-Mission Impossible-

-Lady Luce-

Disclaimer: I don't own DMC, if I did there'd be a Dante-Must-Strip mode :P

A/N: Okay here's my first attempt at a proper DMC fic. I've got a bit of an idea of where it's going, but I'm not too sure how I feel about it as it is. I normally spend ages worrying over things though so instead I decided that I'd just post it and be done with it. But as I said, not completely happy with it. Oh and yes this is DantexTrish, but it won't be centering on their relationship or anything. I picked DantexTrish because that's my favorite DMC pairing and I didn't want to make up a character (I can't see Lady being a kid person either). Yes, so please don't let that put you off though this chapter is mostly Dante and Trish orientated. And anyone who wants to tell me that Dante/Trish is icky etc. I have one hell of a good argument for you. Okay I'll shut up now.

Chapter I

"I hate this, it's not fair! I hate this house!"

The voice could be heard echoing from the room above, the argument had been going on for hours and as much as she hated it she really didn't want to intervene. This had nothing to do with her and she intended to let them work it out for themselves.

"And most importantly I hate you!"

The shout was accentuated by the slamming of a door which seemed to shake the whole house. Ouch.

There was silence for a second or two and then heavy foot-steps on the stairs. Trish had just enough time to remove the magazine from her lap before Dante rolled over the back of the sofa his head landing where the magazine had been moments before. If she had been human this habit of his might have been uncomfortable, it was a little annoying when she was trying to read, but she learned to anticipate when he was about to do it.

"Why did I let you do this to me?" He asked massaging his temples with his fingers.

She studied his upside down face quizzically. "Let me do what?"

"Them… kids… why?" Came the unintelligible answer. He didn't really need to explain it again; they had this conversation at least once a month after one of his arguments with their son. Normally over the same thing and it always ended in the same way. She'd always thought that Dante would get on great with kids – he was a child at heart after all – and he had, until they grew up a bit. As children they'd followed him and his word with perfect confidence in what he said. It had annoyed her once when she'd have to ask them to do things a million times and they'd respond to him in the first instant when he merely hinted that their rooms were too messy.

Now though Dante was beginning to understand the trials of parent-hood, especially with Alexander. Their son had recently broken into the stage of child-hood where he would rebel against any form of authority and Trish could tell that the mutiny had stung Dante more than he liked to let on. Dante had also been far more protective of his children than she'd ever imagined. It had been impossible to keep their lives completely normal, but they'd done their best to detach anything demonic from the kids and keep their two worlds separate for the time being. And this was where the problems had started. Alexander knew they were hiding something from them, she had no doubt that he'd make an excellent detective in the future, but every time he asked his father something about his job or parents (or Trish's parents too for that matter) Dante point blank refused to tell him anything. It was all for the boy's safety of course, but Alexander didn't see it that way and both father and son were incredibly alike when it came to stubbornness.

"They're not that bad are they?" She asked knowing the response and also knowing that it didn't matter if she'd heard it all before. Sometimes he just needed to vent his anger and she was perfectly happy to listen – whilst glancing over to her magazine occasionally of course.

"Not that bad?" He asked rhetorically. "They're a bloody nightmare. Demons, fine I can handle them," he sighed running a hand through the snow-drift of hair, "is it too late to put them up for adoption?"

She shoved him lightly, good-humouredly but there was a hint of warning behind it. "For your sake you'd better be joking."

"Of course I am angel you know that right?"

Angel; the nickname had been derived late one night and it had stuck. He'd called her it as a mockery when she had been lamenting her demonic blood; Trish had laughed at how unlike him it was to say anything nearly poetic. He had really grown up in the past years, or at least he'd mellowed out a bit, though he still had an unhealthy obsession with pizza.

"I know, but sometimes I wonder." Trish replied. She smiled sweetly and ran a delicate hand through his hair massaging his scalp gently. He purred and stretched like a cat relaxing against her and thoroughly enjoying the treatment. Trish could tell that he was stressed and she also knew that he was exhausted. Between demons and his children Dante hadn't had much sleep and he'd have to leave to go back to Devil May Cry soon unless he wanted to risk missing important calls.

"What was the argument about this time?" She asked though she had a suspicion that she already knew. Each new argument always seemed to come with something else and the insults became more barbed every time. Dante seemed to have a problem with these arguments because he couldn't answer in the ways he normally did. He was forced to return to the old cliché of 'you're living in my house you'll play by my rules' which never got them anywhere. Though that still wasn't the main problem he had with these constant arguments, she could tell that it hurt Dante far more than he let on when the argument ended with the constant flood of 'I hate yous' because he was beginning to believe that his son really did hate him. She supposed it was hard to look at it as childish rebellion when you were the target of the abuse; Alexander had thrown a glass at his father once which Dante had narrowly dodged. To be honest Trish suspected that the violence stemmed from her children's' three quarter demonic blood, but Dante overlooked it often treating the pair like humans when they clearly weren't.

"Oh just the usual," Dante sighed turning his head to the side to stare across at the opposite wall. Trish began combing the hair on the right side of his head through with her fingers. "He wants me to tell him… stuff."

Trish grimaced, that old nutshell. "Dante maybe you should…"

"No, Trish, just…" he sat up running a hand through the bedraggled mop of hair and undoing all of her work on untangling the knots. "Just no, okay?"

"But maybe…" she bit her lip trying to find the right words to convince him even when she already felt that she was fighting a loosing battle. "Maybe it's time that they learned. Maybe if you taught them to fight-"

"You mean maybe if I taught them to kill things?" He asked his voice laced with sarcasm and something deeper, something she couldn't place.

"To defend themselves," Trish persisted resting a hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze to attract his attention.

Dante shook his head. "I'm not getting them involved in this, not now-" not ever "- I want them to just have normal lives for as long as possible."

"But they know Dante," Trish stressed trying to get through that they weren't innocent little kids anymore. How many times had they had to lie about their father's job? How many times had they fallen and cut themselves only to watch the skin knit back together before their eyes? How many times had Alexander given himself an electric shock or Evey broken something through brute strength? If their parents didn't start to give them answers they were going to worry, going to lable themselves freaks of nature.

She knew why Dante was truly so hesitant though. Or at least one reason which tied into all of the others and made him the most nervous. All through his life Dante had come across people who abhorred demons and couldn't stand him for what he was. Somewhere deep down she knew that he feared his children's rejection at the revelation that their father was the son of Sparda, even if they were demons themselves (in some respects they had more demonic blood than their father). Maybe if they had told the kids the truth from the beginning it would have been easier, but now after nearly fourteen years it was far easier to lie than admit the truth.

Finally, finally Dante feared the effects of the power they possessed. If he trained them they became a threat to other demons and they'd be the targets of their attacks. He'd detached his two lives from one another almost perfectly; he was nearly one hundred percent certain no demons knew of the existence of his children. And then there was that niggling sensation at the back of his mind which told him not to teach them at all in case they became too strong. She knew that Dante harboured a fear of what demonic blood – power – could do. He didn't want either of his children to share his brother's fate and was doing the only thing he could do to prevent that.

Trish could tell all this merely from the way he was sitting, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the way his words danced so carefully around what he actually felt. Dante could be an enigma or an open book and she had a feeling he wanted to be read; either that or she had become exceptionally good at it over the passed years.

"Trish-"

"Dante you'll have to tell them at some point. They're not stupid they'll figure it out. Do you honestly think that their thinking you're a mercenary is worse than you killing demons?" She asked studying his expression for the answer knowing there would be little, or cryptic, truth in anything that he said. They hadn't ever intended on telling the kids that Dante killed things for a living until one night he'd stumbled in drenched in blood. Apparently the demons had wrecked Devil May Cry and he'd had no choice but to come home. He had hoped that the kids would be in bet, but hadn't anticipated Evey going to fetch herself a glass of water.

"No, yes, I don't know," he held up his hands in defeat. "I don't know, I've never done this before – kids should come with instruction manuals. But how the hell would we tell them?"

"Your father was a demon wasn't he," it was a statement not a question. "And you still loved him, looked up to him, you never hated him, right?"

"No," his brow furrowed. "Well yes for a while…" Dante raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What are you getting at?"

"It doesn't matter that we're demons we're still their parents," Trish replied. "Just because we tell them that nothing's going to change, they'll still love you because you're their father."

Dante smiled wryly. "That never helped before-"

"Dante-"

"Alright, alright," he nodded slowly running it all through his head. "I get your point."

Trish smiled. "Good. So you'll tell them then?"

"Um…"

"If you don't I will-" She threatened rising from her seat.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. "I'll tell them! I just need," he paused thinking. "Give me until their birthday alright? It'll be a sorta 'coming of age' thing."

Trish nodded; she seemed to like that idea. "Alright, you have a week."

A/N: So yeah... what did you think? It feels rushed and yeah... I'll leave it up to you.

-Lady Luce