Author: Moiranna
Title: Et Sanitatem, et Vestem
Theme: #23 - Hands
Rating: PG-13
Realm: Devil May Cry
Pairing: None, perhaps one-sided Dante/Lady
Characters: Dante, Lady, Vergil
Genre: drama, humour
Warnings: Some mild OOC, non-graphic description of violence
Word-count: 3069
Summary: Everything was on fire, burning her from the inside out. Help, it seemed, came from the most unexpected places Lady had expected. Disregard of end of DMC3.
Notes: No, I haven't given up on the 50 themes. I'm just ridiculously busy. Toyed around a bit with the mental aspect of this one. And yes, I know that logically speaking this isn't a V&D theme, but it began with a comparison of the two and uh, it got away from me. See the end of the document for further notes.

The world was a blur, streaming in blues and and greys. Light flickered towards her, then fading back into the void. Brightness. Painful brightness before the blessed cool of the darkness. No please no. Gone gone gone again. Then back into the painful world of light.

Hands on her forehead, callous, not his hands but close oh so close pleasepleaseplease don't let it be him, checking her temperature. A cool cloth on her heated brow. She was burning, from the inside out everything was on fire, so hot and painful. Every breath laboured, lips cracking. Pushing against that coolness, needing more, anything to lessen the fire eating her up.

Inferno. Whether she spoke the word out loud or not she couldn't answer, her throat parched. The wondrous cool hands never answered her. Darkness reclaimed her once more.

When she truly came back to it she was uncertain if she still was in the void. Everything was pitch black, and she raised a hand, surprised at the weakness in her arm, and touched it to her lids to assure herself that yes, she was awake.

With that motion the pain roared alive, a whimper escaping her from the sheer shock of it. Everything from her waist down felt like a gaping wound, and it was only stubbornness that kept her from reaching a hand down to check if her legs still were attached to her. Her pulse roared in her ears, the rapid pounding of her heart blocking out all other sounds. Still there. The pain she decided was good, because it meant she still was alive. Meant that everything was there. Hand falling back against the soft cotton of the sheets she felt that the fabric closest to her body was stiff from something drying to it. The implications of what it was and the still somewhat perceptive stench of iron was not lost on her.

Closing her eyes she tried to swallow past the lump that formed at the back of her throat, just easing her breath and pulse back to normal.

Perhaps it was that she had gotten used to the darkness but when she opened her eyes she could tell the general contours of the room. Some source of light flickered briefly because she caught the reflection of a pair of electric blue eyes. It was only instinct that told her that it wasn't the familiar pair of eyes belonging to the idiot she sometimes worked with, the chill in them were too cold, but the similarity was eerie and spoke of the only other with eyes like that.

"Vergil?" The rasp in her voice heavy from disuse.

"Mary," he acknowledged.

Wariness and pain aside she felt the familiar anger at being called by her birth-name. "Don't call me that."

The half-devil approached her bed, apparently comfortable in the darkness. She hissed and clutched at the sheets when he removed the covers from her.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't answer her, but she could feel hands moving across her lower stomach. Her hand shot out to grasp his wrist, though her grip was weak and barely registered to the white-haired man. However his movements stilled for a moment, glancing at her alarmed face then seemed to come to some internal conclusion.

"Close your eyes," he told her.

Barely had the words left his mouth before he removed his hands and reached for something next to her. Brightness flooded the room and she hastily closed her eyes, brightness flashing behind her closed lids.

While the explosion of light blinded her sensitive eyes and she fought the additional pain Vergil returned to working at her lower stomach, and as the pain grew more bearable she realised that he was removing bandages. Cracking her right eye open she watched what he was doing, arching her back to aid him in the process. Bit by bit he unravelled her body, and it took her a while to realise what it was she was looking at, her mind desperately trying to protect her from making sense of what she was seeing. Her skin was missing in large patches. The knowledge of it made the world painfully hot and she closed her eyes, swallowing frantically to not heave up what little remained in her stomach.

Staring up at the ceiling she tried to relearn how to breathe, taking fast and short breaths not to inhale the sickeningly sweet smell of decaying flesh and for a long time she did just that, trying desperately not to think about what had happened and most certainly not reflecting about how much it hurt to have the half-devil remove the blood-encrusted bandages and wrappings. At long last they were gone and she had just started to relax from the worst of the pain dulling down when cool balm started to spread through her body. Looking down she noticed the thick green paste that Vergil applied to her damaged skin.

"Why... why are you helping me?"

Vergil didn't look up from where he coated her left calf, focused at what he was doing. Even she could tell that he did everything with meticulous precision and she could read no particular interest in her aside from purely medical. Deciding that she wouldn't get an answer from him she tried a different approach.

"What happened?"

"A group of devils caught you," he answered coolly.

She snorted in derision. "I got that bit myself. What happened to my legs... my stomach?"

"Human skin is considered a delicacy among gluttonous devils." That same clinical tone, just stating facts.

Bile once again rose in the back of her throat and she clamped a hand against her mouth to hold it back. She was dimly aware of that he was watching her from the corner of his eye, a stiffness in the way he moved. Squeezing her eyes shut she focused on breathing through her nose, aware of that if she drew in the cloying smell of what was around them if she breathed through her mouth and then truly lose it. Heat built inside her along with a fresh wave of pain from where the salve Vergil applied couldn't blot out the rawness of her nerves.

Vergil on his end it seemed had had enough of her fighting to not upend her stomach's contents, rising to approach her and putting long, well-tended fingers against her skull and to the base of her throat, applying a steady pressure. For a few moments she just blinked up at him in confusion and then worry, then felt darkness reclaim her.

She was dreaming again of the reds, blues and greys. Dimly she thought she heard voices, the cadence oh so familiar and yet so far away.

"How is she?"

"Healing, as expected."

She thought she felt a hand caress the side of her face, the touch gentle despite the roughness of the callouses and she knew instinctively who it was, only she couldn't place it. Sleep.

"You owe me."

"Mhm, sure. I'll make sure not to forget that you took in a human and nursed her back to health. I'm surprised you haven't made any gestures about getting human cooties all over your precious space."

The muffled thump of someone crashing against the wall echoed through the building and the tell-tale coughing and gargling of someone being choked.

"Don't test me, little brother. Not on this."

Fighting for clarity, though still so elusive she heard retreating steps and someone coughing for air. Darkness started sucking her under again, strange that was since she obviously had been dreaming, but the last sentient thing she caught was a chuckled whisper so faint that she must have imagined it.

"Mom would have been proud of you."

The next time Lady returned to the world of the living her body felt much better. To her left she could make out the outline of the lamp that Vergil had lit and fumbled for the switch, this time her eyes remained close and gradually opening, slowly adjusting to the light. Taking assessment of herself and her surroundings she concluded that she was in a small bedroom, the same she'd been in earlier. Though Spartan in appearance it was clean. Judging by the lack of bloodied sheets Vergil had at some point lifted her from her position and changed them. A peek under the covers told her that her bandages were new and moving didn't cause any particular pain.

How long had she been out?

Frowning to herself she tried to find her clothes, and more importantly, her weapons. To her pleasure they were neatly placed on a nearby chair, the smell of gun-oil indicating that they'd been recently cleaned. Turning to her side demanded far too much of her strength, but still she did it, panting and sweating from the effort. Forcing herself into a sitting position she reach out to pluck up the familiar weight of her handgun, surprised that it took both hands to hold it. Popping out the mag to check the amount of bullets she placed it back and reached for her clothes. While it took time the shirt wasn't as much problem as when she tried to stand and fell flat against the floor, hitting it hard. Glaring at her uncooperative limbs she once more got herself into a sitting position and reached for the rest of her clothes. Lady had no idea of how long it had taken her to get the shorts and skirt on, and warily looked at her knee-high boots.

Opting against them she spent a few more hours trying to get onto her feet. If the build-up of pain was anything to go by she had probably aggravated her injuries quite a bit and caused more bruising.

Triumph at finally standing up made the corners of her lips tilt upwards. However, getting out. That was the tricky part. The room had two doors, one to her right and one by the ancient wardrobe with the lion-pawed feet. Taking her chances she picked the one to the right, entering what appeared to be a long hallway. She could see light at the end of it, and decided to head towards it.

By the end she was there she felt completely drained, wanting nothing more than to just head back to bed. Pausing for a minute to catch her breath and to wipe the sweat from her brow she glanced into the room, encountering a large living area, every wall lined with book-cases aside from the one closest to her which held two plush arm-chairs. Somehow it didn't surprise her that they were a deep royal blue and that Vergil sat in one of them, seemingly engrossed in whatever ancient tome he was reading. Without actually thinking about what she was doing she raised the gun and pointed it at him, the sound of her cocking it very loud in the otherwise still room. The half-devil, however, continued reading, unperturbed by her actions.

"I'd advice against firing that gun. This book is worth more than you could make in a lifetime."

Debating on the soundness of what he said and her conflicting gut instinct that told her to kill him and get the hell out of dodge she distantly remembered that it had done no difference when she had fired a round straight into Dante's thick skull. That combined with that the elder half-devil paid her no true attention she felt a little silly as he still kept on reading, his face resting on the arm that he leaned against the arm-rest. Still she held her stance for a few more moments before she lowered her gun and stumbled towards the chair opposite him, panting from the effort to move so far without a wall to support her. Showing such weakness to him was something she wasn't too fond of, nor, she could guess, was he in having to share the same space as her.

"I didn't think you cared enough about me to rescue me," she said after a while, gun resting in her lap as she studied him, trying to truly see the differences between him and Dante. It was a bit eerie to see Dante's face on someone else, though their mannerisms and movement differed quite a bit.

Vergil flipped a page in the book he was reading, not looking up from where he sat.

"I don't." His voice flat.

"Then why am I here?"

"It takes months to procure a coat like this."

Lady blinked a few times, glancing at the blue leather trench-coat hung on the coat-rack some distance away. Certainly she could see that it was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, but that didn't explain why he'd saved her.

"What?"

The half-devil stilled, and suddenly Lady wished very much that she was strong enough to actually combat him as the sheer menace from that stillness made her skin crawl. Picking up a bookmark from the side-table next to him Vergil closed his book, looking at her.

"I don't need to explain my actions to you."

Flabbergasted she made a placating gesture with her hands, though her instincts screamed that she should get back into bed or away as far as possible. Ah survival instincts, to actually follow it would be far too much to ask for.

"Why would you need a new coat?"

Lady stopped breathing during the three seconds that it took for Vergil's inhuman energy to settle down, and if she had thought about it closer it was a strange thing that he would lose his control over something like this.

"My brother is fond of you," he finally said, sneer evident in the way he spoke. "If you were killed when I could have stepped in, Dante would blame me. He would, like the cowboy he is, storm these doors, guns blazing, tearing everything to shreds."

Perhaps it was the injuries talking, but Lady still didn't get whatever it was Vergil was talking about. She made a vague motion for him to get to the point, unaware of that she probably was the only one in the last fifteen years who had coaxed more than two cohesive sentences from the stoic elder Sparda son.

Vergil raised an eyebrow at her, the look of disdain in that she couldn't grasp such an obvious concept blatant on his face.

"My gentle humane little brother would try to cut me to pieces, but in the end he would not be able to deliver the final blow. Which would leave me with a destroyed home and in need of a new wardrobe."

Lady blinked a few times, processing what he had said for a few moments before she, unable to hold it back, started to snicker. The only warning she had before Vergil moved was the slightest narrowing of his eyes, then her world turned black.

The wind was blowing. It was cool against her heated skin, and she sighed contentedly and curled up closer to the warmth of the person carrying her. She had almost drifted back to sleep when it registered to her that yes, she was being moved by someone that smelled of leather, clean sweat and gun-oil. A strong, familiar someone whose hands never trembled as he carried her bridal-style. Shifting her head fractionally so that her cheek no longer dug into one of the metal buckles she momentarily cracked an eye open to peer up at the red-clad devil who skilfully opened a door and carried her inside, and with a surprising gentleness settled her down on what she recognised was her own bed, tucking her under the covers. If he had noticed that she was awake he gave no sign of it, just tucked a strand of hair from her face and from the sound of things moved to the door to let her be.

"Your brother is a diva," she mumbled, opening her eyes to look at him again. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept much lately. By the stubble on his cheek she judged it had been a day or two since he last shaved, and she could see a new scar healing on his right cheek. She knew that by the end of tomorrow it would be gone, which meant that he'd gotten it in the last 24 hours. He turned to look at her, grinning at her for a moment.

"Be grateful for it, you wretched child. Or would you prefer to be dead?"

Surprised her head snapped to look at the doorway, eyes widening as the elder son of Sparda stepped through the door carrying her weapons and Kalina Ann slung over one shoulder, setting it down just inside the door and the handgun and rifle on her dresser before turning his heel and leaving.

"Thank you," she called after him, but received no answer.

Dante watched her for a few moments, then glanced back at the door, the tilting of his head indicating that he was listening to something she couldn't make out. At last his eyes drifted back to her, and she could read tension and... was that relief? In his eyes before they regained the look she was used to, amused and vaguely lecherous.

"There's enough salve on your desk to speed up your healing so that the skin will grow back in about a month. I'd say don't go chasing too many bounties in the meantime, catch up on the paperwork, but then again you never listen to me."

"That's because you never say anything worth listening to," she shot back instinctively.

Dante touched his chest as if severely injured but just laughed. "Whatever, Lady. Welcome back to the land of the living. Now, if you excuse me I have to make sure that my brother doesn't try to convert the world into a demonic nest again."

And with those words he left her, the flash of a red coat in her doorway before it closed. And through all the differences in their mannerisms Lady realised something in that moment. The brothers might hate one another, might try to kill the other, but neither of them would be able to live if the other died.

AN: I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for my twisted sense of humour. I couldn't help myself from the theme in this one, but I was racking my brain for any particular reason as for why Vergil would save Lady and drew a complete and utter blank. Because frankly – there is no reason for why he'd save her, unless it suited his needs. So yes, in my head Vergil is a vain little perfectionist git. So sue me.

Second – I did a bit of improvising when it came to Lady's red/purple eye. People with albinism are usually very light-sensitive, so I'm playing around with that her left eye reacts the same way -shrugs shoulders-

Finally – the title is Latin for "of healing and clothes" (in case anyone is curious).