Chapter Seven: Benita Gets Involved
by thelittletree
It was only a quarter to eight when Elira and Vincent arrived at the weapons shop. Elira had had to run to catch up with him at the train station, her coat flung over her shoulders haphazardly. He'd left without her. He'd tried to leave her behind.
The ride from MiraCletus had been an uncomfortable one; Vincent hadn't said a word to her, hadn't even spared her a glance. She'd tried to start a conversation once or twice, but he had ignored her steadfastly, looking out the window as if the decor of Neo-Midgar fascinated him. Eventually, she had given up, a troubled look on her face. If he didn't want to talk right now, that was all right, she told herself. It would just take some time.
She sank wearily onto her sofa in her apartment and let her eyes roam distractedly over her living room. There was still an hour or so before her shop opened for business, but Vincent had gone straight to work, heating up the furnace and starting on the moldings for an ordered weapon. He hadn't looked at her. And, she admitted to herself, his behaviour confused and hurt her. More than anything now, Elira felt in need of someone to talk to, someone to thrash this out with.
Benita arrived about five minutes before the shop opened. Elira took her up to her apartment without an explanation and, although Benita squawked at first, she followed. Vincent didn't glance up as they passed through the forge and Elira tried not to look at him. She wondered idly if Terry would show up today; all the more reason to be in her apartment.
"All right, what's this all about?" Benita demanded, though her tone was tinged with worry.
Elira didn't bother to remove her shoes as she walked into her kitchen and leaned her hip against the sink. With a sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest. Benita took a couple of steps onto the linoleum and frowned a little. "What is it, Lir?"
Elira looked to the floor. "Beni, I...I really need someone to talk to."
"Someone to talk to. Right. Gotcha. Well, I seem ta be 'vailable."
Elira couldn't help her smile. "Well, I'm not sure how to start. It's kind of...I don't know. Personal."
It didn't take Benita more than a second to cross the linoleum and take Elira into her short arms, holding her around the waist since Elira was almost a full head taller than her. "You can tell me anything, honey. I'm here fer ya, anytime ya need me." She withdrew a little and winked.
Elira tried to smile again but it came out a little strained. "Thanks, Beni."
Benita leaned her elbow on the countertop. "Now, what's the matter, Lir? Men problems again?"
Elira might've laughed had Benita's guess not hit the mark. "Well, yes. I guess you could call it that. It's kind of hard to say. I'm not really sure you could really say 'problems' because it wasn't his fault. It was just a mistake, I guess. We were both at fault...or neither of us was." She shook her head in confusion.
Benita was nodding, a lopsided frown on her face that was neither reproving nor judgmental. "You slept with the new guy, didn't ya." Benita wasn't asking, she was stating.
Elira nodded, surprised. "Yeah, that's it. How'd you know?"
Benita shrugged. "When ya've seen it once, ya've seen it a hundred times. Post-intercourse syndrome I call it. Happens to a lot a people. Besides, I saw the way you two avoided lookin' at each other when we went through the forge."
Elira raised an eyebrow. "Oh." She sighed and looked at the floor. "I don't think we were ready for it. I told him I thought we should, you know, go back to being friends. But he..." She gestured at the door leading downstairs. "Now he's not talking to me, so I have no idea if he's mad or just...I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't know why he's backed off like this. I just...want to shake him!" She chewed her lip. "I hope he doesn't think I'm trying to push him away for good."
"Ya sure he's not the one doin' the pushing? I mean..." Benita picked at a chip on the counter. "Maybe he jus' wanted a one-night stand. Did'ya think a that?"
Elira shook her head. "He's not that type of person," she asserted. "He...he kind of acts like he doesn't want anyone around him, but then he goes and does something... Like last night, he invited me to his sector and I know it wasn't so he could sleep with me. He's just lonely. And we have an understanding. I think a part of him wants to hide away and another part wants to get rid of the loneliness. He's...he's complicated."
"Sounds like," Benita muttered. "But if he keeps 'doing something' like you say, maybe you should jus' give 'im some time. He mighta just got scared."
Elira nodded. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking earlier." She smiled suddenly. "Thanks for listening, Beni. I think I just needed someone to agree with me."
Benita chuckled. "Well, we women have gotta stick together. Ya want me to talk to 'im or anything?"
"No, that's okay. I'll just give him some time. And if there's talking to be done, I'll do it."
Terry didn't show up for work that day, or the next day, or the next. Elira felt his absence like a pinch to the heart. He had been her best friend, and now no one bought her coffee on the lunch hour or stayed late to help her set up displays. Lonely and miserable again, she nearly called him a few times, but always stopped herself. He wanted something she couldn't give him. And so, whether it felt that way right now or not, she knew it was better in the long run to wait for him.
Vincent showed up every day, but he didn't speak or look at her. Elira could almost see the wall close down over his features whenever she approached. And she knew it was only a wall. She knew because of an incident that happened one afternoon.
She had been walking over to the furnace to see how her molds were doing, trying her best to keep her eyes from Vincent. In her attempts to do that, however, she neglected to watch her footing and tripped headlong over a hitch in the floor she'd always stepped over before. Just as images of broken bones and a bloody nose had hurtled at her, someone had caught her. Someone with a golden arm. The expression on his face had not been masked for that moment, and had revealed his sudden panic and then relief as he'd set her on her feet. And then he'd turned away to sit back down to what he had been doing, not sparing her another glance.
For all of not wanting to become closer to her, he did not want to see her hurt. And so, Elira continued to wait.
And Benita was never more than a phone call away when the loneliness became too much to handle. Though the older woman didn't know much about Eagan's death or the fear it had spawned in Elira, she did her best to listen when Elira worried about Terry, or about how long she would have to wait on Vincent.
Vincent withdrew more and more as time went by. He began to leave during the lunch hour and never arrived before or stayed after work longer than necessary. Elira had to fight the fear that he was never coming back, and every day the battle became harder. He didn't want her closer to him. He didn't want to need her. He seemed to prefer the hell of loneliness to her company.
And Elira began to wonder if maybe the remembered pain of his old relationship wasn't the only thing holding him back.
The news that he was looking for another job brought her to her knees, groping around for the pieces of her heart, her eyes blinded by burning tears. He was leaving...like Eagan...
She curled up in her bed at night with an empty soul and a mind filled with questions. At work, she began to avoid the forge, and at home she refused to answer the phone, not even for Benita. Any close relationship would end this way; she believed it. There was something wrong with her that made people want to leave.
Without even consciously realizing it, she began to slip back into the isolation, into the dark place she'd lived for two and a half years after Eagan's death. Where it was safe.
Benita became worried and called Barret, but Elira wouldn't talk to him. She couldn't trust him; she couldn't trust anyone.
Vincent pretended not to see what he recognized all too well.
And Benita became angry.
"Out!"
The three workers glanced at each other as if to confirm what they'd thought they'd heard. "What?" one of them asked finally.
"You heard me! Out! Go for a fifteen minute break, er some'n. Just get out of here!"
One of the men frowned. "But, Elira..."
"Is in her apartment right now, so officially I'm the boss. And I'm tellin' ya to go fer a break. Now, go on!" Benita put her hands on her hips and glowered, letting the boys know she meant business. After a moment of confusion, the men hesitantly left what they had been doing and walked out of the forge. As Vincent stood from his work and started for the door, Benita grabbed his arm. He looked first at the offending hand, and then at her, glaring with brilliant red eyes that clearly expressed his distaste for the personal intrusion. But Benita was not to be deterred.
"Not you, Vince. You sit back down."
Vincent made no move. Benita sighed, unimpressed with his hostile look. She'd been raised from her adolescence by bikers, so she wasn't going to be intimidated. She glared back. "Now, buddy, before I clock ya!"
Vincent didn't react to her words for an inordinately long few seconds as the two of them stared at each other, two wills clashing together. But then, as if finally seeing the 'I'm gonna make you sit, or die in the effort!' in her expression, Vincent went back to his stool and sat. He picked up one of the metal moldings for a shot gun and began to polish it, not looking at Benita as she pulled a stool up and sat across from him.
"What do you think yer doin', Vince? An' don't play dumb. Elira told me everything, an' I know you see what's goin' on."
Vincent said nothing for a moment, running the cloth over the smooth metal with measured strokes, undisturbed by how much Benita knew. "You wouldn't understand." His voice was tinged with a finality that said the conversation was over.
But Benita wasn't going to let him get away without at least *trying* to knock some sense into him. And maybe she would have to knock hard to get through the stubborn shell he'd put up. "What's not to understand?" she began, letting her tone become mockingly easy-going. "You got yer wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, an' now it's over."
Vincent stood so quickly that the stool clattered to the cement floor behind him. Benita started, surprised by his reaction. Perhaps she'd knocked a little too hard.
Vincent towered over Benita from the opposite side of the table, his eyes bright. "I'm not like that."
Benita hardened her expression, unwilling to let him see how he'd startled her. "Then what is it?" she asked, softening her voice. "Surely ya don't think Elira did some'n wrong?"
Vincent turned and righted his stool before sitting down again. He didn't answer right away, picking up the discarded cloth and metal piece to continue polishing. "It's not her. It's me."
Benita frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
Vincent didn't look up. "You wouldn't understand."
Benita sighed. They were going in circles. "Look, what I understand issat 'Lira is really hurting right now. I don't claim to understand her, either, but I care 'bout her. Now, maybe yer relationship was goin' a little fast, but that doesn't mean she wants it ta be over. She really likes ya. Why don'tcha try and be friends wit' her again. That's all she really wants."
Vincent stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes. Benita watched him for a moment in silent confusion. Then he spoke. "It isn't that simple."
"What's the problem?"
"You wouldn't..."
"...understand," Benita finished with him. "Yeah, I know. Well, ya gotta do some'n. Explain it to her. God, you ain't been around women very often, have ya? You gotta talk to her. Even Barret couldn't get her to open her door. Yer the on'y one who can fix this."
But he was shaking his head. Benita sighed in irritation. "You could at least smile at her, or some'n. She thinks you hate her!"
That didn't get as big of a response as Benita had been hoping for. Vincent merely continued with his polishing as if what Elira thought didn't matter to him. Frustrated, Benita slammed her fist down on his workstation. He didn't even flinch. "God, how can ya be like this? I know you see the way she walks around here like a flippin' ghost! I don't even think she's eating! I jus' hope that, in a moment a despair, she doesn't grab a knife and slit her wrists or some'n!"
Vincent stopped polishing again. Benita looked at his hands and found, to her amazement, that his fingers were trembling. He didn't look up. Benita shifted her position on the stool, realizing that she had hit a nerve.
"She's that depressed, Vince. Or she will be if ya don't say somethin'. So, you see? Ya gotta explain things to her."
Vincent put the cloth and piece down slowly onto the tabletop, keeping his hands on them. He still refused to look up.
"And as soon as yer gone to this other job, what d'ya think that'll do to her?" Benita went on mercilessly.
Vincent looked up at this and met Benita's eyes. Benita smiled.
"Did you think that was yer little secret? One a the boys saw ya slip into a weapons shop across the sector. He thought that was kinda odd, so when you were gone he went in to ask what you'd wanted. The owner told him you were askin' about workin' there." Benita winked. "A mystery solved. Yer losin' yer touch, Vince."
Vincent gave no reply save to bow his head again.
"You've gotta talk to her, Vincent, before she does somethin' stupid. I don't have to tell ya how unfair it is to keep her guessin' this way. She's gotta know why yer avoidin' her so she can stop blamin' it all on herself. It's draggin' her through hell."
Benita was pleased to see Vincent raise his head and nod a little. She smiled encouragingly at him. Not all men were heartless, lustful beasts, she found herself thinking, much to her surprise. If only she was twenty years younger...
"You might wanna go to her now, Vince. She's been moping long enough."
Vincent gave another slight nod and stood. Benita watched him walk over to the staircase at the end of the forge, his coat flapping around his calves as he ascended the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, she exhaled noisily and went to get the employees back.
Vincent took each step silently, keeping his eyes on the door that was fast approaching. How had he let himself be talked into this? He couldn't talk to her. It would be much easier if he just got himself another job and left as silently as he had arrived. He'd always prided himself on quiet entrances and exits as a Turk, and although the thought of the Turks was very often far from his mind now, the training and instincts stayed with him as ingrained habits. In Avalanche, they'd served him well, saving his life or the life of a comrade more than once. But they wouldn't save him this time. No matter how stealthily he left, he would still be hurting her. Even if it was to protect her from the death his curse could bring her.
And yet, Benita had introduced to him the possibility that Elira could kill herself. No matter which path he took, her death seemed inevitable. He wondered wearily if he had sealed her fate with that kiss in the park.
The door stood in front of him like a presence in the darkness of the hallway, barring his way. He knocked on it softly.
There was no answer. He was undecided whether or not to knock again. If he decided not to, he could turn around, leave the store, go back to his apartment and hope that the other store hired him. And never look back, never knowing how Elira had taken his disappearance. Or he could stay and tell her that it wasn't her fault. Let her know that he had no choice in this and that he was sorry he had involved her. She needed to know.
He knocked again, louder this time.
After a few moments of silence, Vincent was able to discern muffled footsteps. They stopped on the other side of the door. He wondered belatedly if she had been crying. *Her* tears had always cut him to the core.
"Who is it?" The voice was soft but steely, as if masking pain beneath a layer of iron will.
Vincent closed his eyes, and replied, "Vincent," knowing that he had now committed himself permanently.
There was a long pause. "What do you want?"
"I want to talk to you."
Another pause. "About what?"
This time, Vincent was the one to hesitate. "Elira, I didn't mean to hurt you. If I'd have been able to see this from the beginning, I wouldn't have allowed myself to get so close to you. I have withdrawn to protect you."
"Protect me?" The tone of the voice had become sharper. "From what?"
"I tried to tell you once how dangerous it is for someone to grow close to me."
There was a bitter laugh. "And I told you that I was willing to take the risk."
Vincent winced inwardly as the memories of that night, memories he'd been trying to repress for weeks, came suddenly to mind. "Elira, this isn't a risk I'm willing to let you make. I don't want to see you hurt. We must both withdraw."
"And both go back to being alone?"
Vincent sighed. "That is preferable to the danger you'd be facing by becoming closer to me."
"I don't care. I'm willing to take the risk. I don't want to be alone anymore."
He pursed his lips in irritation. She wasn't trying to understand his point of view, she was just arguing against it. "Elira, this is not open for debate. I must withdraw. My choice, however, was none of your doing. If I could, I would change the way things are. But, this is how it must be. Do you understand?"
There was no response. Vincent was prepared to descend the stairs, having said what he'd planned to say, but the sound of Elira's voice, so quiet he almost had to strain to hear her, stopped him. "Why are you so dangerous, Vincent?"
The question gave him pause. He would never be able to tell her. The rejection he'd receive from her if that time ever came would be so fast and furious it would leave him crippled. "There are things about me you'd never understand, Elira. You'll just have to trust me."
He knew he'd said the wrong thing as soon as he heard her angry scoff. "Trust you? You want me to trust you? Vincent, I trusted you once because I thought you wouldn't hurt me like...like Eagan did, but I was wrong. And now you want me to trust you again?"
"Elira..."
"Go away, Vincent! Leave me alone!" Her voice was shrill, foretelling the tears to come. "We'll do it your way! We'll just never speak to each other again if that's what you want! Now, leave!"
He could hear her angry footsteps receding. That had not gone as well as he had hoped. With a sigh, he turned in the stairwell and descended to the forge.
And Elira cried.
Elira woke the next morning feeling groggy. Her mouth was thick and her stomach felt as if it had been boiled. Slowly, she dressed and wandered into the bathroom. And started at her reflection. Her hair was a tangled mess, the area around her eyes was red and puffy, and she looked pale. After a moment of staring in horror, however, she raised her chin defiantly and brushed her hair, applied a little cover-up, and then some blush. And then she went out to eat some breakfast.
Her stomach was still uncomfortable, but she made herself eat anyway. She was fine and so was everything about her life. And so she would go about her normal routine. She would show what's-his-name who worked for her that she didn't need him. She didn't need anything. She was fine. Everything was fine.
At a quarter to nine, she did not descend to open the door to her shop. Vincent could wait. Five minutes before opening, she unlocked the door.
But Vincent was nowhere in sight. And then Elira remembered that he had started coming later since... 'Ah, whatever,' she thought, interrupting herself. It didn't matter. She would sit at her desk and wait. She wouldn't look up as he passed.
The employees arrived as the minutes passed, and Benita was the last one through the door. But Vincent didn't come. Elira told herself that she didn't care if he was going to be rude and show up late.
At ten after nine, she began to get a little angry.
At nine-thirty she was banging her sneakers against the metal legs of the stool, twirling her pen furiously as she read and re-read the first sentence of a government form.
And at ten, she was becoming a little worried. Where was he? He'd never been late before.
During the lunch hour as she sat in her apartment, she began to wonder if yelling at him the night before had made him quit. That's not what she'd intended. She'd just been so angry and hurt...she'd wanted to hurt him, too, to get him to change his mind. To get him to come back...
...Eagan had seemed so far away...she'd yelled and yelled, trying to make him understand...to make him change his mind...and then...
...under a train...
An icy hand of fear gripped her heart. Was it possible? Would Vincent have...?
No. That was stupid. Vincent wouldn't have. There was no such thing as fate, right? He had quit, or maybe he was just sick. After all, she hadn't been feeling so hot this morning. Maybe her words had made him ill, too. So very ill...that the pain had been unbearable...and he'd decided that death was preferable...
No, no, no! How could she think this? She had no proof. It was ridiculous! It was childish to believe in fate...
And yet, Elira found herself grabbing her coat from her closet at the end of the lunch hour. She ran down the cement stairs into the forge until she stood beside Benita, who was just sitting down to work after her break. Struggling to shove one arm through a persistently misplaced armhole, she said, "Benita, I need you to watch things for me."
Benita, who had looked up at Elira's unexpected and blustery appearance, nodded right away. Elira smiled, suddenly aware of how much she loved the older woman. In a rush, her coat still hanging awkwardly from one arm, Elira threw her arms around Benita and squeezed. "Thanks, Benita. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Benita squeezed her back. "Take as long as ya need, Lir. I promise the shop'll still be here when you return."
Elira nodded distractedly as she straightened and hurried out of her store, shoving her arm into her coat and pulling at the zipper to block out the nippy air of the day. Her breaths puffed out in small wisps of steam as she jogged to the train station.
'...Wait, Vincent...please wait...I'm coming...'