Chapter Seventeen: Sin and Temptation
by thelittletree
"You know, I think you look more like your mother every time I see you, especially now that you're growing your hair. She was such a beautiful woman." Davis Maddison stepped away from the stove and handed his daughter a bowl.
Elira smiled as she took it, warmed by his comment. When he turned away, she sniffed the stew experimentally and then put a spoonful in her mouth. After a moment of chewing, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Wow, this is good. Are you sure you made this?"
Her father laughed as he sat down beside her with his own bowl. "What, you don't think your old man can cook?"
"Well, you do remember that incident with the..."
"Yes, yes. I remember," he interrupted her with a chuckle as he pushed reflexively at his glasses. "Did you have to bring that up? I'd come so far in forgetting."
"Except that you'll always have that stain on the wall over there to remind you."
Her father grinned and the sight of his smile was so familiar Elira couldn't help but return it. "So how are you, Elly? It's been so long since you've been home."
"Almost three years," she told him absently.
"And when's the last time you called?"
She shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, Dad." And she felt genuinely remorseful. There always seemed to be a reason to put it off. "I'll try and call more often."
"I think you say that every time." He smiled to show her he was kidding. "But you didn't answer my question. How are you?"
"I'm fine, Dad, really. You don't have to worry about me."
"All right, it was just a question."
It was always 'just a question'. "No, I know. Sorry. How are you? How's the barbering business going?"
"Oh, same as always. I've got my regulars."
"That's good." Elira made a show of looking around. "Where's, um...what's-her-name?"
"Danae?"
"Yeah, I thought she was going to move in or something."
"Well..." He glanced into his stew and scratched the top of his head. "That didn't work out."
"For you or her?"
"For both of us. We both decided that maybe it was a little fast."
"But you're still seeing her, aren't you?"
Her father shrugged a little. "Sometimes. We're not that close anymore."
Elira looked at him sympathetically and put a hand out to rub his arm. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"Well, these things happen." When he looked up at her again, there was a twinkle in his eye. "Are you seeing anyone, Elly?"
She'd known this would come up, sooner or later. "Oh, Dad."
"Come on, I'm your father. I have a right to know."
She sighed. "No, Dad, I'm not."
"What happened to that fellow, Terry?"
Elira hesitated, swallowing back her pained anger at his name. "I was never seeing him, and I don't ever want to see him again."
"Didn't part on very good terms, did you?"
"And I don't really want to talk about him."
"All right." Her father stirred his food and Elira had the distinct impression he'd made himself a bowl just so she wouldn't be eating alone. "So, what are you doing up here? I don't see any luggage."
She felt herself begin to relax again and was surprised at how her body had tensed at the mention of Terry. "Oh, well, a friend and I are just passing through."
"Through to where?"
Elira shrugged and took a bite of stew to give her a little time to think. "The Cosel Continent. I'm helping him look for someone."
"Him? Your friend is a man?"
She rolled her eyes in mock irritation. "Yes, Dad, but he's *just* a friend."
"If you say so. Who's he looking for?"
"Oh, um, a relative."
"I see." Elira half expected her father to ask who the relative was, and was grateful when he didn't; perhaps he'd sensed her reluctance to answer. "Who's taking care of the shop while you're gone?"
"Benita is."
"Ah." He smiled. "The biker-woman."
Elira laughed, wondering what Benita would think of the title. "That's the one."
"So, where are you staying? You know, you don't have to stay at the inn."
Elira took another bite of stew and tasted potato. "No, we're staying with some friends of his for now, and we'll be leaving as soon as possible."
Her father frowned. "How soon is that?"
"I don't know." She wiped at a corner of her mouth with a finger. As her father stood to get her a napkin, she asked, "Do you know if there's a port in town?"
"There's a ferry port, but that's it." He sat back down and handed her a paper towel. "And I think it goes every two or three days to make a drop off at that resort, Costa Del Sol."
Elira nodded and wiped her mouth. When she had spooned up the last of her impromptu meal, she put a hand palm up on the table and smiled warmly when her father took it in both of his. "Thanks for dinner, Dad. I've missed you a lot."
"Not enough to call on a regular basis, though."
"Dad!"
"All right, all right. Of course I've missed you, too."
Elira chuckled and squeezed his fingers. "But I should probably get back."
"How did I know that was coming?" He grinned again. "If you're still here tomorrow consider yourself invited for supper, and bring your friend. I'll make something a little more substantial than stew."
"Well, maybe." She cast him a teasing glance. "As long as you promise you won't embarrass him with questions."
Her father raised one hand as if to plead his innocence. "I wouldn't embarrass him on purpose. After all, how could I have known that Eagan..." He stopped talking suddenly. After a moment, he frowned in chagrined remorse. "I'm sorry, honey. I forgot you'd asked me not to mention him."
Elira forced a smile. "It's all right, Dad. Really. I can't avoid talking about him forever, can I?"
He squeezed her hand suddenly. "That's my strong girl." The mix of pride and compassion she saw in his eyes made her throat tighten. Then he stood and, pulling her to her feet, gave her a tight hug. "I love you, Elly."
It felt so good to be in her father's embrace. She held him back and let herself inhale the familiar smell of his aftershave. "I love you, too, Dad. And I'll call you, I promise."
"All right." He let her go and walked with her to the door. "Come by tomorrow, if you can."
"I will." She stepped out into the evening air. The sun was nearly finished setting and the well-known features of her childhood home were disappearing into shadow. "Good night, Dad."
"Good night, Elly."
On the way back to the Strife residence, she began to wonder what the chances were that she would see her father again before they left. Would Vincent want to join them for dinner, especially if he didn't need to eat? Being taken to 'meet the parent' had a lot of stereotypical strings attached, and she questioned whether it would make Vincent uncomfortable. Undoubtedly. She laughed ruefully at the idea under her breath.
"Elly? Elly Maddison?"
Elira turned in surprise at the sound of her name and saw a man waving at her from the other side of the road. She waved back, not sure who she was seeing. "Hello!"
The man glanced perfunctorily for traffic before dashing across the street to her. He was an older fellow, maybe in his fifties, but still good-looking with a full head of iron gray hair and strongly defined features. Elira felt her heart stutter as she recognized him and every muscle in her body seemed to tense up.
As he approached her he smiled, only slightly out of breath. "God, it's been ages since I've seen you around here. How are you doing?"
"Fine." Her voice had become no more than a whisper. She cleared her throat. "Fine, Mr. Dayle. How are you?"
Her once-father-in-law and employer swept a lock of hair from his forehead. It was such a familiar gesture, one his son had inherited, that it made her chest ache. "I'm doing all right. Enjoying my early retirement."
She couldn't seem to concentrate on the conversation. "Oh. You...you mean you're not working at the auto-body shop any more?"
He shook his head. "No, I sold it to take care of Noreen."
Elira recalled his wife, a tall, vigorous woman with a loud laugh. "Is she sick?"
Mr. Dayle dropped his eyes suddenly. "No, she passed away, actually. Two years ago, now."
Elira felt a tremor in her limbs. "Oh no, I'm so sorry."
He shrugged a little, an awkward gesture on such an imposing man. "Well, Eagan's death hit her hard. She never really recovered." Then he met her eyes and smiled again, though it seemed a trifle forced. "Well, let's not talk about that. What have you been up to lately?"
"Um." She was surprised by the urge to run. She glanced around as if searching for an excuse to leave. "I...I've been working in Neo-Midgar."
"Yes, your father tells me about you when I go to get my hair cut. I'm glad you've been able to move on with your life, Elly. I really am. How's your shop doing?"
She took a breath. "It...it's fine. Look, I'm sorry, I'd love to stay and chat with you Mr. Dayle, but I've got to go. Someone...someone's waiting for me."
He raised a hand and nodded. "No, I understand. Sorry for just shouting at you from across the street. Would you have time for a cup of coffee sometime? It's been awhile since our last hunting trip." This time, his smile seemed more authentic.
"Um, sure. I don't know how long I'll be in town, though. I'm just passing through. I'll...I'll come to the house if I have the time, all right?"
"Okay. It's been really good to see you." He held out his hand and she took it automatically. Even his fingers felt like Eagan's. "I hope we get to talk again. Have a good night." He turned and walked back across the street. Elira watched him until he was out of sight, waiting for her heart to stop pounding in her chest.
His son, and then his wife, and now even his job was gone. A part of her mind tried to point out that he didn't look unhappy, that it was possible he'd remarried or something, but she couldn't listen to it. She'd taken everything from him with the death of his son...
"Vincent," she whispered into the night, hardly aware that she'd spoken aloud. Vincent would understand how she felt, she was reasonably sure. And maybe if he told her it hadn't been her fault she'd be able to believe him. Resolutely, she began to walk again, moving quickly until she was nearly jogging.
In the expectation of her return, the Strife's hadn't locked their door. She stepped in and belatedly remembered to tug off her sneakers before heading to the bedroom where she'd left Vincent. She was grateful when her arrival went unnoticed by the house's residents. She didn't know if she could handle small talk right now.
When she entered the room, though, Vincent was still asleep. Chewing her lip uncertainly, she carefully shut the door and went to sit by him on the bed in the dark.
"Vincent?" she whispered.
He gave no sign that he'd heard her. She sighed, feeling suddenly very alone. 'Please, wake up. I really need someone to talk to.'
But he remained as he was, motionless with his eyes closed. She briefly entertained the thought of shaking him awake, but then changed her mind. Those transformations were hell on him and he needed the rest, whether he said so or not. Not sure what to do, she rubbed her fingers together in her lap.
And then, unexpectedly, she felt that she wanted a drink. She hadn't had any alcohol in a long time, but she was suddenly craving a beer. And there was a bar only a couple of blocks away. She bit her lip, considering, but after a moment she simply stood. She wasn't going to question it.
She'd been to Ermine's Place a few times, but never by herself. It wasn't busy as she walked through the door, and the only table that she might have classified as 'rowdy' was at the back. Sighing, she slipped onto a stool at the counter and ordered a beer.
It wasn't until her third sip that she realized she was being stared at. Trying to look nonchalant, she glanced over her shoulder. At a table a few feet behind her sat the man with the scar on his face. When she met his eyes, however, he looked away. She turned back to her drink.
Eagan... God, how she missed him sometimes. If she hadn't been so stubborn, if she hadn't yelled at him, would he have lived? She shuddered as the old, weary grief settled on her like a cold blanket of rain and took another swallow of her beer. His poor mother; his poor father. She might've saved them so much pain if she'd kept her temper that night. His mother might still be alive today...
A few more gulps brought her to the bottom of the glass. The bartender looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he dried a mug. "You want another?"
She nodded wordlessly, too ashamed of herself to speak.
When Vincent awoke on a bed in a dark room, his first inclination was to believe that he was in his own apartment. However, he soon noticed that the smell was wrong, and the window on his left wasn't where it should be. Confused, he pushed himself up and then had to wait a moment for the room to stop spinning. Where was he?
His shoulder gave a twinge and he suddenly recalled the dart. Elira... The fight against the demon came back to him, and he remembered trying desperately to repress his anger and fear in the hopes of gaining some control, of forcing it toward Kalm. Had it worked? Was that where he was, at an inn?
He glanced around the bed and felt an uncomfortable flash of panic. But where was Elira? He'd gotten used to finding her close by and it was disconcerting to wake up without her there. Chaos hadn't managed to hurt her, had it?
A sweep of the room revealed his things in a pile on the floor. Carefully, he slipped his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. After a second, however, he sat back down. This was going to take a couple of minutes whether he felt like waiting or not. He sighed and, after a moment, began to probe around in his mind. 'Chaos?' he ventured cautiously. There was no answer. Whether the demon was absent or simply keeping quiet Vincent didn't know. It was obvious that he wasn't in his conscious mind at all times, or he would have known about the Forgotten City long ago.
When he tested the strength of his legs again, he was pleased to find that they could hold his weight. As he searched through his things for his coat and boots, he found Elira's pack and felt a surge of relief. She was here. Another glance around the room convinced him that he wasn't at an inn. There were too many personal effects for this to be anything but someone's home. But who would have taken them in? He approached the door and listened for a few moments before stepping out into a hallway.
The sound of paper rustling drew him silently to the right and he glanced around a corner into what looked to be a living room.
A young girl, maybe seven or eight years of age, was perched on the edge of a couch, her elbows on a shallow coffee table as she worked on something with a pencil. Surreptitiously, Vincent studied her face, certain that he recognized particular traits about her -- her lips and cheekbones, specifically -- though he was just as certain that he'd never seen her before.
Abruptly, the girl flipped the pencil around in her hand and began to use the eraser to madly negate whatever she'd written. Then she sighed in frustration. "Mom! Mom, I need your help again!"
A voice emerged from another room. "Yes, Aeris. I'm coming."
It was like stepping into a memory. Though the voice had deepened over time into a warm alto, it was still recognizable. And then, like a recollection come to life, an older, though no less beautiful, Tifa walked into the room, dish towel in hand. As she stepped up to the couch, however, something seemed to alert her to the presence in the mouth of the hallway and her gaze flicked upward to meet his. She straightened suddenly with a gasp, looking like she'd seen a ghost. "Vincent!"
He stepped fully into the room, feeling somewhat out of place. He spent a moment searching for the correct words to say. "Thank you, Tifa, for taking me into your house."
"Oh. Well..." She chuckled a little. "Don't mention it. We weren't just going leave you out there." She continued to stare at him in visible shock as if she couldn't quite believe that he was there.
The girl, Aeris, was also looking at him closely with undisguised curiousity. Eventually, she asked, "Are you feeling better?"
"I'm fine," Vincent replied, and then added, "thank you."
"Good, because we don't have any soup."
He frowned, momentarily thrown by her logic. Tifa gave a breathy laugh, startled out of her reverie. "Well, we may not have soup, but I can get you something else if you want. You've been out for almost four hours." And then she shook her head as if the situation was just dawning on her. "My God, after ten years here you are. Barret said he'd found you, but... God, we thought you were dead."
Vincent wasn't sure what to say to that. After a moment, he simply got down to business. "Where's Elira?"
"Oh. She left about..." Tifa blew her breath out. "Maybe two or three hours ago? I'm not sure. It sounded like she was coming back here for the night, though."
"Did she say where she was going?"
"No, but she seemed worried about you. She'll be glad to know you're awake." Tifa pursed her lips. "Who is she? She said you two were traveling together."
"She is..." There were suddenly too many words to describe her and too few terms to classify their precise relationship. "She was my employer in Neo-Midgar."
"So she said."
The sound of heavy footsteps descending from the second floor drew Vincent's attention to the kitchen doorway, and then Cloud was stepping into view. "Tifa, where are Doria's white pajamas? She won't wear anything else." And then, in a gesture that unconsciously mimicked his wife, Cloud's eyes darted across the room and widened as they noticed Vincent. After a moment of staring in apparent shock, he rallied himself and approached with an outstretched hand. Vincent took it and submitted to the handshake.
"Vincent. It's good to see you again. How are you? How's your shoulder?"
"My shoulder?"
"There was the needle of a dart...well, that doesn't matter." He waved the question aside. "What are you doing in Kalm? That woman, Elira, said you were on your way north."
Vincent nodded and wondered how much she'd told them. "It's a personal quest."
Cloud smiled suddenly, and it was strange to see the gesture when Vincent remembered the somber, chaotic youth the man had been. "Well, if we can help with anything, just say so."
Tifa spoke up then. "He's looking for Elira. Do you know where she went?"
Cloud shook his head. "No, she didn't say anything to me."
Vincent gave himself over to a moment of thought. Elira had grown up here; she had her father here. She may have gone to visit him.
But still, something about her absence grated on him, though he wasn't sure if it was just because he was starting to feel responsible for her safety and liked to know where she was. The circumstances surrounding Terry and the teenager had proved that she had a knack for getting herself into potentially hazardous situations.
He also felt it was a little late to be visiting, especially if she'd been planning to come back here for the night. But where else would she be? What might have delayed her? He doubted Kalm had the same problems with street violence that existed in Neo-Midgar.
And then he remembered that Eagan had lived here, too. This was where she'd met him. Perhaps some memory had upset her? Where would she have gone in that case?
Where had he gone the night Lucrecia had rejected him?
Cloud's directions to the nearest bar proved to be very helpful. Not even two steps in the door, he spotted the woman he was looking for.
She was seated at the counter. Or, more accurately, sloping toward the counter. Hunched on a stool with a near-empty glass of brown liquid in her hand, she was staring at an undefined point in front of her while her head drooped slowly. He doubted she even realized that she was sagging forward.
He stepped up to her side and it was a moment before she registered his presence. Blinking languidly, she glanced up into his face and then frowned as if she was trying to place him. "Vincent?"
He sighed a little. She was definitely drunk. "Elira, I've come to take you back to the house."
She seemed to think about this for a few seconds. "Well, okay. But don't tell my dad I was here. He hates beer." Then she scowled and raised her hands. "How can you hate beer?"
She didn't look very anxious to leave the stool. Inwardly cursing his own weakness, Vincent took her left arm and, after placing it over his own neck, lifted her to her feet. She squawked a little at the movement, but began to put one foot in front of the other as he started walking.
That's when he noticed that he was being stared at. It wasn't an uncommon thing and he was used to it, but it didn't mean that he liked it. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed him a man, maybe in his late thirties, with a scar that ran from ear to jowl. Resolutely, Vincent ignored him and concentrated on getting Elira out the door.
As he led her with an agonizing slowness down the sidewalk, she carried on a rambling one-sided conversation that didn't seem directed at anyone. From it, he gathered that she'd gone to her father's house, and then had met someone on the street -- the 'who' wasn't quite clear at this point -- and that had convinced her to go to the bar.
About a block from Cloud and Tifa's house, Elira dissolved into an unexplained fit of giggles and, nearly tripping on her own feet, broke away from him. Then, from a distance of a few feet, she placed one hand on her hip and beckoned to him with a finger, smiling dangerously. "C'mere."
Vincent took a breath. "Elira, you're drunk. Let's get you to bed."
She gasped suddenly and put her hands over her mouth. "To bed? Aren't you being a little presum...presumpt-u-ous." Then she laughed again and stumbled. Vincent stepped up to catch her before she tripped over the curb. She fell against his chest and he felt her stiffen suddenly in surprise. Slowly, she looked into his face and he saw her swallow. Her expression began to contort with tears. "She's dead, Vincent," she said abruptly. "I killed her, too." Two tears tracked their way down her cheeks and she sniffled. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone, you know. I *loved* him."
Vincent felt a twinge of pity. "I know, Elira." And he only spent a moment debating before pulling her into an embrace. Sobbing quietly, she clung to his upper arms and cried against his collarbone.
It was a minute before she settled into silence. When he was sure she was done, Vincent gently withdrew to look her in the face. Her eyes, weary with drink and weeping, were closing against her best efforts and she swayed on her feet without the support of his body.
And, despite the fact that they were only a block away, Vincent came to a decision that, for once, was made completely against his own interests. Turning her a little, he bent down and scooped her up around the knees and shoulders. She gasped at the suddenness of the action, but as he hefted her up to lean against him she put her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer to his warmth. "Please, don't leave me," she whimpered.
Her face was close enough that he could feel her breath on the side of his chin. And, notwithstanding the overpowering smell of alcohol, he wanted to crush his mouth to hers, wanted to kiss away the tears and the sound of her hitching breaths. The night Lucrecia had turned him away, he'd had no one to comfort him, no one to bring him home from the bar except some of Gast's men, and they'd simply left him on his bed to wake up alone with his hangover. He knew what it felt like to be there...
Steadfastly, he set his face forward and began to walk.
At the front door of the Strife residence, he knocked heavily with a knee. After a few moments, Tifa appeared to let him in. When she saw Elira, her expression registered worry, but Vincent didn't stop to explain. He carried her to the bedroom and, shutting the door with a foot, moved to set her on the mattress.
She wasn't quite asleep. He heard her sigh as he lay her down and, when he went to take her arms from around his neck, she made a sound of protest and tightened her grip. "Don't leave." She opened her eyes and looked at him imploringly.
Vincent pursed his lips. "I won't, but you have to let go."
After a moment, she gave in and pulled her arms away. Vincent straightened and considered her for a number of seconds before sitting down at the end of the bed to remove her sneakers. Soon, they were both on the floor and he moved forward to slip her out of her coat.
She managed to keep herself elevated with her arms when he sat her up. Carefully, he pulled the jacket over her shoulders and down to her wrists. He was just leaning forward to draw her hands out of her sleeves when she turned her head and, with an understated simplicity, kissed the side of his mouth. Vincent closed his eyes at the feel of her breath over his lips. "Elira..."
She tilted her head a little to kiss him again, and this time it was more centered. Frowning against his own lack of control, Vincent slowly returned the kiss and tried to hold back the part of him that wanted to take this further. It wasn't right. He couldn't take advantage of her. Though, his mind argued a moment later, who was really taking advantage of who?
The feel of her tongue against his mouth made him shiver and he withdrew a little, breathing heavily in the silence. Gods, did she even realize what she could do to him? He glanced into her face and realized that her eyes were closed, though her lips were turned up in a tiny smile. That smile seemed to drain away his defenses. With a small shudder, as if he was shaking off a burden, he kissed her again, slipping his hand across the nape of her neck, irritated by the barrier that his glove presented. The kiss deepened in a moment and Vincent felt a pleasurable warmth go through his body. Then, desperate to feel skin against skin, he slid his lips down her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent.
"Mmm...Eagan..."
Vincent stiffened and, shaken, drew away from her. Eagan? And then the realization of what he had almost done made him stand from the bed. She was drunk, and he was so weak he'd almost given in to her advances. Cursing himself under his breath, he moved to pull her hands from her sleeves from a safe distance and, after depositing the jacket on the floor, turned to leave the room.
"No, please. Don't leave me." It was barely a whisper. Vincent felt two sides of him war for control for a moment before he opened the door and left.
The night air was cool against his skin and he welcomed it after the heat of her presence. Was he a fool? If Chaos had decided to make him transform, Elira would have been completely at its mercy. Had he forgotten? He cursed himself again and walked with purpose toward the edge of town. He needed some time to think, and something to do with the frustration of his body.
It was a good thing Kalm was surrounded by miles of empty grassland, perfect for hiking.