Dubious Consent: A Vincent x Heather fic, because there is no where near enough in the interwebz. I'm super, super cereal, you gaiz. Oh, and if it wasn't/isn't clear, bolded text in the story is taken straight from the game. Oh, and I don't own anything. It makes me sad.
I got this idea in my head after talking to another author (lol comment war) and watching Silent Hill 3 at 3am. I've been working on this for longer than I intended. Like way longer. I rushed the ending a little because I was sick of looking at it. Either way, I'm rather happy with it, so I hope you enjoy. Only rated M for swearing (and the possibility of a spoiler?).
She heard him before she saw him. Vincent. She heard the light click of his polished, if not a little overtly formal, shoes on the tile, to be precise. While she'd prefer human company to that of a giant frozen chicken or rabid burnt pit-bull any day, this was pushing it. The resounding urge to slam her head into the desk kept nagging at her. That, or to point her shotgun at him and scream until he backed out into the creature-ridden hallway. That would make her feel better.
"Hiya Heather."
Oh no. This place had her frazzled as it was. She did not need another mind fuck. No thank you.
"You show up everywhere, don't you?"
Vincent snapped the book shut, taking a brief note of the page he was on before finding the audacity to look hurt at the girl's statement. True, it did seem a tad stalker-ish that he followed her everywhere, but who was going to make sure she didn't die? Valtiel? Ha. The idea was laughable. He found the nerve to smile.
"You make me sound like some kind of unwanted pest."
Jerk. Why can't you just up and die? And take Claudia too, while you're at it. Go walk hand in hand off the dock in that stupid lake and take a deep breath. The idea of him doing so made her shudder slightly; hand in hand with Claudia. Anything with Claudia involved made her shudder, actually. It made her increasingly enraged she hadn't been eaten while she was mauled around ever corner. Still, she knew he wasn't going anywhere until he ranted at her, and that perpetual smirk on his face was really pissing her off.
"Just who the hell are you anyway?"
Oh she just made this too easy for him. So defiant and naive. So full of vigor and innocence it almost made him burst out laughing at the paradox that was Heather the Holy Mother. He could barely hold back the smirk as he toyed with her a little more, just for the hell of it. He'd get to the point eventually.
"You mean you haven't figured that out yet?"
She seethed, knowing she walked right into that one. Damn him for being such a pompous asshole and picking on her here. Well, what goes around, comes around, you creepy priest. Heather Morris (or whatever her name was now) can play games too.
"Yeah, you're on Claudia's side."
Vincent bristled.
"I told you not to put me in the same category as that mad woman!"
Heather cringed. It was probably a bad decision to pick on the only other human she could have civil conversation with in the only room where the walls and floor weren't moving. Plus, this guy was clearly crazy, and maybe dangerous. Yep, probably was a bad idea. Aw, hell, she was in knee-deep already, might as well keep going. She had a pipe and a shotgun. He had a book and crazy hand motions. She could take him.
"Well… you're pretty loony yourself"
Vincent had to smile again, his anger diffusing somewhat. She was just scared, that's all. A frightened animal in the cage. She had nothing against him, or so he kept telling himself. 'It's going to be ok' he cooed to her inside his own mind. Perhaps leveling the playing field would make her realize what he was getting at. That would save him the time and embarrassment. He always stumbled over his words, his hands somehow keeping him on balance as he spoke.
"It's true we believe in the same God… but I'm quite sane."
'Or so you say' she thought, biting her tongue just before the words fell from her lips. He really was a piece of work, this crazy priest. Claiming to be sane in a place like this when he acts like that. He must be insane to think he was sane. She resisted the urge to shake her head and rub her temples; this twisted logic thing was more of a strain than she needed in this godforsaken place.
Ok, so let's say he was alright in the head (Oh, wow, talk about strange). Well, more so than Claudia. He must have it together pretty well not to have been eaten yet. So…
"So why did you help me out then? Was that also part of trying to resurrect God?"
How cute. She was trying to be brave, waving her arms around mockingly, as if to make herself seem wiser, more world weary. Perhaps to poke fun at him. Either way, it was adorable in some cosmic way, as was she.
She wasn't beautiful by any normal standard. No, if anything she was… imperfectly perfect. Ill tempered, bad dye job, stubborn, nosy, and a murderer to boot. But, if anything, she had such a determination about her… something that made her keep living even though she had nothing to live for, aside from revenge on Claudia. A survivalist, like him, with only their own best interests in mind… perhaps even the very same goal.
"It's not uncommon for people to believe in the same God and still disagree."
Heather raised a brow suspiciously. She knew that he was dancing around something, avoiding a point he seemed desperate to make without saying. That cocky bastard was still playing games with her. Didn't she say she didn't want a mind fuck right this minute? Still, he wasn't going anywhere without ranting at her. She had always been the one to leave, anyway. Maybe she could just leave…
But some little matter nagged and nagged in her subconscious, forcing her to stay. It perplexed her, what his purpose here was. It was like he came and deliberately found her this time, instead of her just happening to barge in on him. No, she couldn't just leave. Not without finding out what was so damn important this time. And so she played along.
"God? Are you sure you don't mean Devil?"
Vincent's grin morphed into a smirk. She was probing him for answers, trying to get his ire up to let him slip some sort of vital weakness or bit of information. No matter, he had had enough games for one encounter. Perhaps getting to the point would endear himself to her.
He took a few steps closer, the first actual movement either one of them had made since Vincent had arrived. Heather reacted immediately, gripping her ever-present steel pipe that much tighter, ready to strike. He raised his hands in defense, stopping less than a foot away. He grinned when she glared, standing his ground. He started to speak again, much more softly, keeping the grin (though much less menacing) in place.
"Whichever you like. The point is I really am on your side."
He was going to say more. Really, he was. He had a whole speech prepared, actually. More twists and turns that could bring her to the truth of the matter, to his side. But the words had died in his throat and refused to be resurrected. Instead he stepped closer to the disbelieving girl, the cautious Holy Mother. Heather. He took Heather's hand and repeated, with no less than in inch between them "I'm on your side" over and over.
He took her hand in his, grasping just below the wrist to keep her from striking him. His eyes were earnest, but who was she to trust this crazy priest? Unholy father, what clergyman wouldn't want his God to return and give him salvation? Still, he kept murmuring the same mantra over and over and over, to the point she thought she might have to smack him to bring him back to whatever small thread of sanity t(he)y clung to. She seemed stuck, though, to that spot, listening to him repeat (was he pleading with her?) those same words. Her brow furrowed in confusion, as they often did here in the wonderful little town of Hell on Earth.
The priest broke his mantra, falling quiet for a moment, taking in her –Heather's- confused face. He too, seemed confused as to what exactly (s)he was doing, or more likely what was to come next. He had had a plan, yes, but that was long gone. For the moment, he realized (hell, maybe she did too), that they were (more or less) on the same page.
Scared, suffering, damaged, confused, maybe even broken... but still alive. Still surviving, still here. There was something so normal, so perfect in it…
He kissed her.
And it was perfect and chaste and sweet and loving like all kisses were supposed to be but never were but here it was even for just a moment and just for a second hey were both normal and happy and far away from Silent Hill and that insufferable bitch and all this resurrecting God business and holy shit they were actually happy.
But it broke, as all things did here. Insecurity seized them both, making it hard to breathe and think, much less even move and rectify the situation. They stood awkwardly, lip-to-lip, unmoving and ultimately unwilling to do so. Heather was internally debating on the ramifications of moving back and slapping him across the face, calling him a pervert and then beating him to hell. Vincent was afraid if he even shifted the slightest bit Heather would rear back and slap him, call him a pervert and then beat him to a hell much worse than this one. So they remained for a moment entirely too long.
Vincent moved first, shifting his lips across hers (the previous position was awkward and squishing his nose and making it hard to breathe) and tilting his head making it look and feel more like something that could possibly actually mean something. The sudden, slight movements, aside from making the priest moan softly (Heather wouldn't have heard had she not been so close), jarred Heathers thoughts back to malice and confusion.
What was she doing?! She hated him! Hated him! This shouldn't be happening! She shouldn't be doing this! She shouldn't need this!
But she did. She needed this. Needed him. After everything that had befallen her, all the horrible monsters and deaths and mind games she needed something this simple. She needed this something, this someone. And it just happened to be Vincent. Right place, right time, she supposed, and so she allowed it, if only this once, to let her guard down. She dropped her weapons and her walls and just let him in. Just this once.
And oh my god he loved her all the more for it.
Maybe not LOVE love… but in some twisted way, either as the Holy Mother or the battered girl she really was, he adored her, cared for her, maybe even wanted her. But he could never have her, like he wanted. It pained him in some small way, but he also knew that that insufferable, narrow-minded bitch would never, ever have this.
He smirked against her lips, and she pressed that much closer and kissed him back. It may have been (was) wrong, but it felt right (for lack of a better cliché), it felt good for a change, to be embraced and pretend-loved for a moment. The action itself was tense and desperate, aching for more but hesitant to act. Rushed and clumsy. He let go of her wrist and held her face in his hands, and much to his (and her) surprise, she wrapped her arms around him and (he still couldn't get over it) kissed him back.
The pads of his thumbs stroked her cheeks, and she hummed and he smiled little at it but neither would readily admit to it. It seemed surreal to them; after all, priests and God-bearers weren't supposed to me making out in (of all things) church libraries, or at all, for that matter. But, here they were, and, well, look at that. They were happy again (somewhat not really. Sated was a better term for it).
Vincent breathed, his fingers sliding back into her filthy hair. Heather gasped, gripping his vest (what the fuck was up with it he wore it everywhere and wouldn't button his goddamn shirt). Being (violently) pressed closer pushed him slightly off balance and forced them (mostly her) against the desk. The bump made them both groan, their hips pressing together. The priest froze, and then all at once he began to move his lips over hers, his fingers twitching against her scalp. Heather thought, if she listened past the blood pounding in her ears, she could make some sense of the breathy noises leaving his mouth. It sounded like… chanting? No no, he wouldn't be… he was the least dogmatic clergyman she had ever met, if not the least in the entirety of his congregation. But it sounded so much like he was… like he was…
Are you praying?
No.
Don't lie to me.
Ok.
For who?
What?
Who are you praying for?
You.
I said stop lying.
Sorry. I'm not.
Really?
Partially.
For me?
And me.
Us?
No. Separate.
Oh.
He choked on the next verse (or comment, she still wasn't sure), feeling Heathers' legs slide and wrap themselves around his. The motion reminded him vaguely of a spider ensnaring her prey, but then she moaned, and his mind went blank. He licked his lips, forgetting he had another pair fused to his for a second. His tongue pressed against her lips without his conscious effort and although she balked (Jesus Christ that's gross what the hell you old pervert?!) hers poked out shyly to meet it. They both gasped and he leaned forward, tilting his head a little more. He sought out (not shoved in Vincent thought he was being anything but rude about it) to explore where her tongue had retracted.
Heather froze for a moment, her hands seizing up his vest hard enough to scratch his back through the fabric before she acquiesced to the invasion. Hell, after a minute (a lifetime, really), she relaxed some, and started to mimic. Vincent, still wondering just what exactly had come over him (and her), pulled her in closer (if that was entirely possible). She returned the favor, poking around his mouth while he did the same to hers. He tasted coppery blood and gritty heath-drink remnants. She tasted some knockoff brand mouthwash and dust. They only stopped to pant for air, staring at each other in disbelief.
They went at it at least three more times, using the same awkward rhythm; breathe, lean, lick, gasp, kiss, and breathe again.
After a few more repeats, (was this the third or fourth time now?) he didn't lean as quickly as before. He had to…say something. It was getting to be too surreal, too (dare he say 'good?') true for his tastes. Much too…unpredictable. He shook a little and looked down at her, trying to form some sort of last minute coherent thought. Maybe salvage some of those scripted words he had so carefully thought out then chucked out the window. Looking at her flushed face, cloudy eyes (that he finally noticed were some shade of green), and red kiss swollen lips…
I'm on your side.
I know. Shut up.
I mean it. Really.
I said I know.
I don't want god to be born.
I said I know Vincent shut up.
Ok. But-
"Shut up Vincent I know I know now shut up already." She responded, taking his stubbly face in her hands and kissing him deeply (again). He offered no resistance.
Sometime later they parted again. He mumbled something, short banter about having a seal that Leonard had guarded with his life. She mumbled back in approval, and, though it seemed like there should have been more said, there really didn't need be. Vincent handed her the book that had wound up on the table beside them (neither one of them knew quite exactly how), fixed his glasses (they had been knocked askew and both of them knew exactly how) kissed her cheek and (after a moment of thought) her lips once more, and then left.
They didn't know what waited for them at the end. There was no way they could have guessed any of this would have happened. And yet they both thought fleetingly (ironically) as they parted.
Don't you dare die on me…
Fun times! I hope you enjoyed my butchering of an otherwise enlightening/creepy cutscene. I sure did! Please review and have a pleasant day :)