Chapter Eleven: About-Face
by thelittletree
If there really was a fate, Elira imagined that it was probably laughing at her.
She stepped carefully out of the shower and grabbed for a towel. The warm water had soothed her a little, but it hadn't removed the empty feeling that had been sitting in the pit of her gut for hours. She was alone again, and it was a gnawing desolation, bringing her back to the days after Eagan had died. Hollow and numb, she was going through the motions. She felt like a breath of wind would probably blow her over. And she was now so fragile she would probably shatter.
As she dried her hair thoroughly with the towel, she cringed, probably for the hundredth time, at the lingering thought of the argument they'd had during the night. She'd called him a coward and a broken man when he was neither. She'd wanted him to rise to the bait, to prove her wrong, to change his mind. But it hadn't worked. Looking into his face after that kiss, she'd seen no sign that he was anything but resolved to leave. She guessed it didn't matter if she thought he was worth trying to save. If he didn't want to save himself, nothing could convince him to take the risks involved.
She'd stayed in the lobby of his apartment building until sunrise, fearful of walking alone late at night, even in the quiet sector of MiraCletus. She'd tried to tell herself that she wasn't waiting for him to follow her. He hadn't come in any case. She'd wondered if the apartment building had a back door. It would've been very like him to have taken the other way out...
At six, the train to Virna had been nearly empty. She'd chosen a car that had no one in it. And, thankful for the privacy, she'd let the gentle rocking of the train coax her into crying.
But now all tears and tearstains were washed away. It was the first day of the rest of her life. She wiped a portion of the steamed-up mirror clean and studied the face that stared back at her, framed by a furious mass of dark frizzy curls. It was the face of woman who knew of pain and loss, a woman who would try to pick up her life and her job from where she'd left off, from a time before she'd realized how incredibly lonely she really was.
She wondered where Vincent's fear had driven him to hide. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She wondered if he would ever realize that she had been right...
It was eight-thirty when she descended into her shop and started up the furnace, preparing everything for the business day. Before leaving the forge, as she swept the area with a glance to make sure everything was in order, her eyes fell on what had been Vincent's workstation. The metal pieces for a long-barreled rifle lay at the edge of the table in neat array where he'd left them before they'd caught the train to Odriam. She moved to the table with soft steps as if afraid of disturbing something.
She remembered approving this client's order for a custom-made rifle assembled specifically by Vincent. Now, though, the order wouldn't be finished the way it had been requested. She would have to complete the project in the way she believed Vincent would have. With a twinge of regret, she wondered whether his sudden departure would ruin the new-found reputation of her small shop.
The metal of the forsaken barrel was cold against her fingers. She pursed her lips, imagining how beautiful the finished product would've been.
Elira sat at her desk in the front room; she didn't even see that she'd been staring out of the window until the pen in her hand slipped from her fingers and clattered suddenly to the table top. Flustered, she straightened the papers in front of her, banging them into order. She was angry at herself when she realized she'd been thinking of Vincent, remembering when they'd been lying in bed together the morning after and he'd joked about forgetting to take off his watch. She'd felt so close to him in those few moments, she'd almost believed it was going to be that way forever...that she would wake up every morning next to him and he would give her *that* smile...
The bell over the door chimed. Startled, Elira looked at the clock as the first of her employees filtered through the door. It was almost nine.
It wasn't long before Benita was entering the front room, a smile on her face as she shook off the chill of the morning and wandered up to the desk. Elira tried to return the smile, but there was nothing in her to smile with. Still, it must've been convincing. Benita didn't notice anything amiss.
"Hey there, Lir! How're ya doin'? Everythin' was fine yesterday. Got a nice number a shotguns finished."
Elira nodded. "Good, good. I'm glad to hear it."
Benita's grin wavered a little. "Wha's wrong?" she asked suddenly. "Are you still worried about visitin' Terry? I promised I'd go with ya if ya want."
Elira tried to smile again. "Yeah. Thanks, Beni. I'd like that."
Benita frowned and licked her lips. "That's not it, is it?" Without waiting for an answer, she sighed and leaned up against the desk, brushing strands of windblown hair out of her eyes. "Is it Vincent? How's he doin'? I hope he's not still sick. It ain't anythin' serious, is it?"
Elira shook her head. "No, it's... Benita, I..." She lowered her eyes and sighed. She might as well explain. They were going to find out eventually when he didn't show up for work. "Last night, Vincent..."
The bell over the door chimed one more time. Surprised, Elira glanced up. She'd thought everyone was accounted for. Then her mouth fell open and she blinked a few times as if to make sure she could trust her eyes.
Vincent walked through the front room as if there was nothing unusual about his being there. He gave a nod as he passed the desk and entered the forge.
Benita glanced back at Elira and clucked in concern. "You okay? You look like you jus' saw a ghost."
It was a few moments before Elira could form any words. "He...he was going to...he said..." She shook her head. "Nevermind." She chuckled thickly, not sure if she was about to start laughing or crying. "Nevermind, Beni. I think everything's okay."
Benita raised an eyebrow and stood from the desk. "If you say so." However, she spent another moment looking worriedly at Elira before disappearing into the forge.
It took almost more strength than Elira had to prevent herself from running into the forge and dragging Vincent with her to a place where they could talk. But it was business hours right now and she'd messed around with her hours enough for the time being. Despite the way her stomach was flip-flopping, it would have to wait until the lunch break.
The day was actually moderately busy, enough to keep Elira stationed at her desk. The hunting season rush was starting in trickles: the customers would dribble like this through the door for another week or two before the real flow began. It wouldn't be long before the animals commonly known as Kalm-fangs, wolf-like creatures with fur so purple it looked almost black, would be coming down to Neo-Midgar as the weather cooled, into what had once been chocobo territory. Kalm-fangs were not dangerous animals when left to themselves, but because of the price one purple pelt could fetch in Neo-Midgar they were hunted enthusiastically. So, weapon shops in every sector had their work cut out for them. Elira had decided long before to put Vincent solely on customer orders while she and the others concentrated on forging as many of the hunting models as possible. That way, they wouldn't fall behind as customers began to make less orders as they started looking for a shotgun or rifle they could buy that day.
The hands of the clock raced forward.
Looking up to check the time as the last customer of the latest rush exited, Elira realized that it was almost twelve. Practically running, she made her way to the door and changed the sign from *open* to *closed* before anyone else could enter. And then she hurried into the forge.
"Lunch time, guys!" she informed her employees over the noise of the running lathe. The lathe was switched off and everyone began to stir from their work. Everyone except Vincent who remained at his station, carefully engraving designs into the long butt of a rifle as if he hadn't heard her.
Once the others were gone, Elira moved to stand at the table across from Vincent and tried to keep her bursting curiousity from showing on her face. He didn't look up. Undaunted, she pulled up a stool and sat. Vincent continued engraving meticulously though Elira knew the chore didn't need his full attention. She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in the palms of her hands, staring at him. "You're here, Vincent," she observed quietly.
"Yes, I'm here," Vincent answered her without breaking the design.
She pursed her lips. "I thought you were leaving."
"So did I."
Elira stared at him. He didn't seem very happy. "Well, what happened? Why didn't you go?"
Vincent stopped engraving for an instant to allow a shrug, though he kept his eyes on his work. "If you're willing to take the risk, I should be willing, too."
Elira looked to the intricate design he was etching, noticing as she had many times before how lithe and steady his hands were; even the prosthetic fingers moved with a certain rhythm. Elira questioned idly in her mind how long he'd had the metal arm. To have mastered it like this, it had to have been awhile. "Well, don't go to any trouble on my account," she told him, trying to sound light-hearted.
He glanced up at that. "It was my decision. I could leave Neo-Midgar, but..." He dropped his eyes. "You're not the only one who doesn't want to be alone anymore."
Elira thought she felt her heart skip. In one quick motion, she stood and slipped around the table. As she neared Vincent, however, he also got to his feet and moved hastily away. Elira stopped walking in confusion. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Not that." He had his back to her, letting his words drift to her from over a shoulder. "No further than friendship."
Elira tried not to feel offended. "Vincent, I wasn't going to..."
"I know," he interrupted her, and his words were softer now. "But your proximity, whether you intend it or not, makes me..." He hesitated and moved to glance at her. "Uncomfortable."
Uncomfortable? Elira swallowed back her frown. "Okay. Well, friendship's fine with me. That's all I wanted before. Remember?"
Vincent stood motionless for another moment before nodding and turning to sit again at the table. Elira noted how expressionless his features were and wondered what was going on in his mind. Was he angry at her for interfering? Was he angry at himself for returning? Something about this seemed to be upsetting him, and she already knew he wouldn't tell her what it was if she asked. With a sigh, she headed up to her apartment for some lunch.
At the end of the day, Elira locked all of the money up in the safe behind her desk, ready to leave the shop closed for the weekend. She wasn't surprised when Vincent ended up being the last one to leave. Standing beside her desk as she closed the safe, he spoke.
"Tomorrow afternoon, would you like to come to the park in MiraCletus?"
Elira glanced up, a little puzzled by his choice of location considering how ardent he was about keeping their association friendship only. But Vincent looked completely serious. With a shrug, she said, "Sure, why not? How about around one o'clock?"
Vincent nodded once. "I'll be here at one." And then he departed.
Elira stood from the safe and brushed off the knees of her pants. And then she sighed, wondering why she was feeling frustrated. What had she wanted? Another chance for a romantic relationship with him?
Yes. The answer was immediate. She locked the front door and, after turning off the light in the front room, wandered into the forge. All right, so she wanted him. So she wanted to wake up beside him every morning. Maybe Vincent wanted that, too, somewhere inside. But he wasn't going to let it happen. She ran a hand through her curls and flicked off the light in the forge.
It was supper time, and then time for bed. It had been a full day. She would need a good night's sleep.
Especially since she would be visiting Terry tomorrow.