Chapter Ten: In His Apartment
by thelittletree
The apartment door was not open, but it was unlocked. In fact, the knob was so loose that Elira expected it was broken. Had Vincent done that the last time, in too much of a hurry to find his key? Apprehensive but determined, Elira stepped hesitantly into the apartment's hallway and listened for any signs of occurring destruction. But there was only silence. And, despite her self-assurances that it was only the effects of the sleeping pills keeping Vincent subdued, Elira felt frightened. Trying to be silent, she crept toward the living room, seeing images of both a massive monster lunging at her for the kill, and of a bloodied Vincent sprawled on the floor, dead by his own hand. She didn't know which would be worse. Both would be agonizing in their own way.
The living room was in an even more wretched state than the last time. Though Vincent was nowhere to be seen, evidence of his arrival was more than apparent. Two of the bookshelves had been tipped over, one on its side and the other on its front. The third had had its shelves broken into halves as if a massive fist had been driven down through the wood, snapping each shelf like so much dry straw. Books, again, had been thrown from their perches, some with scars scored across their covers. They lay on the carpet in the dull light of early afternoon like the injured of a battlefield. Worst of all, his patio window had been smashed in where she guessed Vincent had entered. Glass littered the floor, a silent tribute to the strength of the creature. But Elira didn't take more than a moment to digest all of this before heading for the bedroom.
This room was still intact, at least. The bed lay untouched, the blankets pulled neatly over the mattress and the pillow as if Vincent had not slept in it the night before. Elira wondered idly if he had slept in it at all since that night that seemed forever ago. She knew if it had been her apartment, her bed, she would've slept on the couch until the memories had faded. For, even if a quick wash could remove a scent from the sheets, it took much more to wash away a recollection that didn't want to be forgotten.
He was Vincent once more; every trace of the monster was gone. She found him lying on the floor beside the bed in almost the exact spot she'd discovered him before. But this time he was still conscious and trembling under the strength of the drugs as they presumably took effect. His gloved hand was wrapped tightly around the empty pill bottle, squeezing it mercilessly as if penalizing it for this uncomfortable aftermath. Elira dropped to her knees beside him, wondering if this fit of shivering had happened the last time he had taken the depressants. His eyebrows jerked as he frowned erratically, squinting against the anguish caused by the overdose. His lips were parted a little as he gasped for breath. Elira watched him anxiously even though she had seen him pull through this once before. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand and cupped his cheek.
His skin was warm. At her touch, Vincent opened his eyes suddenly, his pupils no more than pinpoints of black. Elira thought at first that he was having an episode, but then his gaze focused on her and he made a small noise of dissatisfaction. "Leave, Elira." His voice was ragged as if it was taking all of his remaining strength to form the words.
Elira shook her head gently. "No."
He frowned, but the frown quickly dissolved into an expression of discomfort as he took a sharp breath, arching off of the floor. Elira leaned in closer to him, feeling rather useless as she watched him endure the physical affliction of the dosage. How could he expect her to leave when he was suffering this way? Absently, she pushed a stray lock of his hair from his face. If she left now, it would be too much like saying she was frightened. And, remembering the pain in his expression at the thought that she was afraid of him, she knew she couldn't do that.
After a few moments of just sitting idle on the floor, Elira stood. She had to do something. Quickly she pulled the blanket from his bed and draped it over his shuddering form, tucking it in around him so he couldn't throw it off. He forced his eyes open every once in a while to watch her, but the light from the window seemed to irritate them. He tried to speak a couple of times, but before he managed to get much past the first two or three words, he would choke, gasping. Elira finally put two fingers to his lips.
"Shh," she told him, staring into his momentarily-opened eyes determinedly. "I'm staying no matter what you say, Vincent, so you might as well save your strength." She then stood and left the bedroom, not leaving the topic open for discussion.
The bathtub curtain was still shredded; Elira guessed that Vincent just hadn't bothered to get a new one. It didn't really surprise her. He wasn't the kind of person who worried much about appearances. If the curtain, although hanging in pieces, still served its purpose, who was he to change it? She shook her head a little at the thought and commenced a search of the bathroom for a washcloth. When she was unable to come up with one, she grabbed a towel instead and wet a corner of it in the sink.
Vincent was still trembling miserably on the thin carpet. As Elira approached, he opened his eyes again. She thought his gaze seemed a little less focused than before as she knelt down at his side, hesitantly reaching up to his forehead. At first, she was a little confused by his bandana as she attempted to find an end she could begin unwinding at, but then she discovered a knot at the back of his neck where he tied the two end pieces together. With nimble fingers, she worked at the knot until it came undone in her hands. Then, lifting his head gently from the floor, she unwound the red strip of material until she had removed it. She then set it aside and touched the damp corner of the towel to his face. He watched her silently, though he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Soon, his shaking ceased to be so violent. Elira was relieved to see that the initial agony was coming to an end.
Then Vincent took a slow, shuddering breath and tried to force his eyes to stay open. "Go...Elira. Please...go." His voice was sluggish and soft.
Elira smiled at him as she swiped his brow and temples with the towel. "Go? And let you slip out of the sector when these drugs wear off, never to be seen again? I don't think so."
Remaining conscious was fast becoming difficult for him. As he was opening his mouth to protest again, his eyes suddenly rolled back into his head and he became very still. Out of habit, Elira checked his heart and breathing rate. Sleeping like a log.
If only because she'd done it the first time, Elira decided that she would put him on the bed. As she was pulling the blanket off of him, however, her fingers touched something warm and wet. Belatedly, she remembered his injured shoulder.
After a moment of uncertainty, Elira decided that she'd better deal with the wound now rather than leave it until Vincent could tend to it himself. Moving around to his left side she carefully hoisted him into a sitting position and eased him out of his coat.
The arm of his shirt and the inside of his coat sleeve were stained with his blood. Elira was initially uncomfortable with the thought of undressing him, but, since she couldn't think of any other way of getting at the wound except for cutting his shirt sleeve, she decided that it had to be done. Setting her teeth, she lay him back onto the floor and began to unbutton his shirt.
He was so thin and pale, but the layer of long, lean muscle belied any idea that he might be weak. Elira tried not to look at him too much or touch him too long, but the memories were still there in the back of her mind, clamoring for attention. Even the tangy smell of blood couldn't overpower his own natural musk. Frowning, Elira gently coerced his left shoulder and the prosthetic piece of his arm out of his shirt. After that, his right arm was easier. When she came to his right hand, she pried the pill bottle from his fingers and then hesitated. *That* morning had been the only time she'd seen him without his glove. Long, tapered fingers, strong and without calluses. She hesitated for what was almost a scandalous amount of time before deciding she would leave the glove on. She wasn't here to ogle him, she reminded herself viciously.
The blood was drying against his skin, caking over the wound. Elira went back into the bathroom and soaked a larger portion of the towel in the sink. She then spent a moment wringing out the excess water before heading back to Vincent's side and carefully cleaning the injury. When she'd finished she could find no bandages anywhere, so she wound his bandana tightly around his upper arm. Then, satisfied with her work, she dressed him in a clean shirt from his closet and prepared herself to lift him onto the bed.
Benita sighed and lay her chin in her hand, her elbow resting on the desk top. It was a slow day, slower than most, and Benita didn't need to run the business to know that. Almost an hour had passed since a customer had come and gone, and sitting here with the heat of the forge at her back she was slowly falling asleep. She was even beginning to think that she should've just stayed home the evening before.
But how could she have passed up an invitation to the bar? Especially when the invitation came from a man she'd heard so much about already and was inclined to like, with the kind of attitude she respected. Benita wondered, not for the first time, if Barret Wallace could have been a part of a biker gang when he'd been younger.
The jangle of the telephone almost caused her to start off of the stool. Flustered, she fumbled for the receiver, finally getting it right-side-up against her ear and mouth. "Y-yes?" She cursed inwardly at the unprofessionalism. What had happened to 'Hello, Maddison's Weaponry Station, Benita speaking'? She didn't have time to reflect further on her mistake, though, as the person on the other end began to talk.
"Hi, Benita. This is Trodder. Is Elira around?"
Benita sighed, glad her faux pas hadn't been caught by a customer. "No, she's out right now, Trod. Wha's up?"
"Well, I was just calling to say that Terry's getting his bandages off today and that he wants to see Elira. He's really dead-set about it, too. He keeps saying that she's in some kind of danger that only he knows about."
Benita raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure they aren't jus' giving him too many drugs?"
Trodder gave a small laugh that was more of a grunt. "I don't know. I thought at first that maybe the surgery had left him kind of disoriented, but it's been almost two weeks. And Terry seems to be in his right mind. I'm not really sure what to make of it, but I promised him I'd call. Will you tell Elira that he wants to see her?"
Benita gave a small sigh. Why couldn't Terry just take defeat gracefully? "Yeah, I'll tell her when I talk to her next."
"Thanks, Benita. We'll talk later, all right?"
"Yep. See ya Trod. Stay well."
"You, too."
Benita hung up the receiver, not so sleepy now. It really bothered her the way Terry was hanging on to Elira. He'd never seemed able to accept that she wasn't falling for him; and Benita suspected, now more than ever, that it wasn't love Terry wanted from Elira. Sometimes people want things simply because they're hard to get.
Elira was wary around people in a way that Benita couldn't fathom. Over the years, she'd allowed them occasional glimpses into her life, but that was all. Benita had learned to accept Elira for this, but Terry really hadn't. He'd always been pushing at her, flirting with her, trying to drag her out of her shell in ways she didn't seem ready for.
And then Vincent had shown up. Vincent, a man who reminded Benita more of Elira than anyone Benita had ever met. Terry must've seen the connection, too. Both of them kept to themselves and there was the vague impression of something in the past they didn't want to talk about. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that they should get together. Too bad it didn't seem to be working out.
Benita was brought out of her thoughts as some raucous laughter filtered out from the forge. The boys had quit working again. Sitting up, Benita stretched her arms over her head. Maybe it was time to start cracking some heads.
The phone rang a second time. Benita gave a small exclamation of surprise. And then, with an irritated frown, she grabbed for the receiver. "Yeah," she answered, perhaps a little sourly, not even attempting to sound professional. The news about Terry had ruined her mood and she wasn't going to fake a cheerful disposition.
"Benita?"
Benita almost dropped the phone upon hearing Elira's voice. "Lir, is that you?"
"Um, yeah, it's me. Are you having a bad day today or do you always answer the phone this way when I'm not around?"
Benita tried to scowl, but a smile broke through at Elira's teasing tone. "Well, you know me. Blunt as a dull knife."
Elira chuckled. "Remind me never to hire you on as my secretary," she chided, though she sounded anything but reproachful.
"It's not that big of a deal. No one's been calling today 'cept you and Terry's brother."
There was a pause on the other end. "Trodder called?" It sounded like she was trying to ask casually, but there was an anxious ring to her voice that gave her away. "What did he have to say?"
"Well," Benita began, willing to let Elira believe she'd fooled her, "he wanted to let'cha know that Terry wants to see ya at the hospital. He's gettin' the bandages off today."
There was another period of silence. And then, "Okay. I guess I'll go...sometime soon. Vincent, um, got sick while we were at the museum, so I took him back to his apartment. Right now, I'm at a payphone at a convenience store. I had to buy him some soup. I don't know when I'll be back." Her voice trailed off.
Benita frowned in concern. "Are you all right, Lir?"
Yet another pause. "Yeah. I'm just a little...I don't know." Elira heaved a sigh that betrayed a troubled mind. "I don't think I want to deal with this right now."
Benita shrugged, though Elira couldn't see the action. "Then don't. Wha's the problem?"
Elira sighed again. "I have to. Even if he was a jerk, I'd be the bigger jerk by not forgiving him."
Benita shook her head; she didn't have the heart to tell her that it hadn't sounded as if Terry was looking to apologize. "Well, if ya have to, then ya have to. Do ya want me to come along when you do go?"
"Maybe. I'd better get back to Vincent. I'll return to the shop as soon as possible, Beni."
Benita smiled. "Take yer time, Lir. I can take care a things here."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot, Benita."
"Yeah, yeah. Go on now. We'll see ya when ya get back."
"Okay. Thanks, Beni."
"Stop it now, tha's enough. Ya don't have to be *that* grateful."
Elira gave a giggle and Benita wondered if the young woman was as close to tears as she sounded. She hung up the receiver and ran a hand through her hair. This poor girl never seemed to get a break.
Another loud burst of laughter emerged from the forge. With a determined air, Benita stood from the stool. At least Elira wouldn't have to worry about her shop while she was gone. Benita would make sure of that.
Vincent opened his eyes. The room was dark with night, but to his red eyes it might as well have been daylight. Momentarily disoriented, he sat up and felt a stiffness in his left shoulder. Remembering the knife wound, he sent exploring fingers and discovered a gauze bandage under the sleeve. Frowning a little, he ran his hand over the arm of his shirt and then sniffed it. There was no feel, no smell of blood. Had Elira tended to him? His coat and bandana were missing, as well as his boots, and he was on his mattress under a blanket. Had she carried him to his bed again, too? He abruptly recalled having found a soup bowl by his bed, days ago, when he'd gotten around to cleaning his apartment. A quick glance at the floor showed him another bowl. Had she fed him, this time and last?
She'd still come to find him and take care of him, even after she'd seen the transformation. Even Avalanche had kept their distance once they'd realized his terrible secret. But Elira had followed him, and he felt relief and fear in the same moment. He hadn't frightened her away. But, if Chaos couldn't, what would? Would she never leave him alone? He sighed, confused by his mixed feelings. Lucrecia had rejected him once for something she'd never explained, though it most certainly had been a lesser reason than this. She'd died in childbirth before he'd had a chance to ask.
Hojo had said she'd known the risks. She'd just chosen the risk of death over running away with him.
There was a small sigh from an unnoticed lump beside him, under the blanket. Already guessing the identity of the lump, he gently pulled the covers back. Elira lay sleeping on her side, curled up with one hand tucked carefully under her cheek. He realized again, as if for the first time, how beautiful she was.
A memory surfaced and, without really thinking, Vincent let it run its course.
A pen dangling from two fingers, a notepad flopped over onto her stomach, he'd found Lucrecia sleeping in the chair of the library. Her glasses had slipped down her nose, her head had been bowed by conquering exhaustion, and tendrils from a disordered ponytail had fallen around her face. She'd been so lovely. He'd been so tempted to touch her skin, her hair, as if to test her reality.
She'd been so accepting, so understanding. So filled with trusting interest. She'd wanted to learn more about him. His reputation as a Turk hadn't made her prejudge him. She hadn't been afraid. And they'd ended up being so alike, he'd been caught off guard. And then, despite his best efforts, he'd found himself in love. In love with everything about her...
So vulnerable...
Elira's scent seemed to be everywhere around him and Vincent had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her like a starved man. He wanted to feel her tugging frantically at his clothing again, wanted to feel her skin warm and moist against his own. But that wasn't an option anymore. He'd stolen that night with her and he had to accept that there would never be another.
The only option was to leave the sector as she'd said. Maybe he'd have to leave Neo-Midgar altogether. She would never leave him alone, and he wouldn't be able to hold out against her forever. And then she would die...probably at his own hands...
He stared at her face in the darkness. She was so young, hardly more than a child. She had so much life ahead of her. He wanted to kiss her again, if only in good-bye. Grimacing, he forced himself to turn away.
Moving slowly so as not to wake her, Vincent stood from the bed. His eyes lingered on the sky outside. No moon or stars were visible. His departure would be completely unnoticed. By the time she awoke he would be far away, and no one would be able to tell her where he had gone. He was sure she would know why he'd left. She wouldn't be able to blame herself. She would understand his reasons, probably better than anyone.
He went to take a step away from the bed, but there was some resistance at his left arm. He glanced back and saw two eyes staring at him questioningly, two sets of fingers wrapping themselves resolutely around his metal wrist. "Where are you going?" Her voice was quiet and raspy.
Vincent couldn't answer her. He had no answer to that question, even for himself.
She released his arm as he pulled away. Then she sat up, her clothing shifting against the covers noisily in the silence. "Are you trying to leave?"
He wouldn't be swayed. She was awake, but it didn't matter. He still had to go.
He stepped into his boots and slipped into his coat. Elira was following him when he left the bedroom. But it didn't matter. He had hidden himself for ten years from fate's probing gaze. He could hide himself again.
"Vincent?"
He wouldn't turn to look at her, he told himself. He would just open the door to his apartment and leave. And it wouldn't matter if she followed. He could easily lose her. And that would be the end of that.
He would bid farewell to his dwindling humanity...
As he reached out for the doorknob Elira stepped in the way. He wasn't surprised. He'd actually been expecting resistance sooner. There was anger in her eyes, and pain. Underneath that, however, he thought he could see a small ember of hope begging not to be put out.
He broke eye contact with her.
"Vincent, is that 'change' the thing you were talking about? Is that why you'll be my death?"
He refused to meet her eyes. It wouldn't be so hard to catch her off guard and let the shadows of the building devour him.
"Answer me. Look at me!" She was angry, and her tone was becoming desperate. But it didn't matter. Compared with the risk of her life, her feelings were trivial. "What is that creature? It's still you, isn't it?"
He shook his head a little. "No. It's not me. I can't control it. It's a demon called Chaos, and for good reason." He gestured at the living room they'd left behind. "I didn't intentionally ruin my apartment."
"But where did it come from?"
"I don't feel like explaining right now."
Elira stared at him hard for a moment. "So you're just going to leave."
He shrugged slightly. "Unless you can promise that you'll leave me alone from now on."
She dropped her eyes. And though she didn't say anything, Vincent knew her answer. He moved to push her aside and reach for the door.
But she refused to budge and he saw her chin come up, a gesture he was beginning to recognize. "You're not going to leave this way."
Vincent sighed wearily. He was getting tired of this. "Elira, don't you see yet? It's not safe for you if I stay."
"Why don't you let me decide what's dangerous for me?" she demanded. "I'm willing to take the risk, remember?"
"But I'm not."
Elira took a step toward him. Instinctively, he took a step back. "So you're just going to give in to this? You're just going to give up?"
He shrugged again. "Do I have another choice?"
"Fight it!" There was a fire in her eyes. "There must be some way!"
But Vincent shook his head. "I've looked. I've looked through everything I could find. There's nothing I can do, except try to live my life with the least pain possible, for me and for others."
Elira frowned suddenly and took another step. Vincent took a second one away from her. "I want to help you. I'm willing to help you. Are you just going to throw that away?"
He sighed. "You don't understand..."
"Oh yes I do, you coward!"
Something in him became offended. "Coward?"
"You've got a chance, here. I'm offering it to you. Sure there are risks, but wouldn't it be worth it? To be rid of this thing?"
The sudden spark of hope her words kindled made him angry after a moment. "Elira, stop this. I've tried. If there was a way, I would have found it by now."
"I don't think so. I think you gave up."
His anger grew and he reflexively began to guard himself against another possible transformation. "You have no idea, Elira. You don't know what I've suffered..."
"And that doesn't make you want to fight? You're not a broken man, are you?"
Broken? He shuddered a little as everything drained out of him. "I am a broken man," he told her softly. He could still recall the exact moment Hojo had finally snatched away the last shreds of his will to fight, and even revenge hadn't given him that back. When he next glanced at Elira, it was to see her with one hand over her mouth as if she was suddenly regretting her words. "I'm not even a man anymore, really..."
"Yes, you are," Elira asserted abruptly. And then, just as quickly, she was stepping up and moving to embrace him. He tried to turn away, to brush her off, but the first touch of her hands wore at his resolve until he could feel himself trembling. She wormed her way into his arms and he was helpless to keep from holding her back. "Elira..." he murmured. "Please...don't do this..."
"You're a man, Vincent." She spoke into his shoulder. "And all men, all humans, need other people. You have to fight this. Don't give in to fate. At least try to fight it."
"Elira, I can't. It's not worth it..."
He felt her body stiffen suddenly in his arms, and she looked slowly into his face. "What did you say?"
What had he admitted? Just what he believed. "It's not worth it. I'm not worth the risk."
He saw it this time before it happened. And, already in her arms, he couldn't help himself. She kissed him desperately as if trying to convince him of something simply through her passion. The urge to push her up against the wall flashed through Vincent's mind. Started, he pulled his mouth from hers. "Please..." he whispered. "Stop this..."
"You're worth it, Vincent," she told him. He met her eyes and was moved by the sincerity he saw there. She was searching his face for something, he realized, but after a moment of being unable to find it her expression became ruefully resigned. She stepped out of his arms and gave him a small, sad smile. "Someday...someday you'll look back on this and realize I was right." And then, without another word, she turned from him and left his apartment.
As if it hadn't been there the whole time, Vincent could suddenly feel the night air coming in through the broken patio door. The shadows were calling to him, darkness to darkness. But...she thought he was worth it, even when she knew about Chaos. Had anyone ever found him worthwhile before? Besides as a killer, a fighter?
But she was just a child. She didn't know what she was saying. She hardly knew him. How could he take her words at face value?
And yet...
He walked slowly to his bedroom. The mattress sank a little under his weight. He raised his gloved hand to push his fingers under the bandana, something he did when he was upset, but discovered again that his bandana was missing. And so he just ran his fingers through his hair.
There was a decision to make here. And, despite the dictates of logic, he was of two minds. Was it worth it to start to hope again? Could there be a way to beat fate? He'd learned to accept his lot in ten years, even if he wasn't happy with it. He'd accepted the loneliness, the punishment of both Chaos and his own guilt. He had given up after looking through the records in the basement of Shinra Mansion. He'd walked away because what was the point? He really had nothing to live for. What was the point of fixing his life?
He'd tried to kill himself once. A bullet in his head. Two days later he'd made his way here.
If he had someone else to believe in him, though...could he do it? Would it teach him to believe, too?
Because, even if it was his punishment, Vincent admitted to himself that he didn't want to be alone forever.