Chapter Twenty: Arrival and Departure
by thelittletree
Elira slept like a baby that night, lulled by the gentle movement of the ship and the low, comfortable rumbling of the engines. When she woke in the early morning, the sky through the porthole window was dark, though tinted at the horizon with the edges of sunrise. Not really in a hurry to go anywhere, she leaned against the wall and watched as the stars disappeared one by one, swallowed up in the soft light of dawn.
It was nice, she decided, not to have to rush around. There was no day of work ahead, no furnace to heat; and moreover, in light of recent undertakings, no need to get ready for hours of traveling on foot. Even concerns about what they would do when they reached the Northern Continent were now muted. This was limbo; this was nice. And, despite her desire to reach their destination and see Vincent freed from Chaos, a part of Elira was glad for the enforced period of rest. Her father had once asked her what it would take to make her take a break from her busy life.
Well, she now had her answer: a darkly-attractive reticent, a demon, and a very big ferry.
She ran her finger along the rounded edge of the window and wondered indulgently what it would be like to live with Vincent in Costa Del Sol. Without the built-in conversation piece the stages of this journey had become, what would they talk about? Would they go on long walks in the warm evenings, along the beach? Well, maybe not the beach, she amended with a smile. There were still so many things she didn't know about him, and so many things she'd never told him about herself. Maybe they'd have the time to get to know each other a little better.
It made her smile again when she remembered the sudden laugh he'd given, -- and just as quickly contained -- the final break to the uncomfortable sexual tension they'd managed, until that point, to avoid both verbally and physically for the most part. And it had surprised her to discover at that moment how much his friendship -- his somewhat clandestine fondness for her and the attentive importance he seemed to place in her conversation -- had come to mean to her; more than 'just because she didn't want to be alone.' The return of the wall over his emotions had turned her regret into an almost tangibly painful thing, and the breaking down of that barrier had caused such relief...
She promised him silently that she would be more careful about what she said and did from now on. The time they spent in Costa Del Sol would be strictly friendship, without any discomfort, and even *he* would enjoy himself.
A little later, she went to Vincent's room. After about thirty seconds of waiting in vain for an answer, though, she began to wonder if he'd had to tranquilize himself during the night. If that was the case, she thought to herself, should she look for someone with a key? Undecided, she began to chew on her lip. Eventually, though, she resolved to do a search around the ferry first. Vincent could simply have left his room, and she didn't want to bother the ship's staff unnecessarily.
The deck was dim with the gray-blue light of dawn and the air was crisp and nippy as it came off of the water. Elira breathed it in as she walked; the smell of the ocean always seemed different before the sun came up. There were few other people out: some older men who might have been sailors in their time, a young couple huddled together by the railing, and someone who looked a little sick to his stomach. But no Vincent. An ornate iron staircase led her to the first level of the deck.
This part of the ferry was all but deserted. There were a few plastic reclining chairs and the barely visible lines of a gameboard that had been painted on the deck in front of the wheelhouse, but the only person in sight was the steersman behind the glass. Elira paused for a moment to think. Where else would he go? The question became academic, however, when a silent figure dressed in black walked suddenly into view from around the wheelhouse.
He looked troubled and lost in thought. It didn't appear that he had noticed her presence, so she watched him pace for a few seconds before calling his name. He then stopped in mid-stride and glanced up sharply as if he hadn't recognized her voice. After a moment, though, some of the tension seemed to drain out of him.
Elira approached slowly, giving him time to object. Maybe he wanted to be alone. But he made no move to stop her as she neared and she couldn't read anything from his eyes. In fact he didn't move at all until she arrived in front of him, and then he turned to the railing to stare out over the water. Elira slipped up beside him. "How are you feeling?"
It was a moment before he gave a quiet sigh of tightly-reigned irritation. "Chaos has been in my mind for hours," he told her. There was an unmistakable vein of iron in his voice and she wondered if, more than simply telling her, he was also speaking to accuse the demon.
Elira pursed her lips in commiseration, expecting that the rooms were not built for pacing. "Has it tried to make you transform?"
Vincent shook his head slowly, still gazing out at the ocean. And looking at him, Elira suddenly realized how weary he seemed; his eyes, usually so sharp and aware, were dull and unfocused as he stared blindly at the horizon; his shoulders were slouched; even his dark hair seemed to hang lank and limp. Her attention was drawn downward, however, as he raised his gloved hand to show her the dart he clutched in his fingers. She could suddenly imagine him walking around the ship with the needle out of sight against his skin, just daring the demon to try something. She wanted to offer him some kind of comfort and had to resist the urge to touch his arm. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."
Vincent looked at her out of the corner of his eye and she was almost surprised to see his mouth quirk, though the gesture faded almost immediately. "Simply having a voice outside of my head helps."
Elira smiled a little and put her hands out to grip the railing. It was cool and damp with the almost unnoticeable mist off the water. "Now I wish I had something to talk about," she told him lightly.
There were a few beats of silence and Elira stared out with him at the tiny breakers on the surface of the ocean as they crested and fell at the compulsion of the wind. Peripherally, though, she was watching Vincent for any outwards signs of the demon's presence. Was it threatening him; pleading with him; bargaining with him? But Vincent gave no indication. She marveled at the depth of his control.
Though there were times, she amended a moment later, when she was sure there were emotions trembling just below the surface. Like the ocean, she thought suddenly. Calm and composed outwardly, but the weighty depth also harbored so much life -- another world very few ever discovered.
And here she was, making waves and uncovering the mysteries of the deep. Hurricane Elira. The title made her turn her head as a chuckle threatened.
Vincent shifted his weight from one leg to the other and his unusual display of restlessness brought her back to the moment. Resolutely, she cleared her throat. Maybe he just needed to be distracted for a little while. "I might have a job set up in Costa Del Sol," she told him.
Vincent paused a moment before turning to her. "Since we boarded the ferry?"
She nodded a little. It was probably better to tell him now rather than bring it up later as if she'd just remembered. "I met someone yesterday who owns a bookstore. He said he might need the help."
There was another pause before he replied, "Without having to pay rent, you won't need to work."
"I know," she answered quickly, "but it would give me something to do." Plus, it would probably be better in the long run if they weren't together every minute. Even now, the urges to touch him, to let her eyes linger a little longer than was comfortable, were sometimes hard to overpower.
"How did you meet this person?"
It wasn't often that he was the one asking her questions, but Elira put it down to his desire to drown out Chaos. "He actually approached me yesterday while I was wandering around. He said..." She chuckled a little to herself. "He said I looked like a painting, staring out at the water."
When she glanced back, Vincent had an eyebrow raised. She chuckled again, glad to see a hint that his humour was returning. "Yeah, I know, it's the corniest line I've ever heard, too."
Vincent's lips twitched and he looked away. "The subtle art of flirting," he said, and there was no mistaking the dry tone of his voice.
Elira shrugged, smiling. "Oh, he wasn't subtle about it at all. He invited me for coffee, and then for supper." She shook her head, smiling in remembered amusement.
Vincent's expression, however, had sobered again and there was something guarded in his eyes. Elira's smile faded and she began to question whether the idea of her with another man *would* make him jealous. It wouldn't, would it? Not when he was upset by his own attraction to her. Maybe he was just worried about her dedication to the journey. She was quick to assure him, "But it didn't mean anything, of course. I'm here to go with you to the Northern Continent, not to set myself up with dates."
Vincent didn't reply and, after a pause, he simply turned away again. Elira felt a twinge of frustration. Sometimes he was so hard to read. She fidgeted for a moment and then cleared her throat. "Well, I hope I've helped some. Is Chaos still there?"
He shook his head slightly. "He tires of bothering me when I'm not paying attention to him."
"Well, that's good at least." She smiled a little, though he wasn't looking at her. "I think I'm going to go get some breakfast before we dock."
Vincent nodded without turning his head. His burdened silence made Elira want to stay and ask what was troubling him, though she knew already that he wouldn't answer. After a pause, she left his side for the cafeteria.
She didn't see Leo again before they arrived at Costa Del Sol, though she admitted to herself that she wasn't exactly looking for him. Yesterday she hadn't minded the company, but today she felt like being on her own for a bit. So, after she'd eaten and had a coffee, she found another quiet spot by the railing where she could watch the approach of land.
Vincent was in his room again when she came to get her things, and it seemed most of the other passengers had already vacated. As she glanced around to make certain she had everything, he appeared in the doorway with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. She smiled at him briefly, doing one last pass with her eyes before stepping out the door and being sure to leave her key. No more than a dozen steps down the hallway, however, Vincent stopped walking. Elira turned, wondering if he'd forgotten something. The encompassing red of his eyes and his tight expression of pain on his face made her think otherwise.
"Not now..." she heard him mutter through his teeth.
She went hastily to his side. "Vincent, where are the darts?"
He was trembling and his breaths were no more than intermittent gasps as he reached his hand into a pocket. He seemed to have trouble grabbing one of the packages, and then his fingers were shaking when he tried to open it. Without asking permission, Elira moved to help him. In a moment, she had a dart in her hand. But suddenly, Vincent was stumbling away from her and doubling up with a muffled exclamation. Elira stared in alarm as his teeth and ears began to morph. He swallowed another cry of pain.
"Vincent!" She hurried to his side once more and prepared to use the dart in his shoulder.
But he was shaking his head a little. "How will you...carry me off?" He closed his eyes and turned away from her as he gave another shuddering groan.
"Let me worry about that," she told him firmly. "You're not exactly in any shape to carry yourself off." And then she injected the sedative before he could protest again. It wasn't long before he was sagging toward the wall and Elira quickly grabbed him as he slipped downward, doing her best to control the fall. By the time he reached the floor, he was already unconscious and the changes had receded.
What advantage would the demon have seen in making him transform now? she wondered. Did it think it had a chance because they weren't expecting it? Or was it simply trying to make things as difficult as possible? She supposed it didn't really matter. Right now, what mattered was finding a way to get Vincent off of the ferry.
It took her what felt like a long time to pull him to his feet and then push him back against the wall for support. Then, holding him there with her own body, she slipped out of her pack and moved to drape him over her shoulders, letting his arms dangle in front of her. The skin of his cheek skimmed her own and tendrils of his hair tickled her neck. Elira tried to ignore the stirrings of her body at his proximity and sighed, allowing herself a moment to recognize how ridiculous they probably looked. Then, after a moment, she gripped his forearms tightly, both flesh and metal, and began to walk. His boots skidded along the floor behind her.
A couple of people came down the hallway as she struggled, but neither of them offered to help her and she decided not to impose; if they had been members of the staff, she might not have felt so awkward about asking, but as it was she kept her mouth shut.
She was just trying to figure out how to maneuver herself and Vincent safely up the staircase at the end of the hall when the sound of someone running toward her made her try to look over her shoulder. "Hey! Hey, do you need some help?"
Elira recognized the voice at once and sighed in relief. "Leo! Thank God!" She awkwardly turned to look at him.
"Elira? Is that you?" He stepped up beside her and glanced at Vincent. "What happened? Is this...is this your friend?"
Elira nodded and then chuckled a little, still somewhat winded. "Yes, this is Vincent. Not really a proper meeting, but..."
"Here, give me one of his arms." They managed to shift Vincent over until he was being held up between them. Elira hefted him carefully and, looking for something to hold onto, took his gloved right hand in her own. Then, moving at a slow, sideways pace, they started up the stairs.
It wasn't until they were walking along the outer deck, and getting a number of curious stares from passengers and staff alike, that Leo asked again, "Is he all right? What happened to him?"
"Oh." Elira licked her lips. "I...I don't know if I should tell you. It also involves a story, and it's not my story to tell."
"No, I understand." They made their way to the ramp leading to the dock and people made way for them. When they finally stepped onto the dock, Leo glanced at her over Vincent's bowed head and asked, "So where are we going?"
Elira shrugged a little with a small, self-reproaching laugh. "Um, I'm not sure. It's a villa. Just a second, I think I've got the address in one of my pockets." They stopped for a minute as she looked, and eventually she came up with it. Reaching carefully around Vincent, she handed him the paper. "Maybe you know where this is."
Leo stared at the address for a moment before giving a nod. "It's not that far from here. This way." They walked to the edge of the road and waited. Elira was about to ask what they were waiting for when a yellow car skidded around a corner and Leo waved it over. He smiled as it pulled up beside them. "There are more taxi cabs in Costa Del Sol than mosquitoes," he told her. "The joke is that if you stand at a corner long enough you'll get a swarm of them."
"Mosquitoes?"
Leo gave a startled laugh. "No. Cabs." And then he gazed at her with a kind of charmed amusement. Blushing again under his scrutiny, Elira glanced away.
The taxi dropped them off in front of a moderately-sized villa built of smooth, white stone and with a red-shingled roof that had been made to look like it was made of bamboo. Without hesitating, Leo paid the fare and then helped her to take Vincent inside.
There was a bedroom off to the left when they entered. Once they'd placed Vincent on the bed, Elira took the time to remove his boots and coat. Leo watched her wordlessly and she couldn't help but wonder if he was speculating on her precise relationship with her 'friend'.
When she'd arranged Vincent comfortably and thrown a quilt she'd found over him, she turned back to Leo. "Thanks so much for your help. Would you like some tea? If I can find some?"
It was the second time Vincent had awakened in an unfamiliar place, and he couldn't say he liked the feeling. But at least this time he knew he hadn't harmed Elira, and his lack of boots and coat told him she was somewhere nearby. Cautiously, he slid to the edge of the bed and sat there for a good couple of minutes before trying to stand. How in the world had she managed to get him here?
It couldn't be any later than the early afternoon, he recognized, glancing out of a window. How many hours had he been unconscious? He counted them mentally and then frowned, trying to remember how long he'd been out under the darts the first time in her apartment. It had been longer than this, hadn't it? Was it possible that the sedative was becoming less effective with use? He thought about the ramifications of this for a few moments before pushing it aside. It would do no good to worry about it right now, especially when he didn't have any solid evidence besides a feeling.
The door had been left ajar. He stepped toward it slowly, still a little dizzy, and reached for the knob. The sound of muted conversation, however, stopped him where he was. Elira's voice and...a man's? Frowning again, he listened in silence.
"No, he told me that the barge went up early last week, so the next one isn't going to be ready until next month sometime."
A sigh from Elira. "All right. I guess we'll just have to wait, then."
The man began to chuckle. "Oh, don't be so down-hearted, Elira. Spending a few weeks in a resort in a beautiful villa like this one isn't the 'horror' everyone says it is."
Elira laughed quietly. "I guess you're right. Well, thanks for checking that out for me, Leo, and for keeping me company. I'll see you later?"
"I hope so." There was the sound of shifting clothing and a silence. Following a sudden urge, Vincent moved to look through the small space left by the open door.
Beyond the door was a front room, not excessively lavish, but liberally perforated with windows so that the afternoon sun could shine in. Standing on a rug not far away stood Elira and the man. He was perhaps a few inches taller than her with dirty blond hair and glasses. Was this the man from the ferry?
He was smiling and Elira's own lips were turned up softly. And he was holding one of her hands, massaging it gently with his fingers.
Vincent's eyes narrowed despite himself. He didn't like this man. He didn't know him, he had no reason to suspect that he had any wrong intentions toward Elira. But he didn't like him. He had the irrational desire to throw him out of the house and make sure he never returned.
He was surprised when he realized that some part of him was unobtrusively comparing himself with the man: tanned and toned from living in Costa Del Sol against his pale, emaciated body; witty and supportive to his reclusive silence; normal and healthy in contrast to his red eyes, metal claw, and demon-possessed soul. But he'd known it all along. He was a monster. Being with Elira had made him able to forget sometimes, but it didn't change the truth. He sighed quietly and moved from the doorway.
Hojo had made it impossible to forget forever. Even if he managed to cover up almost every inch of ashen skin, even if he never looked in a mirror again to see his red eyes, even if he ignored the heavy prosthetic, the truth remained. He was an experiment, a creation. In fact, he had given up his own humanity the day he'd joined the Turks...
How Elira could see the man in him was still a mystery. How she could still be attracted to him...
Though, perhaps Leo could cure her of her misplaced fascination with him, he mused, trying to deny the way this thought upset him. It would be better that way, after all. It couldn't help but be better for both of them if she never wanted to touch him again, never wanted to kiss him or worm her way into his arms. It would be safer for her...
He shook himself as he heard the front door open and then close. The sound of Elira's footsteps followed, but instead of coming to check on him she went into another room and shut the door. Perhaps she was thinking as he had been, that he would be out for awhile longer. In a few minutes, he could hear the muffled sound of a shower running.
This was the perfect time. Quickly, he gathered his things and slipped back into his coat and boots. Her pack was in the hall. Hastily, he rifled through it for her supply of darts. And then he walked to the door.
But before he could leave, something pulled him back. It wasn't fair to leave like this without at least a few words. With a sigh, he hunted around for a pen and a piece of paper.
It had been awhile since he'd had to write anything. He was surprised at how out of practice he was. A few moments' time, however, allowed him to put down what needed to be said, and then he left the note on the bed.
'Please, forgive me, Elira. And try to understand...'
Elira finished drying her hair and slipped back into her clothing. No matter how much she liked the smell of the sea, it felt good to be clean again. She expected Vincent would want a shower, too, though he was probably still asleep. Leo had stayed for lunch and had helped her inspect the house, but she didn't imagine it was very late in the afternoon. She decided to check on Vincent anyway. He'd never had any episodes under the tranquilizers, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible.
There was no sound coming from the room and the door was ajar, just as she'd left it. Moving quietly, she pushed it open and peered in.
The bed was empty. Confused, Elira stepped in and glanced around. Where were his things? His coat, his boots? A piece of paper on the bed attracted her attention. Feeling a growing sense of dread, she went to pick it up. Her hand began to shake as she read it:
'Back in three weeks. I'm sorry.'
Her breathing seemed loud in the empty villa. He'd...left? He'd *left*? He probably hoped to protect her this way, she thought sourly. But it hurt that he hadn't discussed it with her, or even warned her...
She choked on a sob before she realized that she was crying. Angrily, she wiped the tears away, but others replaced them.
"Damn you!" Swiftly, she crumpled the paper up in her fist and threw it against the wall. He was just going to leave her alone here for three weeks? Without so much as a good-bye? "Bastard!" Well, maybe she would just leave, too! Maybe she would just go back to her father's! Or go home!
Her pack was in the hall. When she went to grab it up, she discovered that it had been opened. Frowning, she searched through it and couldn't find the darts. He'd taken them. But...
Who would make him comfortable while he slept? Who would distract him when the demon became too much?
Elira shook her head. No one would, and it was his own choice! She hadn't made him leave! Furiously, she tied her pack and slung it over her shoulder. He was going to regret what he'd done.
Halfway into her shoes, however, she knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave him. And he probably knew it, too. She felt her face bubble up with tears again. "Bastard," she whispered, and then she dropped into a crouching position and cried for a long time into her knees.