'd been the one to approach him first, coming into the kitchen of the mansion at an odd hour of the night and pouring herself some of the coffee he'd made. And then sitting down across from him and talking to him like one person talks to another, without coming on to him, without trying to get something from him; she'd just let him into her life a little. And, as if he'd been a bee and she the flower, he'd been unable to stay away after that. But he hadn't known how to show her...
If only he'd been able to show Elira beyond the short, passionate encounters they'd shared. He'd been so cold to her so often, trying to keep her away without really dismissing her, trying to keep her away from his curse. Maybe it was better this way. Because, if they'd been given a chance to start a relationship, he might've broken her heart anyway. He might've failed her anyway...the way he'd failed Lucrecia...
Movement to his left caught Vincent's attention and he glanced up to see three figures dressed in long white robes approaching him. Or perhaps they were heading for the building and he just happened to be in the way. He stepped backward as they came closer. And one of them turned to look at him. It was a young woman, the only woman among the three of them. It was only when she smiled at him and beckoned, indicating that he should come with them, that he recognized her without the pink dress.
...Aeris...
He hesitated a moment before following them up the stairs and into the building.
Though the building had a ceiling and only about half a dozen slits in the rock walls that served as windows, it was no less bright than the outside world had been. There still were no shadows, not even lurking in the corners. It was a phenomenon Vincent wasn't sure he would ever get used to.
The structure had only one room, about ten feet wide by twenty feet long, and it was mostly unfurnished except for a large table at the end of the chamber that was covered in a white sheet. Aeris and the two men ascended the few steps that led up to the table and proceeded to seat themselves in chairs that were hidden behind the sheet. Unsure of what to do, Vincent just stood at the bottom of the stairs in front of the table, waiting.
He didn't have to wait long. It wasn't more than a few moments before two large robed figures entered the building, carrying between them a thoroughly chained and bound Chaos, though it didn't look like the creature that had forced its way to the surface of his body so many times. It was no more than a dark shadow, even somewhat translucent so that Vincent could see the wall behind it through its insubstantial body. But he knew it was Chaos. The very presence it exuded like oil dripping from a saturated cloth was one Vincent knew he would never mistake. The demon was struggling futily, but it stopped when it noticed Vincent, it's still red eyes glowing with sudden hatred. Vincent was sure it would've said something horrible had not a gag been put over its mouth, but as it was it only managed muffled grunts. Vincent took a few steps to his left as the men advanced until they stood in front of the table. There, they put the shadow Chaos down onto the stone floor, the only shadow in all of the Promised Land.
And then one of the men behind the table began to speak. Or, what Vincent took as speaking. Though his mouth never moved, it seemed the words were coming from him and going directly into Vincent's mind.
//Chaos, you have been cast out in accordance with the scriptures in the power of Holy. You will now be tried for your deeds as justice dictates from the moment you re-entered the living world through a practice of witchcraft. You are charged with possessing a human host without consent, infringing upon the rights of freewill, and willfully causing death, injury and destruction of lives and property. What do you have to say in your defense?//
The gag was removed from Chaos' leering mouth. Without hesitation, Chaos began to scream. And it was audible. Vincent was unable to keep himself from wincing as the air was seared with the demon's screeching voice. "I wassss invited in you petty foolssss! None of your imbecilic lawssss were broken!"
Vincent wanted to argue that he had never invited Chaos to enter his body, even if the transforming abilities had been such an advantage in the taking down of Sephiroth the Mad, but the second man began to speak before he could say a thing.
//You were not invited in, but put into the host's body, isn't that correct? The host didn't ask to be possessed. Therefore, it was without consent. And there is still the matter of freewill as well as your other crimes.//
Chaos again struggled in vain against its chains that Vincent noticed were made of a shining silver almost too lustrous to look at. The touch of them on its black, shadowy skin seemed to pain the demon and it hissed distastefully as it writhed about, trying to get free. After a few moments, Chaos finally gave up the idea of escape and began to wail again. "He enjoyed having my company! He ssssavored the death I could causssse with my sssstrength! There wassss conssssent you weak, pathetic foolssss! He conssssented after the posssssessssion had happened!"
Again, Vincent wanted to refute the demon's words, to say that he'd never wanted Chaos in his body and would've given anything at any point to be rid of it. Even with the strength the demon had given him, he'd hated the way he'd been unable to control Chaos' actions. Though the demon and he had seemed to have the same goals while fighting with Avalanche, Vincent had always feared in the back of his mind that Chaos would turn suddenly and attack Cloud and the others. The demon had always been a loose cannon and this had bothered Vincent, as he had always been one for precision and planning and self-control. Letting Chaos out had ever gone against the way he was. And he'd hated it, even as he'd lived in the death.
But, again, one of the others speaking interrupted him. This time, it was Aeris. She was smiling at him as she had always smiled, despite the fact that he'd never returned the gesture once while she'd known him.
//Is that the truth, Vincent?//
Vincent attempted to open his mouth to answer her question, but it was as if he had no voice. Frowning a little, he tried to send his words out with his mind the way she had done. //No, it is not the truth.//
"Liar!" Chaos screeched suddenly. "Liar! He liessss!" The demon pinned Vincent with its eyes, burning, red coals out of a black pit. "You cannot ssssay you did not usssse the giftssss I provided!"
//No, I cannot say I didn't use the...abilities you provided, but I didn't really have a choice. If I became distracted enough by pain or anger you pushed yourself to the surface, forcing me to transform. But there was never a point that I considered your 'help' preferable to being without you, even if that meant my death.//
//Vincent has spoken the truth of your guilt, Chaos,// Aeris stated solemnly, the usually so innocent and friendly eyes turning stern. //Your punishment will now be decided.// There was a maturity about her now, in her very bearing Vincent realized, a wisdom he'd only glimpsed in her a few times. The wisdom that had shown her what to do to stop Sephiroth, though the act had led to her death through her own inexperienced folly, so naive about the true nature of evil.
Aeris and the two men behind the table turned to face one another, seeming to begin a discussion though their mouths remained closed and Vincent was unable to hear anything from them with his mind. He glanced again at Chaos to see that the gag had been replaced around its mouth. But its horrible red eyes expressed the volumes of hatred it held for him.
Vincent suddenly thought back to the times he and Chaos had fought together as one, and he wondered if the demon had hated him then. He was inclined to believe that it had. It was difficult to imagine that creatures like Chaos were capable of anything except malice.
The talk came to a conclusion after a few minutes and the three Cetra turned back to face Vincent and Chaos. And one of the men began to speak.
//It is decided. You are sentenced to spend the rest of eternity wandering through dry and dusty places without any way back to the physical world, outside of contact with any other of your kind.//
Chaos gave a sudden bellow of rage despite the gag and began to struggle again against the chains. When the two large men who had brought him in moved to pick him up, he gave another cry. But the noise was not wrathful. It was more of a fearful shriek, ending in a strange, muffled whimper. It was odd to see such a huge creature, though he was no more than a shadow now, wailing and quivering in terror as it was carried out, but Vincent realized that Chaos had never been courageous. It was afraid, just as it had been before he'd cast it out, begging him to let it stay. It had always been afraid, lying to him and fighting him, driven on by the horror that it would be banished. More than hatred, it had been battling the journey out of frightened desperation.
The three figures came out from behind the table and descended the stairs. The two men exited the room, but Aeris approached Vincent, smiling warmly. //Hello, Vincent. It's been awhile, hasn't it?//
Vincent nodded.
Her smile widened. //I'm glad to see that you've finally been set free from the grip of Chaos. I often said prayers for you and the others that you would find peace and happiness.//
Vincent nodded again after a pause. //At one point not long ago I thought that perhaps those things were possible for me.//
Aeris' smile wavered a little. //Well, aren't you at peace now? I seem to recall you speaking of death favourably ten years ago.//
Vincent hesitated another moment before speaking. //I have found something to live for in ten years.//
Aeris' eyes widened a fraction. //That woman. It's that woman, isn't it? I felt her through the crystal once when she touched it and wondered who she was that you would let her go with you. I didn't sense a fighter in her, though she had a strength about her. I couldn't see what advantage you would've seen in taking her with you. I didn't realize then that...// Her smile turned a little sly. //...you were in love with her.//
Vincent lowered his head, not really surprised by Aeris' insight. After a moment, he looked to Aeris again, finding that her expression had turned somewhat sad. Perhaps the predicament of his and Elira's death-denied love reminded her of what she had lost with Cloud. He considered for a moment telling her that Cloud and Tifa had named one of their daughters after her, but then decided against it. Better to let the memories lie as they were now. She had probably come far in forgetting him.
If only he didn't have so far to go.
The thought that he wouldn't see Elira again except later in the lifestream made him feel empty, frustrated. He wanted to go back to her, if only for a moment to tell her that he loved her, that he wanted her to go on happily. Just to see her once more, if only for a moment...
As if guessing at his thoughts, Aeris was smiling glumly at him. //It's hard for the first while to get used to the new surroundings, but everyone has a place prepared for them after death, even in the lifestream. You'll find it gets easier as time passes.//
Vincent nodded again, but more for his own sake than for Aeris'. Her smile widened for a moment before she turned to start on the journey back out of the structure.
Vincent looked after her. //What of me now?// he asked.
She stopped at the top of the stairway and turned to gaze at him. //You'll go to the lifestream most probably.//
//Most probably?//
Aeris shrugged a little, some of her eternally cascading hair falling over one shoulder. //Well, there are some cases, like mine, where a person doesn't go to the lifestream. Though I'm only half-Cetra, it was decided that I would be allowed into the Promised Land.//
Vincent took a suddenly hopeful step forward. //Is it possible for a person to be sent back?//
Aeris frowned a little and approached him, a pity in her eyes. //Yes, but not often. Vincent, I would suggest that you just accept your fate...//
//No.// Vincent shook his head. //No, if there is a way...//
Aeris sighed in a little exasperation. //It's not for you to choose, Vincent. And you can't do anything to sway the choice. So you might as well accept the fact that you're dead. I had to.// She trailed off somewhat dejectedly.
Vincent felt suddenly guilty for making her remember her old life when she seemed to have been doing so well here. But he'd brought everything back, the old hopes that had been dashed against the rocks. Perhaps Aeris, too, had once dreamed of being sent back.
But there had been nothing she could do to change the choice. Just as there was nothing he could do.
He nodded again. Aeris gave another sigh before turning from him once more and walking away, jaunting daintily down the steps until she'd disappeared out of sight.
Vincent lowered himself to the floor slowly and examined his left hand idly, tracing the lines on his palm with his eyes as if to memorize them. Though he would have all eternity to get to know them again.
And he wondered again if this might be better in the long run. It ensured that he would never hurt Elira again and it gave hope that she would find love with someone who could love her properly, someone younger who had something to give her besides a past full of death and selfishness.
Like Lucrecia, she was an angel on a height he could never dream of reaching. And she deserved so much better than Vincent Valentine.
So maybe it was better this way...
Vincent was surprised to find that his eyes were moist. He wiped at them with the fingers of his left hand, angered by the fact that he'd been denied tears for Lucrecia, for Elira, for himself, until after death.
Because now they didn't do anybody any good.
Fate watched her toy gleefully, clapping her hands at his doleful misery, sniggering to herself. It had been perfect. She'd brought him to his peak, let him built up his hope until he'd almost allowed himself to believe, until he'd given himself to love. And then she'd stuck the barb into his heart, savoring the way he'd writhed. The way he would writhe for all eternity. It couldn't have worked better if she'd controlled every step he'd taken, if she'd made him dance to her distorted tune.
But, when she'd wailed her siren song, calling to him, whispering that he could be free, he'd lifted up his poor, crippled soul and made himself dance. Just as she'd known he would. Within the half-dead shell of a man had beat a passionate heart that, despite everything, he could never have denied.
And now he was damned; she'd denied him the solace and peace death often brought by forcing a piece of him to remain in the living world. A piece he would never get back. Because, although the woman would undoubtedly follow, the same kind of love would never be possible. Forever denied. She threw back her head and laughed drunkenly, inebriated by his delicious predicament.
But she stopped laughing abruptly as she heard something. She strained to hear it, fearing to find that it was the thing she feared most.
It was faint, approaching as if blown by a breeze, repeating again and again. She trembled as she listened to the words, growing louder with every second.
...Please, God, give him back his life... She grabbed at the airy sentence as it floated past her ear, as if able to stop it, but her hand slipped right through it. She cried out as it scorched her fingers and then put them up to the knuckles into the mouth of her angry face while her frightened face watched the words fly upward toward Him. Her other many faces remained emotionless, staring into nothingness, waiting.
And then she felt the heat, hotter than a thousand suns. She cowered away from it, closing her numerous eyes against the blinding light that was shining into her dark corner.
The prayer had been received. And Fate knew she'd gone too far with this one...
Elira finished her pitiful prayer and lay her head back onto Vincent's dead chest, not caring that the material of his dress shirt was now soaking wet with her tears in that place. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The prayer had been more of a final, desperate plea than anything done out of faith. He was gone. For the rest of her life he was gone. She frowned, not sure if she could handle that. Not again...
She'd realized in Costa Del Sol that she'd never loved or needed Eagan the way she loved and needed Vincent. He hadn't been such a deep and vital part of her. The bond hadn't been quite so strong...as if they'd been two halves of the same soul...
A choking sob racked Elira's body and fresh tears washed her face. But, instead of bringing comfort, they only added to the agony of her stinging eyes, sickened stomach, and aching heart. She wanted to die...she wanted to die, to be with him...
Elira sat up slowly and, with fumbling fingers, reached for his gun and attempted to pull it from the holster. But her grip was unsure and the handle slipped from her fingers. With a quiet, shaky sigh, Elira tried for it again. This time, she made sure she had a hold on it before giving a mighty yank. It clattered out of the hardened leather and into her trembling grasp.
And Vincent's eyes shot open.
Elira gasped and nearly screamed. She calmed herself a moment later, realizing that the movement had stirred him enough to make his eyelids flutter upward. Carefully, she stretched her left hand out to close his eyes again, a little reluctant to kill herself with him watching, even if he was no longer in his body.
She pulled her hand down over his brow and the bridge of his thin nose. And he blinked, his eyelashes brushing against her palm. She jerked her hand away as if she'd been touching something unpleasant and peered at him in fearful confusion.
He blinked again, once, before focusing his eyes on her.
And then she really did scream.
He winced.
"Oh God, I'm hallucinating." Elira closed her eyes and put the balls of her hands to her temples and began to massage her head methodically. Okay, calm down Elira. He's dead. Dead. She opened one eye.
Two slate gray eyes watched her in concern.
Elira whimpered and closed her eyes again. "No, no, God please, no. Don't do this to me."
"E...Elir...a..."
"Oh God!" Elira opened her eyes, wild with fear, and pointed the barrel of the gun at Vincent's head, her hands trembling uncontrollably. "You're dead, you're dead, you're dead," she muttered almost in a chant. "This is just a hallucination. You're really dead and I'm just..." She swallowed before giving a nervous chuckle. "...going crazy."
Vincent's eyes watched the gun dispassionately for a moment before they turned to look at Elira. She felt her face contort with horrified tears. "No, no," she whispered. "Please, stop this."
"Elira." Vincent's voice was no more than a croak. He was suddenly set upon by a coughing fit that left him gasping for breath.
Elira's lips trembled as she watched him. And then, finally, she dropped the gun to the dais and threw herself onto him. "Oh, Vincent," she sobbed. "You're alive!" She sat up a moment later and, wiping the tears from her face, put two fingers to his neck. And felt a soft pulse there under still-cold skin. Grinning foolishly as she cried in relief and joy, she lay her head to his chest to hear his heartbeat. "How...?" she asked falteringly. "How...did...?" She fumbled to a halt and sat up to look at him.
He cleared his throat and coughed again. "I...I'm not sure," he said in a grating voice before clearing his throat once more. "I...think I'll tell you more...later."
Elira frowned a little. "Why not now? I need to know something...anything to convince myself I'm not dreaming." She ran a hand idly over his dress shirt, smoothing it out where she'd creased it, just wanting to touch him as if fearing that he would vanish.
"It's no dream," Vincent assured her. "For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. But, I will tell you more later. Right now..." He frowned spasmodically. "I am in some pain, and I am tired." He sighed a little. "And I can't move."
Elira stopped flattening the wrinkles in his shirt and peered at him in concern. "You can't move? Can you...can you feel anything? Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine in a little while, hopefully. My body is just cold, as if I've been frozen."
"Well, you were dead for about half an hour," Elira pointed out. "And it might take your body a little while to get used to the idea of living after forty years of being mostly dead."
Vincent gave a small grunt of acknowledgment before closing his eyes wearily. Elira smiled as she watched him slip off into the first natural sleep she'd ever seen him enter, his expression one of peace. She slipped out of his coat a moment later and placed it over him for warmth. And then, as a second thought, she drew the blankets out of her pack and draped them over him as well. She removed his boots and his glove and began to alternately rub his socked feet and his hand, trying to restore heat to his chilled body. This was the second chance, the second chance she'd prayed for. She recognized it for what it was and was not going to let it slip away. His body was weak, but she would make sure he survived. She would make the second chance into a reality. Because it was possible.
If they could beat out fate, anything was possible.
The 'little while' Vincent spoke of ended up being nine days. Elira took care of him as he recovered, keeping him warm, helping him to eat and drink. It had surprised her the first time he'd complained of being hungry. She'd almost broken into another round of tears. He was alive, and he was healing. He was going to be fine.
She spent a part of each day hunting for food and, although the first few meals were made mostly of the rations she'd packed, she became better as she practiced and was soon cooking food she'd caught in the forest. A little searching through the city brought about the discovery of a cracked fountain built over a natural spring where Elira could refill the water bottles. It was on the ninth day that her wanderings about the city took her to the place where Mason and his two companions had left their vehicle. She'd been more than delighted to find that it was still in working order, though she'd had to hot-wire it because Mason hadn't left his keys.
Maybe Fate had changed her tune. Because she seemed to be smiling down on them.
Elira took the last bite of her portion of the evening meal, discreetly wiping her mouth with a sleeve before sitting back. As she chewed, her molars came down hard on a piece of shot. Grimacing in distaste, she spat it into her hand and threw it away from herself. Glancing up a moment later, she found that Vincent was looking at her with one eyebrow raised, paused in eating. She took a second to appreciate the way he looked with the black stubble of a starting beard scattered over his chin and cheeks before she made a face at him.
"Well, all right, so I'm not an experienced hunter," she said as way of an excuse. "I tried to get all of the shot out before I cooked the thing. So, if you have any complaints, you can eat the rations and I'll just hunt for food for myself."
Vincent looked back to his meal quickly. Neither of them liked the rations at all, and the idea of eating dried meat and hard biscuits when hot food was available didn't appeal to either of them. And it was good hot food, too. The only animals Elira had had any success in bringing down were strange, bushy tailed creatures about the size of a house cat that burrowed up from the ground. They were fairly easy to shoot as long as she stayed downwind of them, and, when cooked, they made for excellent eating.
Vincent finished his food fairly quickly and Elira scooped up the remains to take them outside. On the fifth day of Vincent's recovery, Elira had decided that the cavernous temple was too drafty a place to stay and, since Vincent was getting stronger every day, she'd mentioned that they might want to move to one of the houses in the city. Though it had taken no little effort and Elira had had to support him most of the way, Vincent had managed the distance along the roads until they'd reached the same two storey building Elira had used to scout him out when she'd arrived. Besides being warmer, the house was closer to the forest where Elira hunted and cooked the food, and nearer to the fountain she'd found within the city.
When Elira returned from disposing of the remains of their supper, she found Vincent still seated cross-legged on the floor, watching his prosthetic fingers as he slowly clenched and unclenched them. He didn't look up as she entered. She moved quietly to the place she had been sitting while eating and lowered herself to the floor. Vincent clenched the golden fingers once more into a tight fist before staring hard, as if looking beyond it.
"What are you thinking about?" Elira ventured softly after a pause. It was a question she'd gotten into the habit of asking him while he'd been healing, if only to get him to talk. For the nine days, they'd been alone together with no interruptions, no distractions, and Elira had been loathe to let the chance to be with him go unused. And although Vincent had been fairly subdued for the first few days, at her gentle questioning he'd begun to open up a little, letting her in a step at a time. He'd even made a few jokes in the temple, smiling into his lap when she laughed, the sound echoing through the cavern. He'd changed somehow, she'd been realizing, and it hadn't been due solely to the banishing of Chaos. Eventually, she began to recognize that he was slowly letting his humanity out, cautiously letting her see him. And she loved every new inch she saw.
Vincent glanced up momentarily at her question before returning his eyes to his metal hand. "Just about the future," he stated softly.
Elira nodded. That had been something that had been on her mind quite a lot lately. The question of 'what now?' had been coming up more and more frequently, but she'd always been too nervous to bring the topic up with Vincent. He hadn't said anything about the confession of her love for him since it had happened and she was beginning to wonder if he'd forgotten. "What about the future?" she asked him.
He sighed a little and relaxed his metal hand, his eyes tracing it idly. "How I'm going to start my life again. It is going to be difficult after all of these years of merely existing because I had no choice."
That was certainly true. She wondered if it would be possible for him to start over again on his own. She could imagine him holing up in a small apartment and working at a small shop, just as he had been doing before; living lifelessly, with nothing to live for. And she had a feeling that the metal arm he was so engrossed with now would be a constant reminder to him of what he had been, an anchor weighing him down, keeping him from moving on.
She recalled him telling her about how, in the Promised Land where three of the Cetra, one being the girl he'd known in Avalanche, had passed judgment on Chaos, he'd had two whole arms. Two whole arms instead of one and an abnormal, distorted claw. She wondered how that had felt to him, to finally be rid of the thing that he seemed to hold as a representation of all of his accumulated evil. She'd never seen it as evil, though this may have had something to do with the fact that she'd been aquainted with Barret who, for the first few years she'd known him, had had a gun grafted onto his arm. Like Barret's gun, Vincent's arm had piqued her curious interest from the beginning. Perhaps it had even been one of the things about him that had attracted her to him...an obvious difference from everything and everyone she knew, from the world that scared her...
Once the judging had finished, Vincent had told her about a voice. It had been so loud and yet at the same time so gentle. It had asked him if he'd wanted to go back. Back to where he would be living again with a metal arm, where he would have to worry about his future...
...where she was waiting for him...
Vincent seemed to have finished speaking his train of thought. He sat motionlessly in the growing shadows as the sun set over the silent city. Elira found it a little odd not to be able to see his red eyes shining out of the deepening darkness; the colour of his irises had changed when Chaos had left into the nondescript gray she guessed they had been before Hojo had done his experiments.
She cleared her throat unobtrusively. "Vincent, I found an abandoned vehicle today in the city."
He glanced up at her.
She smiled. "I made sure it still works. We can head back to Bone Village any time you want."
It was a moment before Vincent nodded at her. "Tomorrow," he replied quietly.
"Okay." Elira retrieved her pack from its place by the wall and proceeded to lay out her sleeping bag. As she did this, she realized how very tired she was. Over the last week and a half, she hadn't had much sleep. Besides just caring for Vincent, her dreams had kept her up. Dreams of waking up and finding him dead left her nights restless, though she had a feeling the meaning of the dreams represented more than that simple fear. It seemed to her that the dreams were playing out her anxiousness about what would happen next.
Because there was still a distance between the two of them due mainly to unanswered (and unasked) questions, and she was afraid that if it wasn't bridged soon he would drift away until he was gone. And he would be as good as dead to her. But she was so afraid to ask.
Do you love me, Vincent? Will you let me stay with you?
Vincent was unrolling his own sleeping bag on the other side of the room. Elira was suddenly glad that the city was safe enough that one of them wouldn't have to stay up to keep watch. She wasn't sure if it was because this city had some of the Cetra magic in it or what, but no animals ventured to enter it from the forest. Removing her sneakers, she snuggled herself into the bag and allowed herself to watch as Vincent stepped out of his boots and lay himself down to sleep.
"Good night, Vincent," she intoned quietly. She wanted so much to add, "I love you," but she didn't, too afraid of a negative reaction. Vincent gave a muffled reply. With a small sigh, Elira found a comfortable position and let herself fall asleep.
Vincent eased his foot off of the gas as Bone Village came into view at the end of the gravel road, a clearing in the mass of trees. It had been a pleasant enough ride, though it had taken him a few minutes to remember how to drive a vehicle. It had surprised him to find out that, although Elira had worked at an auto-body shop for a few years of her childhood, she had never driven anything, so the job of getting them back had been left up to him.
He glanced to his left and let his eyes drift over the sleeping form of Elira, curled up in the passenger seat. A sorrowful expression flitted over his face for a second as he looked at her. He couldn't keep her with him. Over the last week and a half, he'd found himself getting to know her better with the talks they'd been having, and he'd found himself becoming...friends with her. He'd thought Lucrecia would be the first and last female friend he'd ever have, but he'd thought wrong. Elira was another.
A few times, he'd been tempted to ask her about the love she'd professed to have for him before he'd died on the dais, but he'd always backed down before a word could be uttered. The way she smiled, the way her eyes shone, the way she flipped curls of hair behind her ear, it all made him nervous. Too nervous to make the first move. And though he cursed himself for his hesitancy, he found himself unable to overcome it.
Though he'd begun to realize as time had passed that there was another reason for his doubt. He could see no way his blood-stained hands would ever be able to hold an angel...
She would be better off finding someone else to love. Someone who could love her right...
Vincent pulled the vehicle to a stop on the outskirts of the village. Elira stirred and stretched before opening her eyes and smiling at him. "Are we here?" she asked sleepily.
He nodded once and opened the door, stepping out onto the chalk-coloured rock of Bone Village. Elira sat up and got out of the vehicle. As she walked toward him, she yawned, "I know who the vehicle belongs to. We should find him and tell him we brought it back."
Vincent frowned a little. "You know the owner?"
She nodded. "I met him in the restaurant when we came through the first time. His name's Mason Lasling. I saw him when...well, when I was coming up to the city and he said he'd left it behind."
Vincent was about to ask why he would've gone without his vehicle when he recalled seeing three men who had run off at his appearance. No doubt one of them had been this Mason Lasling. He nodded.
Elira rubbed an eye with the side of her hand and began to walk into the village. She'd taken no more than two steps before she turned to Vincent again. "Wait!" she said, successfully halting him with the urgency in her voice. After a moment, she smiled a little apologetically. "Why don't you get us a room at the inn and I'll go find Mason?"
Vincent nodded, realizing as she had that if Mason saw him now, he might recognize him and the outcome could be less than favourable. After giving Vincent a handful of gil from her pack, Elira wandered off toward the restaurant, presumably to look for Mr. Lasling, or at least to inquire about his whereabouts.
The inn was an easily discernible building, one of the only structures in the village that stood over two stories high, with smoothly chiseled stone walls and tasteful curtains in the windows. Vincent wondered where the manager obtained the gil for such a thorough upkeep since not many people came up this way, but he guessed that not all of the scientists had dwellings in the village. He could imagine that several of them just rented out the rooms for the time they would be staying. That would be a source of good income.
When Vincent came to actually taking a room out for the night, he found himself wondering if Elira had meant to say 'a room' instead of 'two rooms'. She had been tired when she'd said it, so perhaps no. He found that it really didn't matter, however, when he discovered that Elira had handed him only enough gil to cover the cost for one room. He paid for the night and made his way up the stairs.
He was relieved to find that the double room he'd requested included separate beds. Had there been only one double bed, Vincent would've let Elira have it, but the flustered confusion of it would've been uncomfortable for him. Especially if Chaos was listening and decided to add some thoughts of his own...
Vincent frowned a little. Chaos was gone. After a moment he nodded once to himself as he had found himself doing quite a bit lately.
He entered and, closing the door behind him, slipped out of his pack and dropped it on the bed. After giving the room a cursory glance, he took off the long coat Elira had restored to him and pulled off his boots. And then he sighed, wiggling his socked toes against the carpet. For the first time in a long time, his feet had become stifled in his boots. He pushed the bandana off of his forehead and pulled it out of his hair, not bothering to unwrap it.
He finished undressing in the bathroom and proceeded to take a shower. Once done, he dried himself off and stepped over to the counter where he'd left his clothes. As he passed the half-mirror, his own image caught his eye. He glanced at it and then did a double-take. Pausing, he leaned in closer to the mirror and stared at his face.
His eyes. At first, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger, but then Vincent's mind traveled back to his years as a Turk and he remembered these eyes. Once, they had been cold and calculating, adding an iciness to his expression where the red Chaos had injected into his irises had added something sinister. But now, there was no frigidity in his gaze, only a kind of sharpness that seemed to make his thin face look thinner and his dark hair darker.
He scratched absently at his chin and grimaced in irritation at the growing beard. He hadn't had to shave in years upon years. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked out into the other room and, digging around in his pack, brought out the small knife Elira had bought him in Neo-Midgar before this whole trip had begun. Unsheathing it, he examined the edge. It would have to do.
Back in the bathroom, he lathered his chin and cheeks up with soap. Holding the knife awkwardly in his right hand, he did the first stroke upward along his left cheek. As he inspected the job, he was encouraged to see that he had not drawn blood. Rinsing the blade off under the tap, he prepared himself for the next stroke.
"Vincent?"
He winced as the edge cut into his skin. A thin trickle of blood started from the small wound, winding its way downward, staining the soap red. Cursing under his breath, he rinsed the knife off again, wondering why he hadn't heard her enter.
A knock on the bathroom door. "Vincent, are you in there?"
"Yes." Hurriedly, he put the knife down and proceeded to get dressed.
"Okay. I was just wondering how long you were going to be. I want to take a shower."
"I'll be out shortly." He quickly did up the buckle on his pants and then decided not to put his shirt on so as not to get soap on it. He then prepared himself to finish shaving. He didn't know how long it took him, but eventually he finished one side. He was just about to start on the other side when Elira knocked again at the door. He made a small noise of discomfort as the blade bit into his cheek again.
"Vincent? Are you done yet? What are you doing in there, anyway?"
Carving my face up, Vincent thought to himself testily. He was just setting up to finish the aborted stroke when Elira opened the door. He jumped a little, but managed to pull the knife away from himself before decorating his face with yet another slit.
Elira's eyes widened at the sight of him without his shirt on. "Oh, I'm sorry!" She was just ducking out again when she realized what he was doing. Her face contorted in a little horror and Vincent wondered what was wrong.
"You're shaving!" she observed after a moment, slowly opening the door again.
Vincent blinked. "Yes."
"But it looked...so good on you," she protested. With a small, self-conscious start as she realized what she'd said, Elira lowered her eyes.
Something within Vincent jumped at the compliment from her and he glanced at himself in the mirror, suddenly a little sorry that he'd been so quick to get rid of the growing beard. But then he frowned a little. "It was uncomfortable," he informed her curtly. "And I have never worn a beard, not even when I was a Turk. Turks had to be clean-shaven. It was expected of a Turk to always look..."
"All right, all right," Elira interrupted him with a wave of her hand. "Shave it off, then. You don't have to get upset. I was just giving my opinion."
Vincent turned to the mirror again, preparing to continue. "I am not upset," he argued calmly.
Elira watched him for a second before ducking out of the doorway. She returned a moment later with a gray metal razor in her hand. "Vincent, do you want to use my razor? It would make shaving easier." She eyed the knife in his hand. "Not to mention safer."
Vincent paused for a moment before nodding. Elira stepped into the bathroom and handed the razor to him. He gave a nod of thanks before putting the blade up to his cheek to finish the stroke he'd been about to do. Unfortunately, Elira's razor had not been made to suit the soft skin of the face and it ended up leaving a tiny dot of blood that welled up quickly and began to make its meandering way down to his chin. He sighed inwardly and, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be able to get out of this unscathed, readied himself to continue.
But Elira stepped around him and plucked the razor out of his hand. He looked at her in a little confusion and she pointed at the closed toilet lid. "Sit," she directed.
Vincent frowned and held out his hand to take the razor back. "Elira..."
"No." She raised her chin defiantly. "With the way you're going, you'll have dozens of little scabs all over your face; and besides, you need that blood. So, sit down and I'll finish shaving you."
Vincent didn't move to obey.
Elira gave him a warning look. "Don't make me tranquilize you."
A smile threatened. She was charming when she was angry. To hide his amusement, Vincent rolled his eyes and moved to seat himself. Elira smiled, perhaps a little smugly, and went to stand in front of him. After a moment, she tilted his head up and gently began to finish shaving him.
The fingers of her left hand came to rest against his neck beneath his ear to keep him still as she strove to do the job without cutting him. The touch made him shiver a little, the first time she'd touched his skin with her hand since Costa Del Sol. It reminded him of the first time he'd gone to her apartment, when she'd caressed him with her fingertips. He fought the urge to put his own hand over her fingers.
Elira cleared her throat quietly. "I used to do this for some of my dad's customers when I was young and living at home," she informed him softly. "He said I was good, that I had the 'natural touch' to be a barber." She took a small step to her right as she continued shaving him. And then she gave a chuckle. "I also have the inherent ability to make idle chit chat. I think it hurt my dad when I decided to work at the auto shop instead of following in his footsteps. Plus, he and Eagan's father never got on very well." She shrugged faintly. "We kind of drifted apart after that. When I started dating Eagan it became as if Dad and I were strangers living in the same house. I didn't talk to him because I knew the topic would eventually turn to Eagan, and I think he avoided talking to me for the same reason. I probably should've listened to my dad when he said Eagan wasn't a good marriage prospect for me, but I really thought I was in love with him at the time." Her fingers unconsciously slipped down his neck and came to rest on his shoulder. "But I think I know better now."
Was the room getting warmer? Vincent swallowed with a little difficulty and strove to remain still.
It wasn't long before Elira finished. She wet a face cloth and gently wiped the rest of the soap and drying blood off of his cheeks. After a moment, the fingers of her right hand began to trace the trail she'd taken with the cloth.
"Smooth," she murmured.
Vincent knew that now would be a good time to stand up and finish dressing, for her sake, before things became more complicated. But it almost took more strength than he had to make himself move, to make himself escape her closeness and her soft, warm fingers. He walked stiffly to the counter and picked up his shirt.
"Vincent."
He didn't turn to look at her as he arranged his shirt. He was just about to pull the first sleeve over his right arm when he felt Elira's arms wrap around him from behind, her cheek nestling into his back, her hands coming to caress his chest and stomach. The touch affected him like a sudden shock of electricity as it always had and he took a staggered breath. He found himself wanting nothing more than to turn around and hold her to him. But he couldn't. She ought to be with someone else, someone her own age, just starting out as she was. Someone who knew better what to do with love. Frowning and determining just to put on his shirt and leave the room, he pulled out of her embrace.
He ignored the sudden coldness he felt without her touch.
"Vincent?"
He slipped into his shirt and began to do up the buttons. He didn't know where he would go. He just had to get away before he got in so deep that he wouldn't be able to leave. Though he had to leave. She was better off finding someone else.
"Vincent, I've wanted to say something since we left the temple."
Vincent couldn't keep himself from looking at her, his fingers trembling on the button he was holding.
"What I said...before, what I told you was true. I love you, Vincent."
Vincent turned away from her, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.
"I love you, Vincent. I've loved you since..."
"Stop." The word didn't sound like his own, desperate and choked. "Just stop, please."
Though he wasn't looking at her, Vincent knew the expression Elira had on her face, the one of confused pain he'd seen her wear in his presence so often. It made everything within him ache.
"Stop?" she whispered finally, her voice thick. "What do you mean?" There was a moment's pause. "No. No, Vincent, I won't stop," she asserted in a voice that was still shaking. "I won't stop because what I'm saying is the truth and I've been hiding my feelings for too long. I've loved you since Costa Del Sol, maybe even before when I wouldn't admit it to myself. Leo was the one who made me realize and I think it broke his heart. And I'm not going to let his sacrifice go in vain. I won't stop. I can't. I love you, Vincent. I love you, I love you, I..."
"Elira!" He was startled by the sharpness in his own tone.
Elira seemed taken aback for a moment, but then her expression hardened again into the iron-willed determination he'd seen in her before. "I want to know how you feel about me, Vincent. I want to know if this is going to go any further. I have to know."
Vincent knew from her tone that she wasn't going to leave this alone until he gave an answer, even if he didn't feel ready to give one yet. If only she'd give him a little time to think things through. He pursed his lips and turned his eyes to the floor. "I think we should part, Elira," he told her softly, but with a steel in his voice that he hoped would keep Elira from realizing what the words were doing to him.
She didn't reply for what seemed a long time. When she finally did speak, there was a deadly calm to her voice that made Vincent wince. "Okay. If that's what you want. If that's what will make you happy. Now, if you think you can stand my company for a few more minutes, I'm going to take a shower before I leave." She grabbed up her pack roughly and walked with surprising composure into the bathroom.
Vincent let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. After a few moments, he attempted to do up the rest of the buttons on his shirt, but his hands were shaking and he was unable to finish the task. Frustrated and angry, he pulled the two edges of his shirt apart suddenly, causing the buttons to pop off from the strain, raining silently onto the carpet. He ran both metal and flesh fingers up through his hair in agitation and sat down heavily onto one of the beds.
He glanced up as Elira came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed, with her red curls, dark with dampness, hanging down around her face. But her face no longer held any of the youthful softness that was so a part of her, replaced by an icy anger he could almost feel radiating from her, cold anger to try and soothe the burning pain.
She didn't even look at him as she grabbed up her pack, her expression hard and serene. As she walked toward the door, heading out of Vincent's life, he had to keep telling himself that this was the best thing for them, for her. It would be better if she just found someone better to love...
As soon as she was close enough, she thrust her hand out and gripped the doorknob. And stayed that way for a few moments. The final look she gave him seemed to be done almost against her will. And then, as she struggled against the contorting of her expression, she asked him a question. "Why?"
He frowned, unsure of what she meant.
"Why do you want me to leave, Vincent? What is it? I...I just want to know before I go. Because I thought..." She closed her eyes and took a long, unsteady breath. "I thought in the temple that you felt something for me. When...when we kissed..." Her gaze dropped to the hand she kept on the doorknob. "When we kissed, I thought for a moment that you loved me back. And then the time we spent together while you recovered...we were talking and getting to know each other...and we understand each other." She gave a stiff chuckle. "We're both single as far as I know. Why can't we..." She swallowed, glancing up at him again, her eyes imploring. "Why can't we try?"
Vincent felt something tremble within him at her words. That kiss had stirred him to the very core, an expression of her love more than anything else that had drawn out of him his own feelings. He'd wanted to stay there with her in his arms forever. Even now, he just wanted to sweep her into his embrace and never let her go. But he was no romantic, no experienced lover. He had nothing to offer her, an old man under the skin of a young man with a blood-stained past. She deserved someone younger, someone purer, someone...someone better...
"Elira, it would be better just to leave things alone."
Elira frowned, her lips twitching. "I can't see how," she muttered. "I know already that I'll never find anyone who...who completes me like you do, Vincent. With you, like no one else, I felt...safe and important...and beautiful. You made me feel like I mattered..."
Vincent couldn't hear anymore. Shaking his head, he interrupted her, wanting her to stop, wanting to stop the words she was saying. Because she didn't know what she was saying. "Elira, you are young. You will undoubtedly find someone else who will...complete you better than I do."
"But I don't want anyone else!"
Vincent just shook his head again, looking at the floor. It didn't matter. She just had to go. She had to go before she changed his mind...
She would find someone else. It was inevitable. She was a beautiful and wonderful girl; it was impossible to think that she wouldn't eventually find love. And she would be happier than she would ever have been with him. Because he could only ruin what they had now if it continued, the way he'd ruined it with Lucrecia. He killed everything he touched...
"Vincent." Her voice had taken on the tone Vincent recognized as one that meant she was trying to approach this rationally. "I thought there was something between us besides simple chemistry but I may have been wrong. Just tell me that. If it's the truth, tell me that you don't love me and I'll leave."
Vincent couldn't manage to do anything more than continue to shake his head.
"Vincent, just tell me whether you love me or not. If you don't love me, then I'll leave without a fuss."
Vincent looked up as he heard Elira drop her pack and take a step toward him. He watched as she took another. Still battling the confusion in his mind, he stood from the bed and walked off toward the bathroom, not wanting to add the burden of physical confusion to the fray. But she followed with frustrating persistence.
"Vincent, just answer me. If you don't love me, just tell me. I won't be angry. It's not your fault."
But that's not the problem! he wanted to shout at her. He stepped away from the darkened bathroom and moved to the other wall. Elira continued to follow, her searching expression becoming tinged with a little irritation.
"Would you stop walking away from me?" she implored. "Just talk to me for a few minutes! Or if you don't want to talk, just listen to me!"
But he didn't want to listen. Vincent nearly played out his frustration with a fist through the wall when he realized that Elira had sped up her pace and was now standing directly behind him as he faced a corner of the room. He spun to face her, holding his hands up reflexively in front of his chest as if to protect himself from a blow. He felt suddenly very trapped though it would've taken nothing for him to brush past her. But her eyes pinned him as effectively as if he was being physically restrained, her hurt, angry, beseeching gaze preventing him any escape.
"Vincent," she started, her voice tight with suppressed emotion though the words were fast and ran together. "I love you and I thought at times that you felt something for me, but I was never sure. Please, tell me. Tell me if you don't love me! Or tell me if you do!" The volume of her entreaties was growing, making Vincent feel as if he was on the other end of a bruising. "Just please explain to me why I have to leave!"
She thrust her hands out and grabbed his forearms desperately as if that would somehow force him to reply. The action startled Vincent and, as if she had moved to attack him, he yanked his right hand up and out of her grasp, pulling it back as if to hit her away. He realized somewhere inside that he had broken through the tight reign he usually kept on his emotions, especially anger, and automatically tensed to defend against Chaos. Elira's eyes widened in fear and she cringed suddenly in expectation of the blow.
But the blow never came. And neither did Chaos. Vincent swallowed uncomfortably, glancing from his raised arm to Elira's frightened form in sickened disgust of what he had almost done. How could he have even considered hitting her?
And then he blinked. Considered? He drew in a shallow breath, frowning. He had a choice. He had a choice! He could choose between acting out his anger, or suppressing it. No longer did Chaos rule him when his self-control wavered, fighting him for control of his body. He controlled his own actions. He made his own choices.
He lowered his arm and found himself strangely near tears. A maelstrom of relief and disgust flooded through him and he pushed past Elira, stumbling away with a breathless laugh that ended in a sharp sob. He made it to the bed and put his hands on the mattress, propping himself up with his arms as he bowed his head, ignoring the cascade of stringy, still-wet hair that fell around his face. He clenched his teeth, his confusion coming out in painful sobs of laughter as small tears formed in the corners of his eyes to trickle down the bridge of his nose.
Elira's concerned hand on his back made him flinch, but he didn't have the energy to retreat from her. As if she was sapping his strength, his knees buckled and he sank downward, his hands holding the mattress as if it was his only means of support. Elira rubbed his back gently and the action soothed him.
It was a while before either of them stirred. Eventually, Vincent heard Elira whisper, "Are you all right?"
He nodded and sniffled most unbecomingly. He stood after a moment and sat beside Elira on the mattress. She was looking at him worriedly. She moved one hand from her lap toward his face haltingly, but then as she gained a little confident determination she began to brush the few remaining tears away with her thumb. Vincent couldn't help closing his eyes at the gentle, caring gesture and brought his right hand up to grip her hand.
The first touch of her lips against his was tentative and tender, her small mouth trembling. But the kiss deepened almost immediately, driven on by a shared passion that had been denied for too long. The feeling of her hands on his chest was a wonderfully familiar one and he drew her closer, leaning back onto the bed until her comfortable warmth and weight were on top of him. He knew this was not what part of him wanted to be happening; she was supposed to be leaving to find love with someone better. But he couldn't enforce it now, pushed on by a physical need so strong it overcame everything.
But Elira withdrew suddenly, pulling away from his arms until she was standing beside the mattress. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched her departure. In her eyes, Vincent could see mirrored the same frustrated desire he felt as well as a crippling sense of loss.
"I'm sorry, Vincent. I shouldn't have done that," she apologized softly, lowering her gaze to the floor. She gestured to the door dispiritedly. "I guess I'd better be going."
The words cut Vincent to the heart, though he knew they were the ones his mind wanted to hear. She was going and she would find someone better suited to her. And he would be able to go on about his uncomplicated life like he had before he'd met her, though somehow it didn't have the same appeal it once had...
But, as if it was just dawning on him, he realized that he liked life complicated this way. She'd been with him for what had felt like such a long time, though it had really only been a few months. She'd always been there for him, beside him when he'd awakened from a tranquilized state, soothing him when he needed soothing, fighting for him when he'd felt like giving up, knocking some sense into him when he'd been too blind to see the truth. Could he get used to living without her now?
He frowned. There would be risks. But hadn't she said something about risks before?
"I'm willing to take the risk with you."
Elira glanced up from where she'd been picking up her pack. "What?" she asked, shocked into stillness as if he'd just pulled his gun on her.
He felt his breathing quicken with the realization that he was doing something completely irrational. And it felt good. Valentine, you're a fool, his mind argued against him. He smiled a little. At least he wasn't a coward.
"Stay with me, Elira."
Elira stared at him hard as if unable to comprehend what he'd said. And then her face contorted with tears and she gave a gasping laugh. She dropped her pack to the floor again. "Why don't you make up your damn mind?" she demanded thickly. As he stood from the bed, she ran to him, jumping into his arms with a force that sent them both toppling back onto the mattress. She wrapped her arms around his torso, holding him as if she planned never to let go. Vincent allowed himself to drag his flesh fingers through her curls, enjoying the way they wrapped around his fingertips as if they, too, planned to hold him forever.
As Elira glanced up at him finally, grinning happily, her face streaked with tears, he was unable to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upward. "You know," he said after a few moments, "we will eventually have to rejoin the rest of the world."
Elira made a face and gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. "I suppose you're right, though I never really gave much thought to it. I can't go back and just take the shop from Benita; that would be unfair."
Vincent thought for a moment. And then he smiled, a real, full smile. "I think I know of a place that could use a good weapons shop," he said.