It was all a downright dirty ploy. Dante knew it, and he fought against the strange urge to comply to the plan. The guy was messing with his head –that was it.
He'd waited all day for there to be another knock on his door. He waited for the guy to pitch up again and shove the baby in his face. Dante struggled to stay awake that night, and drifted in and out of restless sleep. Each time he opened his eyes and came to, he expected to see the baby back in the shop. When morning arrived in soft rose and lavender, there was still nothing.

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. His anger had simmered down in the meanwhile, and gave him time to debate what to do next. He wanted to wring that kid's neck, not as a means of revenge but more to teach him a lesson. Dante was not one to be played around with like that.
One more hour. He'd wait one more hour, and then the guy will show up again, or the baby will be right outside his doorstep. An hour passed with a no show.

Pizza. He'd head down to the diner, stuff his face, and put this whole incident from his mind. Move on. But even when he slid into his chosen booth at the diner, and devoured his favourite pizza in a matter of minutes, he couldn't get his head clear. Mind games, that's what the kid was doing.

Dante walked home with brooding thoughts milling in his head. What was he getting so worked up about? He didn't want the baby anyway –he ought to be happy it wasn't back to pest him. Maybe the kid sucked it up and just took the baby back. That could be it. Perhaps it scared the kid off when he'd seen just what an unstable halfling Dante was – no one had dared venture into Dante's head before. It was enough to give you nightmares.

Time seemed to slow down. He wasn't convinced that the baby wouldn't magically appear back in Devil May Cry until that evening. A whole day wasted, waiting for nothing. Dante sunk into bed late that night, pushing aside the thought that maybe he wasn't supposed to be waiting for it. Maybe he was supposed to go fetch it.

He slept in the next morning, something he rarely did. He woke with a headache, and contemplated spending the rest of the day in bed, when something soft and cool touched his back. He tensed instinctively, hand drawing out Ivory and aimed at whatever it was before his mind caught up to the action.

Dante blinked at the tight figure clothed in burgundy leather, and dropped his defence with a sleepy grunt. He pushed off the bed and dragged himself to a set of drawers in the corner. He wiggled into a pair of black pants, and caught the lady watching him in the mirror. There was no hint of embarrassment or awkwardness when her gaze met his evenly.

"Couldn't wait until I'm decent?" Dante grumbled with a faint frown, looking away from her as he scouted for a shirt. "Unless there was something you wanted, Trish."

"There is, actually. I've got a job for you." Trish said, observing him for another curious moment before elegantly rising from the bed. "Interested?"

Dante pursed his lips and stared back at her. He yanked the shirt over his head. "Sure. I wasn't doing anything else anyway."

~...~

The days that followed melted into one another as Dante hurled himself into mission after mission. Helping a family get rid of a demon that had been pestering them for generations; slaughtering a succubus draining and killing wedded men in a small town not far off; knocking sense into another power-hungry human who thought he wanted to become a devil. Dante even went fishing for a malicious water nymph abducting humble fishermen at a harbour village.

The upside of it was that he was making more money than he usually did in a month. The downside was that his persistent chasing, hunting and killing of the demonic meant there was no time for his body to recuperate and heal fast enough. A blow that he would normally brush off and recover from a second later, slowed him down by minutes and weakened him easily. His fighting skills became sloppy, to the extent that Morrison called in backup to haul Dante out of the job he was working on.

He was screwed the second the dark, fire-breathing entity took a swing at him and sent him slamming into a wall. His head gave a heavy, dull throb, and he thought he was going to be sick right then. He blinked hard and wiped the blood from his eyes with an enraged grumble. He sent a dual of bullets at the demon, but his aim was off, his vision out of synch. More demons sprouted from a swirling portal near his right. Lesser demons, but hundreds of the things. Dante pulled himself to his feet and leaned against the wall for support, his fire never ceasing, foggy mind flicking through possible actions he could perform to take out the demons and not get himself killed in the process. He couldn't think straight, though. He was too weak. He was no good.

The king demon hovered over him and opened its gaping mouth, stained razor teeth gleaming red at him through the dark. Sulphuric breath washed over his face and Dante nearly gagged as the stench drew into his lungs. The bullets hindered the demon for only a moment before it retaliated.

Dante rolled out of the way when a current of electric orange fire streamed from the roaring demon. It missed him by inches but the intense heat scorched his arm, and his mind threatened to black out at the pain. Maybe he should just drop unconscious. It might actually give his body time to recover while he was out. But one glance at the demon horde around him told Dante he probably wouldn't wake up – they'd tear him to pieces.

Dante tried to scramble out of the way when the demon launched at him. The black mass was going to crush him and knock him out. He was going to die at the hand of a retarded vengeful dragon-like demon. What a way for the infamous son of Sparda to go out, Dante thought bitterly.

A loud boom ricocheted through the night, announcing the arrival of a saving grace. The demon above him was blown back by what looked like a glowing cannonball, and a supple figure in a white top and dark shorts strutted smack into the middle of the chaotic scene with fearless vigour. Another boom sounded up and several demons flew into the air on impact. He only knew who it was by the colour of her clothing, because his eyes couldn't focus on details.

Dante turned his head slowly when he felt something jab into his arm, and he stared in mystification at the demon blinking back at him with fiery red eyes, its teeth sunk deep into his flesh. Even his pain reaction was slow when Dante tried to yank away from the thing, and he pressed the barrel of Ebony into the demon's head before blowing it right off. The other demons took this as an invitation and descended on Dante from every direction. He swatted at them angrily, feebly trying to get to his feet. "Get off me you little shits..."

"Get him out of here!" Lady ordered, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic note of worry.

Something bright flashed. The demons clinging to Dante dropped off him like stunned ticks, and then several hands were propelling him away from the fight. Everything around him blurred. A vaguely familiar voice was speaking to him in urgent tones, but the words were distorted and faint in his ears. He could hear his own breathing resounding in his head; heavy, shallow, ragged – and then there was nothing.

~...~

It was a weird feeling, waking up after blacking out. Knowing that time had passed, and that he was inexplicably transported from a dark alley in the middle of the night, to a familiar bed in the comforting haven of his shop with sunlight pooling over him and dripping down onto the floor.

Dante propped himself up with his elbows and scanned the room briefly. His weapons were on the dresser, his coat nothing but a pile of torn leather on the floor next to it. He sat up and slowly flexed his arms and legs. Satisfied that everything was still in working order, Dante swung his long legs over the side of his bed and got up. The wounds had healed, leaving his skin unmarred and smooth as velvet. Someone had even taken the initiative to clean him up.

He pulled on clothes and was sent downstairs by his rumbling stomach. How long had he been out?
Then again, who the hell cared? His job had been cut short, and if it got finished it meant he wasn't getting any compensation for the damage he'd inflicted. Damn it.

His steps slowed down when he looked up and spotted Lady lounging carelessly in his chair. Trish was perched on the edge of the desk, lithe legs dangling seductively over the side, the antique phone pressed to her ear.

"Make yourselves at home, why don't you?" Dante said, sauntering over to the bar fridge.

"Idiot." Lady said.

Dante retrieved a can of tomato juice and turned to her questioningly. "What are you doing in my shop? And get out of my chair."

"Waiting for you to drag your sorry ass out of bed. You were half dead when the others got you back here. Thought it would be only decent for me to hang around until you got better, so I could tell you face to face that I collected the money for your last job," Lady said, crossing her legs and giving him an arrogant smile.

"You were in worse shape than after that incident with Nina and Patty." Morrison spoke up, and Dante nearly dropped his juice in surprise. He turned toward the older man, comfortably reclined on one of the couches. His hair was unusually rumpled, his suit wrinkled, and there were dark bags beneath his eyes. Dante cocked his head to the side and studied him for a curious second, and then guilt punched him right between the eyes.

"You were worried." Dante said quietly.

"I was starting to have my doubts whether you'd pull through or not. Trish wouldn't let me take you to hospital, though. She said you'd heal in time. She was right, obviously." Morrison admitted, and his gaze avoided Dante's. "Patty stopped by, too. She left that for you."

Dante turned in the direction Morrison indicated, and walked over to the pool table. A stuffed toy holding a floating balloon with get well soon scrawled across it sat on the green surface, and beneath it a flat piece of glossy paper peeked up at him. Dante pulled it out, and grinned. Voucher for unlimited strawberry sundaes with the diner name in print beneath it. He wondered if Patty knew what demon she was unleashing with this gesture.

"You're taking a little holiday, by the way." Morrison added. Dante turned to him with an arched eyebrow. "You've been overworking yourself lately. You need a break from this."

"We're partners, Morrison. There's no way in hell you can lay me off. This is what I do, and I call the shots where my health is concerned." Dante said, pointing a warning finger at him. "I know my limits."

"I don't think you do, Dante." Morrison shook his head. He didn't flinch when Dante glared at him. "You've been out for a fortnight, you know. Your wounds didn't start to heal until a couple of days ago."

Dante opened his mouth, but shut it and dropped his hand, stumped. "What?"

"Maybe you're getting too old for this job," Lady suggested.

Dante extended his hand in her direction and pulled a finger at her in response. His gaze remained fixed on Morrison's pale face, though. "So maybe I have been overdoing it a bit. So what? Are you complaining? I haven't made us this much money since... well... ever."

"You've got to take it easy for a while. Lady offered to take over the assignments while you're on leave..." Morrison started.

"Like hell she is!" Dante cut him off and cast a grumpy glare at Lady's smirking face. "If I get a call with the password, it's mine, get it? No one else..." Dante trailed off when he motioned to the phone, and frowned.

Trish had one finger pressed to her ear, and was leaning forward slightly, listening intently to whoever was on the other line. She hadn't spoken once. Dante walked over to her, but Trish pulled away from him when he tried to take the phone from her. The look on her face was one of contained impatience. A warning flashed in her blue eyes, and she held one finger up to silence him when he opened his mouth to protest. A little spark leapt off the tip of her finger, and Dante backed away from her dejectedly.

"Who's on the phone?" Dante directed the question to Morrison.

"Don't know."

"Sounded like Nero to me." Lady said helpfully. Dante felt something in his chest jar painfully, and his eyes flashed to Trish quickly.

"Did he say what it's about?" Dante asked, swallowing his prideful anger and addressing Lady frankly.

"Nooo. Sounded serious, though. He's not a happy boy."

There was a long, drawn out silence before Trish let out a quiet sigh, and finally spoke. "Do you need him to come to you then?" She waited, and arched her eyebrows when she looked at Dante oddly. "All right. Yes. I'll let him know. See you soon." Trish put the receiver down, and her hand lingered on it for a moment before she straightened up from the desk.

"What's up?" Dante demanded.

Trish gave him a measuring look, and smiled. "We're having company."