Chapter Six: The Morning After
by thelittletree
The morning was drab through a curtainless window.
Elira blinked as she came awake. She wasn't wearing anything, she realized soon after; only a sheet covered her up to her collarbones. Her back was pressed solidly against something warm and her ear lay on something firm. An arm lay stretched out before her.
A golden arm.
Elira blinked again as the memory of the previous night rushed back to her in a flurry of emotion. Excitement, lust, passion. She lay next to Vincent, his shoulder supporting her head. His prosthetic arm lay motionless in front of her, the metallic fingers relaxed and curled up slightly. She moved forward slowly until her ear rested further down his arm, on the muscle.
The prosthetic began at the joint of his elbow. Elira was surprised to see how cleanly the metal had been grafted against the skin. She ran a finger along the inside of his elbow: seamless.
The muscle under her ear stiffened gently and the digits of the hand before her twitched. Elira turned her head, shifting a little under the sheet, to look at Vincent.
Vincent looked back at her, his head propped up on a pillow. It was almost a shock to see him shirtless and without his bandana; his wealth of black hair hung close around his face, some trailing down his chest to mix with the smattering of dark hair there. He smiled as she noticed him. Her smile.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "That itches."
Elira ran a thumb along the inside of his elbow to remove the itch and turned back to him. "Good morning, Vincent."
He nodded once in greeting.
Elira turned her attention again to his prosthetic arm, running a hand down the length of it. She entwined her fingers with the metal digits. The digits closed gently around her hand.
"You know, the first time I saw you I wanted to take this thing apart and see how it worked," she told him softly. "Where did you get it?" She thought of Barret's new prosthetic limb.
Vincent didn't answer right away. "It was made for me."
Elira moved until her ear lay against the metal casing. As she took her hand back, the digits moved; Elira could hear the quiet buzzing of electronic parts inside the arm. "Did you have an injury?"
This time, Vincent's silence lasted a bit longer. "Something like that."
Elira drew back to the warmth of his side, sliding one arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "Do you always have to give cryptic responses?" she asked him, smiling.
Vincent shrugged. "It depends on the question."
Elira pursed her lips. "All right. What happened to your arm?"
"I had an injury," he told her with the utmost sincerity.
Elira couldn't help her laugh. Irritated, she pinched his side firmly with two fingers. He gave a grunt and cast her a disapproving glance. She laughed again. "Okay, no more questions." She sighed. "I wonder what time it is?"
Vincent pulled his right arm up and looked at the watch fastened there. "Twenty to seven."
Elira hummed an acknowledgment. More than two hours before she had to open the shop. She let her arm creep over to his right wrist, drawing it toward her to inspect his watch. It was small and sweephand, the thin black leather straps affixed together with a silver clasp. "You sleep with your watch on?" she murmured, idly interested.
"Not usually. My mind was elsewhere last night and I forgot to remove it."
Elira grinned suddenly and moved to look him in the face. "That was funny, Vincent. I guess you do have a sense of humour somewhere in there."
He gave a little smile, though it seemed a trifle wan. "Perhaps. I imagine it's somewhat out of practice."
Elira turned her attention to the watch as she strove to undo the clasp. "Well, then you should practice. I'd laugh." She slipped the watch from his wrist and held it up in front of her face.
Vincent took his watch from Elira and set it on the floor beside the bed. "I don't know what to say to that."
Elira shrugged. "Don't say anything." And she kissed him. She thought she'd never get tired of kissing him. It felt so good to be in bed with another warm body.
After a moment, Vincent stirred and pulled his mouth from hers. "We should probably start to get ready," he said. He wasn't looking at her.
Elira felt the change in him immediately as if he'd told her he was uncomfortable. She moved off of him. "All right."
The mattress sank as Vincent sat up and swung his legs over the side. Before standing, he glanced over his shoulder. "Did you want to shower?"
Elira shrugged. "You go first. I'll just put on something of yours if you don't mind and make some breakfast while I wait."
Vincent nodded and stood. Elira was surprised to find herself looking resolutely at the pillow; they had been intimate, his naked body wasn't anything new. But they'd made love in the dark. She tried to convince herself that she was being ridiculous, but was unable to make herself glance up until he'd left the room. When she heard the bathroom door close, she got up from the bed and carefully opened his closet. After a few moments, she came up with a long black dress shirt that came down to her mid-thigh. She slipped into it and took the time to do up the buttons. As an afterthought, she put her panties on.
She found his kitchen somewhat understocked. After looking over what he had, she finally decided on scrambled eggs. Grabbing a pan she found in a cupboard beneath the sink, she turned on one of the stove burners and put a dollup of butter into the pan.
It wasn't long before she was drifting into her thoughts. Vincent was having doubts about this. It wasn't surprising. They still didn't know each other well. She cracked a few eggs on the counter and emptied them into the pan. What should she do? Should she let him back off? Memories of last night flashed through her mind. It hadn't been premeditated sex, just a sudden heavy impulse. A mistake? She reached into the fridge and pulled out the milk.
He wasn't ready for this. Neither was she, if she thought about it. Right now, in the fog of a satiated body, it felt right. But, if she was honest with herself, she knew she would get scared again. She didn't know him enough yet to be sure that he wouldn't leave, as Eagan had left. They would both get scared. They needed to learn to trust each other. As much as she wanted to deny it, they needed more time.
From the kitchen, Elira heard the bathroom door open and then the bedroom door close. A little scrounging brought her two plates. She divided up the eggs and went out to the kitchen table.
Or at least to where most people kept their kitchen table.
Seeing his apartment for the first time in the light was like a revelation. Elira wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room. No couch, no coffeetable, no hutch; just bookshelves. And many, many books. Elira returned to the kitchen and set the plates down on the counter. They would have to eat here. She looked at the countertop and ran an experimental hand over it. It was clean and dry. Turning around, she hoisted herself up to sit on the cool linoleum and started eating her breakfast.
It wasn't long before Vincent wandered into the kitchen dressed in his usual black. His hair was still wet as it hung down from his bandana. Elira smiled at him from atop the counter. He stopped walking to stare at her.
Elira looked down at herself and grinned apologetically. "Sorry. Were you going to wear this one today?"
Vincent stared at her for a few seconds longer before shaking his head. "No, it's fine."
Elira nodded and shifted her legs, sensing his discomfort. Had she offended him by sitting on his counter? With slow movements, she slipped to the floor. And then she gestured to his plate.
"You'd better eat it before it gets cold. Cold eggs are absolutely disgusting."
Vincent didn't smile at her words. In fact, he didn't even look at her as he grabbed up his plate and wandered a few steps away to eat. Elira tried not to feel upset by his behaviour and finished her eggs.
When she'd deposited her plate in the sink, she walked toward him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she moved, but then looked away, putting another forkful of breakfast into his mouth. His manner proved him to be less than interested in a conversation. Elira was tempted for a moment to leave him and head for the bathroom, but she stuck to her course and eventually ended up next to him.
"Vincent?"
He swallowed his mouthful after a moment of chewing. "Yes?"
Elira did her best not to fidget. "Tell me the truth. Do you regret what we did last night?"
He didn't reply for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Why? Do you?"
"No, I don't. That is, unless you do." She chewed on her lip. "Look, I didn't go with you last night with the intention of sleeping with you. I just wanted to get to know you. You're the first person I've met who has really listened to me, and understood everything, since...Eagan's death. This isn't to say last night wasn't nice. It *was* nice. It was great, in fact. It's just that..." She fumbled to a halt and knew her cheeks were hot with a blush. When she looked at him again his red eyes were attentive. "Are either of us ready for this?" she asked quietly.
The edges of Vincent's mouth quirked downward almost imperceptibly and he looked away. After a few moments of silence, when Elira was beginning to doubt she would get an answer, he replied, "I don't know."
Elira bowed her head. Neither did she. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to slip her arms around him and have him hold her back. But considering what had just been said, she knew it was the wrong thing to do. "Maybe," she began, her voice even softer now, "we should back off a little, just go back to being friends until we're ready." She almost added "and forget that last night ever happened" but caught herself at the last moment. She would never be able to forget.
Vincent turned to look at her and she raised her head. And then he nodded. Elira felt both rejected and relieved in the same instant. Her throat tight with some unnamed emotion, she returned his nod and retreated to the bathroom.
Once the sound of the bathroom door closing reached his ears, Vincent made himself move from where he was rooted to the floor to deposit his plate in the sink. He ran his hand through his wet hair as it lay over his bandana and gave a sigh, closing his eyes. Oh, how she'd looked in his shirt with those long legs stretching out beneath the hem! He shut his eyes tighter as the image threatened to undo his composure. He would never be able to look at that shirt in the same way again...
He'd thought himself long devoid of these kinds of things. After all, Avalanche had not been strictly men; there had been Aeris and Tifa. And, of course, Yuffie, though she had been little more than a child. But, although each of them had been attractive and, at points, dressed in less than Elira had been wearing moments ago, he had not felt this way about them.
None of them had broken through his defenses. None of them had even tried.
He hadn't meant to sleep with her either. It had all happened in a blur when she'd touched him through his walls again in a way no one had been able to for years. She wasn't afraid of him. She saw him beneath it all. He'd been so alone for so long, he hadn't been able to resist.
But neither of them had been ready. They would both back off.
But would that be enough? He sighed again. He didn't know. She shook the very core of his self-control. He wanted her. Kind and perceptive; paradoxically strong and fragile, like a thorned rose shivering in the wind. And beautiful. She was like a beacon of light. He wanted to keep her near; he wanted her to belong to him without question. The same longing he'd had for Lucrecia. It was happening again.
He would have to back off, but further than Elira supposed. They would have to sever altogether. He did not want to fall in love again. Not when his loved killed. He shouldn't have gone up to her apartment the second time. Her pain was not his problem. He shouldn't have invited her out last night. His loneliness was his punishment; he would do well to remember that. It was not a good idea to tempt fate.
The bathroom door opened and the bedroom door closed. After a few minutes, a washed and dressed Elira emerged, gently smiling. Vincent did not smile back.
It would start now.
He stepped into his boots and, without waiting for Elira, headed out the door.