Chapter Twenty-Three: Death...
by thelittletree
Time is such a funny thing. Happy moments always seem to come equipped with wings; unhappy ones wear lead shoes. Long days can be broken down into an eternity of minutes and seconds until lead poisons every breath, every movement. The end result: insanity.
Elira sometimes wondered at her state of mental health.
Every day when she unlocked the door to the villa, she checked the front room, just in case she might find Vincent standing there again. But he never was. Once, while making herself some dinner, a flash of movement startled her into glancing up. Just a curtain puffing out, reaching for her attention in a gust of wind. But she'd almost expected to see him in the doorway, watching her with those red attentive eyes. The memory of his dark, intense presence seemed to shadow her like an unsettled ghost, and sometimes it was enough to make her cry.
She even dreamed of him a couple of times, nightmares. The one she remembered with the most clarity had her standing at the edge of a cliff, helping Vincent up the last few feet of the steep rockface with a rope that hung from her heart. It hurt her to use the rope this way, but the pain was overshadowed by the fear that he would fall. Eventually, he managed to clamber up beside her, but as he gave a final pull on the rope she lost her balance and went tumbling into the void she'd saved him from. And, somehow, she could still see him as she fell, walking away from the edge without a backward glance. She woke up as she called after his retreating form in her sleep.
Leo continued most evenings to take her out for dinner, or the to the beach. Once he even convinced her to go dancing with him. But nothing shook her pursuing phantom free for long.
On the weekends, she ending up spending more time at Leo's apartment than in the villa, and she began to throw herself into the translating because it could occupy her mind for hours. It wasn't her own forge, but it would do. She even began to get good at it. And Leo never mentioned his confession of feelings again, which comforted her. He seemed quite content with her visits as if her company was enough.
And notwithstanding the good things that went on, it was the longest two weeks of her life.
The barge arrived the day before its scheduled departure and Elira purposefully walked by the dock on her way to work to watch the loading of supplies. The dockmaster in Kalm had been right: the barge was no more or less than a large floating rectangle made of wood and iron girders, and she could see the tug nearby bobbing and fidgeting impatiently on its anchoring knot, as if it was in a hurry to get on its way. She thought she could relate.
Even in the heat of Costa Del Sol her hands remained cold all day, and her stomach bounced and shivered inside of her as if she was experiencing a belated bout of seasickness. Vincent's impending return was making her strangely nervous -- and she expected it had to do with the fact that she had no idea how she was going to react to him. She acknowledged that a part of her was still angry at him, angry enough to want to tell him exactly what she thought about being left in Costa Del Sol by herself. And she would have, but for another part of her that seemed to want nothing more than his return and was afraid that her anger would only serve to push him away.
And the prospect of being left behind, of possibly never seeing him again, did not appeal to her.
The day went by slowly and she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. The shipment of books from Cosmo Canyon had necessitated the move of non-fiction to a bigger section of shelves and, by the end of her shift, she felt she had probably fumbled nearly every other book she'd touched. Working beside her, Leo just kept smiling and waving off her apologies; to his credit, he only asked her once what was bothering her. And he also did an admirable job of pretending to take her shrug at face-value.
At five o'clock, when she'd finished putting away her final stack of books, Leo came up from the register where he'd been serving a customer and smiled at her, though she could see that his eyes weren't in the gesture. "Well, I guess it's time for you to go, Elira. Your last shift's over." He pushed idly at his glasses with a thumb and glanced at the books beside her as if inspecting her work.
Elira wiped a trace of lingering dust from her hands and returned his rueful smile. "I know." She glanced down at her hands and, after staring at her fingers for a moment, raised her head again with a sigh. "Leo, I..."
"Shh." He shook his head and a corner of his mouth twitched, a tiny, resigned motion. "Don't worry about it. I don't think either of us are very good at good-byes." He reached for her hand and led her out from between the shelves. "But, I do have something for you to take with you."
"Oh, Leo..." she began to protest.
"No, don't object," he interrupted quickly. "Just take it." He reached behind the till and pulled out what Elira recognized as his lexicon. "I can get another one without a problem," he told her as she turned it over in her hands. "I didn't show you, but there are exercises in there you can do. It's not flowers or jewelry, I guess, but you've been getting more use out of it than I have lately..."
Elira chuckled. "It's wonderful. Thank you." She felt an apology hovering over her tongue, ready to follow the rest of her words out, but in the end she held it back. It wasn't right to apologize for not reciprocating his feelings. Leo had appreciated her friendship and to say 'I'm sorry' would take the meaning from what they had shared. "I wish I had something to give you," she said instead.
It pleased her to see a spark of humour return to his face. "Maybe a kiss?" he suggested teasingly.
She chuckled again. "All right, a kiss." And she tilted her face to him to accept his lips.
It was different than the few kisses she'd shared with Vincent. Leo's mouth was gentle and soft against hers, but there was no spark, no urge to deepen the feeling. After a moment, she stirred and drew away from him. "Thank you again, Leo, for everything."
"It's been a pleasure, Elira. And, who knows, maybe we'll see each other again."
"Maybe." She reached for one of his hands to squeeze it, and the she stepped away. "Good-bye, Leo."
"Good-bye."
And, remembering Benita, she turned and walked out the door without looking back.
She'd brought some gil with her and, on her way back to the villa, she stopped to buy some more tranquilizer darts. She wasn't sure how often Vincent was using them, but it was certainly better to err on the side of caution. Caution, not fear. Vincent, she thought to herself, would do well to learn the difference between them.
Her hands were trembling when she went to unlock the door, and she swore at herself. When she finally opened it, she gave in to the pressure of the shadow and glanced around the front room.
Empty. Of course. With a sigh at her own foolishness, she stepped in and, pulling at her sneakers, went to have a shower.
"When is the barge leaving?"
The supervisor, a man in his thirties with dark sweat-dampened hair, turned his eyes slowly from the loading of the barge. "Look, we're kinda busy here..." he began, and then he glanced over his shoulder. It was almost comical when he did a double-take, obviously startled by the appearance of his addresser.
At the reaction, Vincent became suddenly aware of how often Elira had spoken to other people on his behalf and he wondered why he hadn't noticed before. Repressing a sigh of irritation, he asked again. "When is the barge leaving?"
"Uh..." The man scratched at the back of his neck, looking flustered. "Tomorrow morning," he finally answered. "At dawn."
Vincent turned to go, but then paused a moment before walking away. "Thank you."
The man nodded, a quick jerk of his head. Vincent could feel his eyes on him until he passed out of sight of the dock.
The light of day was slow to fade into the west, as if the sun was reluctant to give up her dominion of the sky. Vincent mentally clocked his arrived in Costa Del Sol at almost three hours ago; instead of going directly to the villa, he'd hidden himself away and injected two of the darts, hoping to keep Chaos out of his mind for as long as he could manage. He didn't want an inner commentary for what he was about to do, and the last thing he needed was to have to fight both ends of the continuum at the same time -- against the one who didn't want him to go at all, and the one who was determined to take him there.
It felt like the villa loomed too soon in his sight, and he almost knocked when he came to the door. But something held him back. If he knocked, she would come to answer, and he felt unprepared to see her. It was an irrational feeling, he knew, but he still could not make himself raise his fist. With a sigh, he gave in to his own weakness and grabbed the knob.
The door was unlocked and he wondered if she'd left it that way on purpose. As he entered, he noticed her sneakers on the floor nearby and recognized traces of her scent everywhere. And he had to force himself not to stand and inhale it. Resolutely, he set his teeth and went looking for her.
He came upon her in the kitchen, dressed in summer clothing that left much of her arms and legs bare and revealed a becoming tan. Lost in thought, she seemed worried as she leaned with the small of her back against the counter, idly rubbing her fingers together. So unselfconsciously beautiful it made his throat tighten and something in him ached with a long-ago familiar longing. But, he was determined to do what he had set out to do. Taking a breath, he stepped into the room.
Elira's eyes snapped to him at the movement and she gave a startled gasp, instinctively jumping away. It then took her a moment or two to recover from her shock as she stared at him. "Vincent," she finally breathed. And he could almost believe she'd expected him to vanish as if he'd been a trick of the eye.
He'd spent so many years learning to keep his feelings from others that slipping back into that role was like stepping into a pair of worn shoes. Though they were, perhaps, not comfortable shoes. "Elira, I will be going alone from this point." He kept his voice cold and toneless, and it was almost laughably easy considering the inner conflict he was still experiencing over the decision.
Her eyebrows twitched upward suddenly in surprise and he wondered for a brief moment what she'd been expecting him to say. It had been two weeks since they'd spoken, and in one sentence he'd effectively bypassed all of the obligatory small talk. "You're going alone?" she repeated softly, and then she frowned in hurt confusion. "But...why?"
He'd nearly memorized his argument. "The tranquilizer darts are no longer as effective; the gun has become obsolete. I no longer need your help, and the danger will only increase. There is no sense in risking your life."
"But..." She stuttered on a reply, looking a little lost. Perhaps she'd expected them to be able to pick up where they'd left off, he mused, with their friendship. However, not even that was an option anymore. Elira struggled for a moment longer with her words before eventually asserting, "But who'll watch over you when you're unconscious?"
The way she was worried gratified some part of him, and he quickly crushed the feeling down. "That's not the greatest concern anymore, Elira. Chaos is growing stronger and it's no longer safe for you to come with me."
She frowned again, clearly puzzled. "But...but it wasn't safe in the beginning either, and you still let me come. What's changed?" She stared at him a moment before continuing. "I mean, we've still got the darts, we can still control the demon. We'll just use more of them." Her eyes showed a little hope as she met his gaze, waiting for the effect of her words.
But Vincent was resolved. She would stay behind. And if he had to, he would threaten to forcibly remove her from her promise. He would not take her from what -- who she'd found in Costa Del Sol and put her into danger. "Elira, I'm not leaving this open for discussion. Don't make me have to incapacitate you to keep you here."
"Incapacitate me?" she repeated, and then she stared at him in growing horror. After a moment, however, she lifted her chin and there was skepticism in her eyes. "You wouldn't hurt me." She said it like she believed it whole-heartedly.
And something in him warmed with her trust, just as surely as something began to hurt. "Don't believe me incapable of it." She didn't know what he had once been able to do without so much as flinching. "If you won't stay voluntarily, I can make you."
She didn't look away, but continued to meet his gaze as if she was trying to see into him, challenging his will, daring him to put action to words. When she stepped toward him a moment later, he forced himself to stay where he was. Her eyes were as hard as granite, and he could feel her somewhat incredulous anger. "I know you wouldn't hurt me, Vincent. Why would you even say that?"
It took frighteningly little effort to reach out and grab her wrist, twisting it away from her. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and then her expression crumbled with pain; in a moment, she cried out. At that signal, he released her and she stumbled away from him, clutching her arm and glaring at him in horrified disbelief.
Something in him was screaming and he knew the guilt over this would eat him alive later. But for now he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look like he could do it again without a second's hesitation.
She watched him in a fearful, confounded silence for a number of seconds as if she expected him to suddenly come to his senses. And then her eyes began to fill with tears. As they spilled over onto her cheeks she began to tremble. "You...you cold-hearted bastard," she accused him unsteadily, as if she was just coming to the realization. And then her expression contorted with rage. "Goddamn you!" She let go of her arm and stood squarely to face him, still shaking with fear and wounded anger. "You goddamn coward! You are a monster!"
He was breaking, crumbling from the inside. He wasn't even sure what was keeping him standing. "Leave, Elira." He prayed she couldn't hear the tremor in his voice. "Don't force me to do something I don't want to do."
Her eyes widened again and then suddenly, like breaking out of trance, she burst into sobs and ran from the room.
An uncontrollable tremble started in his arms a moment after she was out of sight, and then it spread eagerly to the rest of him like a fire catching hold. Clenching his teeth, he moved to lean against the wall and fought for command over his body, distantly gratified that his eyes no longer produced tears.
Nearly blinded with weeping, Elira stumbled to the bedroom and, slamming the door behind her, weaved toward the bed. A step away from it, however, the world tilted suddenly and she fell heavily to her knees. Startled, she was shocked into silence for a moment, and then the sobs began again. The blankets caught her eye and she grabbed a hold of them, burying her face to muffle the terrible noises coming out of her mouth.
God, oh god! How could he... How could he have...hurt her?
The muscles of her arm were still throbbing a little from what he'd done, but it wasn't so much the physical ache as the agony of the idea that he could just reach out and cause her pain without even batting an eye.
Her body shuddered as she gave another series of shaky sobs. How could he have? After everything... Protecting her from the boy in Odriam, attacking Terry to save her from being raped, grabbing her in the forge by the wrist to keep her from falling...the same wrist...
He'd ordered her to leave and she wondered for a frightened, miserable moment if he would come looking for. Would he really hurt her again if she refused to go? He'd told her more than once that he was dangerous, and yet she'd learned to trust him.
She shivered a little and then resolutely wiped her eyes. Enough of this. He'd obviously made up his mind. He didn't want her along, and she knew somehow that it had to do with more than just the danger. Something had happened to convince him that she had to be left behind, and she doubted she would ever find out what it was.
Feeling shaky and sick to her stomach, she pulled herself to her feet and walked to what she had always assumed was Tifa's summer wardrobe. A little rifling brought her the dress she'd worn when Leo had taken her dancing. White and comfortable, it came to her mid-thigh and was held up just over her bust-line with two filmy spaghetti straps. He'd said she was beautiful in it. It seemed appropriate to wear it now. Quickly, she changed out of her clothes.
Leo answered his door only a moment or two after she'd knocked, and then he stared at her, surprised. "Elira?"
She fell into his arms.