Chapter Thirty: The Reckoning
by thelittletree
Trembling in mute shock, Elira kept her fingers on the place where his pulse had been only moments ago as if waiting for it to come back. And then her lungs began to heave with hoarse, heavy breaths that hurt her chest. Quickly, she put a hand to her mouth to stop the echoing noise, but she couldn't repress it. There was no stopping this. There was no way to deny what was so obvious. Vincent was dead.
The breaths turned into sharp, painful sobs and throbbing, scalding tears began to trickle from her eyes. It hurt...oh, it hurt...and she realized that she was rocking on her knees and moaning. "No...no...please, no." It couldn't be real. It was just another nightmare. She would wake up in a minute and everything would be all right. She would realize they were still in the forest, still in Costa Del Sol, and the agony inside would fade away with relief. Desperately, she shut her eyes.
When she opened them again, however, he was still the same. Though his eyes were open, they were dull and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. She clenched her teeth, but it wasn't enough to hold back the harsh wail of grief that burst from her throat. Her body shook with the force of it and, like a tree cut from the base, she collapsed toward him, squeezing the material of his shirt in her fists until she could feel her nails cutting into her palms. "Vincent, please..." It didn't sound like her voice, broken and tremulous. Wisps of it came back to her from the walls as the temple wept with her. "Please, come back. You can't...you can't leave me here."
His body was still warm. For a moment, she was back in his apartment, on the floor of his bedroom, crying at his side because he'd taken those pills. But this time there was no heart beating under her ear, no breath to feel with her hand, no reason to hope. He'd told her there was a good chance this would happen. Without the strength of the demon, his body had no strength of its own to support life. She should have prepared herself better, some distant part of her mind recognized. She should have begun to accept the possibility, the very real possibility that he would not survive. But she hadn't wanted to believe that he would die. She hadn't expected it to turn out this way.
'Oh Vincent, it wasn't supposed to be this way...'
The agony threatened to break her, snapping the supports of a bridge that was straining under too much weight. She'd promised...she'd promised him that she would leave, but her mind balked at the idea of getting up from his body, of trying to make the journey back alone. She wasn't even sure her legs would carry her. Halfway through the Sleeping Forest she would trip over something and, with no one to catch her, she would simply never get up again. She couldn't do it by herself, and she couldn't imagine just leaving him here, unburied. But the thought of putting him in the ground made her feel sick to her stomach with dread. It wasn't right. *This* wasn't right. This couldn't...
This couldn't be the way it was supposed to end.
Because every time...
Elira opened her eyes as a realization she had probably been mulling over for weeks in her subconscious mind suddenly came to the fore. Every time they'd run into trouble *something* had helped them. *Something* had brought him into her shop looking for a job all those months ago, and she was starting to doubt the power of coincidence: in Kalm, Vincent had landed mere feet from the home of someone who could help them; when they'd been running out of gil Tifa had offered her villa in Costa Del Sol; Leo had taught her how to translate the Cetra language and had even given her the lexicon that had ended up being so crucial to the journey. They couldn't all have been happy flukes. *Something* had always made things work. As long as they'd kept trying, things had turned out.
So it stood to reason that there was still something she could do.
Like recalling something from a previous life, a memory began to surface: swimming lessons in the ocean near Kalm. Leaning over Eagan, her first crush at seventeen, queasy with excitement as she'd prepared to bring their lips together for CPR. She had to close Vincent's eyes before she could manage it, and then she was breathing into his mouth the way she remembered and pushing on his chest. She wasn't completely sure she was doing it right, with trembling hands and hitching lungs, but there was a blessed relief in having some hope again, no matter how desperate the hope. "C'mon, c'mon," she realized she was muttering thickly as she thrust upward with the ball of her palm. "You -- fate or God or whatever -- you listen to me. You've gotten us this far and I'm not quitting now. I'm going to keep trying like I've been trying all along, so you have to acknowledge it this time, too. It's only fair. You have to give him back." Not much of a prayer, she thought. And then she closed her eyes, still able to feel the dew of tears on her lashes. "Please, give him back."
After a few minutes, she was becoming light-headed, but she didn't allow herself to stop. It had to work. It had to. Because maybe Vincent had been right. Maybe there was a Fate. But maybe it wasn't the way he'd always thought. She didn't doubt that it probably had power over life and death, and perhaps it even had the future written out. But Elira couldn't help believing now that every person had more than one fate, dependent on the choices they made.
And she'd chosen the future where Vincent was fated to live.
Vincent's last moments of life were filled with pain and the knowledge that, though it was trying its best, his body was shutting down. His lungs fluttered, his heart pumped erratically. Elira's face, smiling beautifically a moment before, twisted with horror as he shuddered.
And then suddenly, like being hit from behind, he was being pushed out with a gasp.
When he came to himself a moment later, he was standing in a meadow. Wild and lush with life, it seemed more real somehow than anywhere he'd ever been before. Hastily, he glanced around himself, wondering how he'd gotten here. There was no sound -- no birds, no wind in the tall grass -- but the smell of earth and flowers was everywhere, and the field seemed to stretch out for miles in every direction without any sign of human habitation. Bewildered, he took a step. He felt the ground solidly under his boot and his clothing shifted with sound as he moved. Finally, he looked down at himself, surprised to realize how healthy he felt.
Everything seemed to be in order. He was in his coat, in his wrinkled shirt and pants, and his holster was still around his waist with the Peacemaker at his hip. But there was a difference, though he didn't notice it for a couple of seconds. So long hated, and then taken for granted, the claw Hojo had installed usually received no more than a glance. But without the flash of gold beneath his cuff, he was forced to take a closer look. Quickly, he raised his arm, and was surprised when he didn't feel the pull of its weight. And then he simply stared.
Fingers. Flesh fingers, and there was the scar on his knuckle from the day Lucrecia had broken a beaker and accidentally cut him. For a moment, he couldn't react. It was his left arm, the one Hojo had removed and replaced, but how...? And then, he was suddenly moving his right hand to push up his sleeve, to touch his own skin. It was real, and he could feel forgotten muscles, whole and strong, as he rolled his wrist. But, this...this was impossible.
"Vincent."
It was a woman's voice. Startled, he whirled around, the Peacemaker already in his hand. How could someone have come up behind him without alerting him?
But there was no one. Frowning, he took another wary look around. "Who's there?" he demanded firmly.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten?" And then someone was standing to his left as if she hadn't just appeared. Young and small in a pink dress with brown, braided hair and bright eyes, she stood with her hands clasped behind her back and smiled at him; a patient smile, he thought. But then, all of her smiles had seemed patient, as if she'd been perpetually waiting for something.
"Aeris?"
She grinned. "You do remember." She stepped toward him, as real as if she'd stepped out of his memory, and bent gracefully to pick a flower at her feet. "You can put your gun away, Vincent. No one's going to hurt you here."
As she straightened back up he forced himself to holster his weapon. "Where am I?" he asked her, wondering if he was possibly dreaming. Or delusional.
Aeris sniffed the purple bloom in her hand and smiled again, her face lighting up with the gesture. "Not where you're supposed to be, yet. This is the Promised Land." And then she threw the blossom toward him.
It landed at his feet and he watched in astonishment as it effortlessly rooted itself again in the grass. Slowly, he squatted down and tugged gently at the stem, but it was firmly planted. "You mean I'm dead?"
She was grinning again, watching him with the flower. "Not quite. Like that flower, you've simply been plucked. There's something you have to do here before you can move on."
Vincent stood back up and frowned, feeling more and more confused. "I don't understand."
"Chaos needs a trial before it can be sentenced," Aeris continued, her girlish charm suddenly fading to be replaced by a maturity that seemed to go beyond her years. "As the host you need to testify. Unlike a regular possession Chaos was put into you, so its guilt has to be determined before a punishment can be decided on." Abruptly, her smile returned, and she was the young woman he remembered again. "Does that explain things a little better?"
He was still feeling shaken, he realized, and it was making it difficult to sort out his thoughts. "So, I've been taken out of my body to help pass judgement on Chaos?" When Aeris nodded, he frowned again. "What happens when that's done? Where will I go?"
Aeris gave a sudden sigh and bent to wave her hand through the grass. "That's not up to me," she admitted. "If it were..." She glanced at him. "...I'd just let you go back into your body to stay with that woman."
Vincent blinked, wondering how she'd known about Elira. But he passed up the question in favour of another one. "But I was dying. How could I be sent back?"
"That's the problem." She stood again and absently straightened the red jacket. Vincent had the sudden impression, as strange as it seemed, that she hadn't worn this form for awhile and was simply doing it for his comfort. "I can't fix your body. So, it's not up to me whether or not you go back. I'm just here to bring you to the trial."
"Who is it up to?"
She gave a smaller smile, and this one seemed a little sad. "In the end, it's up to her, whether she realizes it or not."
He frowned again. "Who? Elira?"
Aeris raised her thin eyebrows. "Elira. That's a pretty name." And then she nodded. "Yes, it's up to her. At least, I think so. There haven't been many cases like you, you know."
"But what does she have to do?"
"Something she's probably done or refused to do already. I'm sorry, Vincent, I can't say anymore. It's time to begin."
And, suddenly, he was standing in a room. Unlike the cold sharpness of a court room, this was like an old antechamber with curving buttresses and crafted arches over the doorways. There were no lamps or light fixtures that he could see, but it was not dark in the least sense of the word. It wasn't until later that he realized there weren't even any shadows.
Aeris was nowhere in sight, but there were others seated at a long table across the room. They seemed to be examining him, though he sensed no hostile intent from them. And then one of them stood.
"Vincent Valentine," the man greeted him with a smile. He was young, Vincent thought, but as with Aeris he carried an impression of maturity and understanding. "You've been brought here to give witness against Chaos. Do you accept this obligation?"
Vincent hesitated a moment. "Yes." Dream or no, he felt compelled to answer.
The man turned his head and Vincent followed his gaze rightward until he realized that he was looking at the second participant in the trial.
It was Chaos. But, unlike the demon who had possessed his body and mind for forty years, this being seemed dark and insubstantial, like a flickering shadow. The only shadow in the room. It had also been bound up with a long white chain, though Vincent knew without having to be told that the chain was just a visible suggestion of the imprisonment Elira had enforced with her words. Angrily, it glared at him with immaterial crimson eyes, though it seemed unable to open its mouth.
"Chaos," the man began, "you have been bound and cast out according to the law of the scriptures. You will now stand trial in order to determine your punishment."
The demon glared at the man, but was still unable to speak. And then the man sat down again. "Let's begin the trial. First questions to the human, Vincent Valentine."
One of the women stood, and he noticed that they were all wearing white robes. "This is really no more than formality, but please answer as truthfully as you can,” she said to him in a pleasant, bell-like voice. “Was it due to the efforts of the human Hiram Hojo that you became possessed with Chaos?"
It was gradually becoming clear that this was no dream or delusion. Vincent pursed his lips and, as his mind finally began to clear, realized he was a party in this whether he completely understood or not. "Yes."
The woman glanced at the demon. "Chaos, what do you have to say in your defense?"
Suddenly given voice, the demon snarled with an almost tangible hatred, "You know the anssswer already. Why do you even asssk?"
The woman didn't give any hint to suggest impatience or offense. "You know the answer to that. You know our rules. Defend yourself, or simply accept the court's decision."
Chaos seethed a moment. "Yesss," it responded with unwilling calmness, "that wasss the cassse. You don't imagine I would have gone willingly into that fool, do you?"
Too used to the demon's abuse, Vincent automatically ignored the insult. The woman, however, said, "Beware, Chaos, of saying too much. You could have gone willingly to escape the punishment given by the Chosen One. Did Hiram Hojo request you by name?"
Vincent glanced to his right, suddenly curious to know something about the possession that had happened so long ago. Chaos hissed quietly to itself for a moment before growling, "Yesss, of courssse he did. Why wouldn't he have chosssen me?"
The woman sat down without answering and, after a moment, another man stood. He seemed older than the others, but Vincent wasn't sure what gave the impression of age. "Vincent Valentine, you may be able to clear this up. Do you recall whether Hiram Hojo requested Chaos by name?"
Vincent wasn't anxious to get into those memories, but his mind was already going back to Nibelheim, to the basement, to the cold slab at his back and the shame of being naked and exposed, powerless and dehumanized. He'd always thought it a blessing that there was much his mind had blocked from that time, but now it seemed like an obstacle to justice. "No, I don't recall," he answered eventually. And, abruptly, he was craving the comfort and solidity of Elira's hand in his. This was followed by the sudden aching need to know how she'd reacted to his death, if she was all right. With a breath, he dared to interrupt the proceedings. "Please, do you know what's become of..." Would they even know who she was? "...of the human, Elira Maddison?"
The man's face showed some regret as he shook his head. "We don't know. That will have to be taken care of afterward. But if you want, there is a way to speed this up."
Vincent nodded without asking for an explanation. The man turned to another young woman at the table and gestured for her to stand. She did, and then she moved around the table. Vincent had to fight the urge to back away from her as she approached. She stopped about a foot from him and smiled a little. "So much fear, and so many barriers. You'll have to relax. I'm going to go into your memories to see if they can tell us what you can't."
Vincent made the conscious effort to put down his guard. As the woman raised a hand to his face, however, he couldn't help tensing again. The woman chuckled a little. "Close your eyes, if it'll help."
He did as she suggested, and a moment later there were bits and pieces of his past coming vividly to mind. She seemed to be sifting through periods of heightened emotion and he was suddenly confronted by faces he didn't know, events he couldn't recall. Once or twice, he saw the woman he considered to be his mother, but nothing linked her conclusively. Then the day he'd completed his first kill for the Turks and the subsequent night of vomiting and cold sweats, the first time he'd seen Lucrecia, their first bittersweet coupling, confronting Hojo and then...
She began to move a little slower as they arrived at the memory and Vincent instinctively shied away from it. The woman stopped and, as if hoping to relax him again, she brought to life a memory of Elira smiling up at him, her eyes twinkling. 'Think of her.' The woman's voice was soothing. 'The sooner we get through this, the sooner you'll know what's become of her.'
Vincent complied and let the woman continue. Silently, he suffered through the recollection of how he'd failed Lucrecia as Hojo pulled the gun and fired. And then, in a fog of pain and something close to insensibility, the truth came clear, there in his subconscious. Hojo's voice muttering some kind of incantation in another language and then the agony of violation as he'd been given over to the demons...
The memory faded abruptly and Vincent gasped as he came back to himself. The woman was nodding in satisfaction and then she turned back to the table. Once she'd returned to her place, she said to the others, "There was no specific mention of Chaos in the conjuration."
As she sat, the older man spoke again. "Chaos, you have been named a willing participant in the possession of the human, Vincent Valentine. Therefore, you will be held accountable for every act of violence causing injury or death."
Chaos gave something that was nearly a scream. "The human enjoyed what I gave him! He reveled in the death! Asssk him! He can't deny it!"
Vincent felt an immediate pang of shame, but the man only said, "This is your trial, Chaos, not his. You are hereby banished to dry and dusty places where you will have no contact with any of your kind again."
The demon gave a sudden wrathful, frightened shriek, but it was cut short as its voice was taken away. And then, it was abruptly gone from the room. Vincent turned back to the others, the Cetra, wondering what was to become of him, but as his eyes came to rest on the place where the table had been he saw that he was in the field again. Surprised, he glanced around, looking for Aeris, or anyone. But he was alone.
"Vincent."
It wasn't Aeris' voice this time. It almost wasn't a voice at all, just an awareness of someone speaking. A very powerful someone. And Vincent had the sense that this present non-presence had been here all along. He was disconcerted for a moment not to hear his heart pounding with fear. "Who are you?"
"You've already guessed who I am." The voice sounded amused and the grass rustled around him like whispering laughter. "And you're right. I am the Guardian of both the Promised Land and the Lifestream."
Vincent swallowed hard. "What..." His voice had faded to a husk. Flustered, he cleared his throat. "What do you want with me?"
Another impression of warm amusement. "Not what you seem to think. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to answer a prayer."
"A prayer?"
"You once prayed for death, didn't you?"
He remembered the day again, on his knees far from anywhere with the unforgiving metal of a barrel against his temple. 'Please, let me die...' The sound of the gunshot echoed around him for a moment, and then was gone. He swallowed again. "That was over ten years ago."
"True. But everything comes in its proper time."
He wanted to protest. He wanted to say that this wasn't the proper time, that he'd changed his mind, that he wanted another chance. But he knew that, in the end, he didn't deserve one. And if this Guardian knew anything about him, it had to know what he'd done.
"Didn't I say I wasn't here to judge you?" Another breeze rippled through the grass until it was picking at his hair and clothing. And suddenly he was standing in the Cetra temple again.
And there was Elira, kneeling on the dais over his body as she pushed on his chest, her expression tight with a fierce hope. She hadn't left as she'd promised and he began to feel an awed reverence for her as she tried and tried to resuscitate him without any indication that she was succeeding.
"She is persistent, isn't she?"
It was one of the reasons he loved her, he realized. "She promised to leave," he found himself whispering aloud.
"Could you really have expected any less than this from her?"
And he knew that he couldn't have. Hastily, he made his way to the dais and crouched down beside her. "Elira," he said softly, staring at the side of her face as she pushed at his chest, almost gasping with the effort. "Elira, can you hear me?" He put out a hand to touch her shoulder, but it went through her as if she was only air.
"She can't, unfortunately."
And Vincent felt a wave of anger. "Then what did you bring me here for?" he shouted toward the ceiling. There was no echo from the walls.
"Don't let your anger get the better of you." The voice was firm and Vincent suddenly felt ashamed of his outburst. "She has also been praying. At different times she has prayed for help, for your protection, for her own protection, and for the return of your life."
Was this what Aeris had been talking about, what Elira had already done or refused to do? "Is that the prayer you're going to answer?"
"It is, if you're willing to take advantage of a second chance. There is still much fear in you, and much guilt. What you have done will always be a burden on your conscience, but you have now died to that old life. A new life requires a new mindset, and that won't be easy. But she has forgiven you..."
With a sudden inhalation, Elira leaned down and began to breathe into his mouth. More than anything, Vincent found himself wanting to go back so he could open his eyes and watch her face light up as she realized that her tenacity had paid off. He couldn't stand the thought of letting her down when she was trying so hard.
"...and she won't give up on you. But you need to be willing to forgive yourself. She can teach you, if you'll let her."
There were so many things she could probably teach him about courage and risks and willingness, he thought. If only he'd met her forty or fifty years ago.
Though everything came in its proper time.
"Life and death are before you, Vincent. What is your choice?"
Elira hadn't left as she'd promised. As hopeless as it should have seemed from her end, she'd chosen to stay and try to bring him back to life. She was so strong, so stubborn...and, somehow, she'd fallen in love with him. He had the feeling, no matter what he answered, she would never quit -- against all odds, she would find a way to bring him back.
So, who was he to gainsay her?
Elira was starting to feel faint and her fingers and toes were prickling with pins-and-needles from the forced state of near-hyperventilation, but she resolutely ignored the discomfort. Nothing was going to make her stop until he either came back or she thought of something else she could do. And so far this was still the best course of action she could come up with. Growing up by the ocean had shown her the magic of CPR more than once. Any minute...any minute now. All despair and fear and grief had been swallowed up in this blinding ray of hope that said all she had to do was perservere and believe, and Fate would honour her effort. And there was comfort in knowing that it was out of her hands and all she had to do was wait...
So it almost didn't surprise her when Vincent finally sucked in a heavy breath on his own and began to cough. She simply grinned and let the tears come as she sat up with a hand over his heart to feel it beating. When he met her eyes a few moments later as the coughing fit subsided, she realized that she was even laughing a little. "Welcome back," she whispered to him.
He managed to twitch a corner of his mouth in response. Exhausted and icy cold to her touch, she could see that it was all he could do not to slip into unconsciousness. Quickly, she pulled the blanket out of the tent at his back and tucked it in around him. "Don't fall asleep," she warned him, though she imagined he probably knew as well as she did what would happen if he did: cold inside and out from nearly half an hour of being dead, it would be too easy for him to slip back off the mortal coil if he drifted into insensibility.
"I don't know if I can help it," he admitted through bluish lips. "But I'm trying..."
"Keep trying, then. Don't give in." Hastily, she glanced around, wondering what else she could do to warm him. When she finally had an idea, she put it into action before her mind could talk her out of it. It wasn't like they hadn't been naked together before she told herself wryly as she slipped under the blanket and started to remove her clothing.
"Elira...?"
"Body heat," she explained quickly, shivering a little as she slipped out her pants and started working on the buttons of his shirt. 'I wish it wasn't so drafty in here,' she thought to herself as goosebumps prickled up and down her arms. This was probably going to be very uncomfortable for a little while.
Vincent didn't protest as she slipped him out of his pants, or when she moved to lie on top of him. The first touch of his icy skin on her own, however, made her hiss and cringe away. "Oh god, you're cold!"
"'M sorry."
She laughed a little, grimacing as she forced herself down again. "Don't be. It's not your fault." She began to rub his skin with her hands and then glanced up to see that he'd closed his eyes again. "Vincent?"
His eyelids snapped open. "I'm trying," he murmured as he blinked lazily, fighting against the pull of cold exhaustion. "I'm so tired."
"I know, but don't go to sleep." She pressed her cheek against his icy chin, trying to think of things that might keep him awake. "Talk to me or something."
"Mm. Don't know any pillow talk."
She couldn't help a small, breathless laugh. How could he make jokes at a time like this? "That's not what I mean. Tell me..." She chewed her lip for a moment before plunging ahead. "Tell me what happened to you. What's the afterlife like?"
He seemed to sigh a little and it was a few seconds before he began to speak in a rough, tired voice, his eyes open toward the ceiling. "I don't know. I didn't go into the Lifestream. The Cetra were having a trial for Chaos and they brought me to the Promised Land to testify."
"The Promised Land?"
"Yes." He briefly described the field and the trial and Elira could almost picture it all happening. As he began telling her about the voice of the Guardian, however, his breath hitched and he gave a small moan of pain. Elira watched in concern as he frowned. "What's wrong?"
"My skin...is starting to burn."
She thought it was probably a good sign that he was getting some feeling back, but she wasn't sure what she could do about the pain. Pursing her lips in sympathy, she began to rub her hands over his sides again. When he hissed sharply through his teeth she cringed a little. "Sorry, did that hurt?"
"It's all right. The pain will keep me awake."
Grimacing with him, Elira continued the brisk massage until she could actually feel warmth returning to his skin. "So, what happened next? You heard a voice and..."
He gave a small grunt of acknowledgment or discomfort, she couldn't tell which, and looked back at the ceiling. "It gave me a choice, life or death," he told her in a clipped, strained voice.
Elira parted her lips in surprise and unconsciously slowed her hands. The power over life and death. Was it possible? "Was the voice...Fate?" she wondered aloud.
Vincent glanced at her and she saw one of his eyebrows twitch. "It called itself the Guardian of the Lifestream and the Promised Land, but I suppose it could have many names." He gave another grunt as she began massaging again and she gentled her touch out of sympathy. After a moment, however, Vincent's expression tightened with something that was almost a frown and she felt him tremble a little beneath her. "Ah, wait. That tickles."
Elira couldn't help her grin. "It'll keep you awake at least."
He tried to glare at her, but it didn't have quite the same effect without the old red of his eyes, and especially considering that his lips were contorting into an unwilling smile. "I think I preferred the pain," he told her, and there was a plaintive note to his voice.
She laughed and placed a kiss to his chin. "All right. I'm sorry." Parts of her felt numb and she pulled at the blanket, trying to ward off the chill of the room. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she tucked the edges in around his body, trying to make sure he was completely covered.
"Warmer," he admitted.
She smiled in some relief. "Then I think it's probably safe for you to sleep."
He gave a small nod, but instead of closing his eyes he spent a few moments just looking at her. The open, unapologetic observation made her feel a little self-conscious at first, but she didn't look away. And soon, she was even smiling, her mouth twitching wider as he smiled back. Then his smile faded and something honest and grateful in his gray eyes made her throat tighten.
"Thank you," he whispered, "for staying."
Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears and she was powerless to keep them in check. "Oh Vincent." She lay her cheek back against his chin and reveled in the feel of his breath against her skin. 'I love you.' She wanted to say it. She wanted to scream it. But she'd said it once already and she didn't want to make him uncomfortable by saying it too often when it was possible he didn't feel the same way for her. "You're welcome," she told him instead.
It wasn't long before he fell to sleep. Elira told herself as she looked down at him in the fading afternoon light that she would stay awake to make sure he was warm enough. But the cold was taking its own toll on her and within a couple of hours, as the sun set, she finally drifted off with her head on his shoulder.