Author's Note:
Why does it always take me twice as long to get anywhere than it should? This chapter is mostly fluff—but I think it's fluff you'll enjoy! Sandwiched in the middle is a tiny bit of plot, and I really hope you don't all want to kill me by the end…
Chapter Ten
If Things Were Perfect
Doujima paced back and forth in front of the elevator, her high heels clacking noisily against the floor.
An obnoxious groan of frustration from the other room made her grind her teeth and stop in her circuit with a cringe. Peeking around the corner, she glared at Sakaki who was cavorting around, a white remote gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were nearly as white as the plastic.
She had no idea what the name of his new video game obsession was—nor did she care—but he had brought it into work earlier in the week, claiming that he needed something to do to fill the hours or he would lose his mind. Doujima was of the opinion that he had already lost his mind regardless.
Another roar of frustration set her teeth on edge as he nearly punched the monitor before him. Grumbling under his breath, he leaned back in his chair again and shook his head.
With one last glance at the elevator, Doujima finally decided to overcome the unspoken truce of ignorance that had helped them to endure the last few days in the office. She pretended he didn't exist and he did likewise—and neither of them had to confront the things that had transpired between them. But she had reached the limit of her restraint. He had gone too far and she just couldn't stand by and watch.
Stalking across the room, she approached him with no intention of backing down. The sight of two yetis on the screen towering over a well built young man dressed all in green and toting a sword and shield made her hesitate. She recognized Link immediately despite her continual claims that she knew nothing about video games; he must have been playing that new Zelda game he had been dreaming about for months. A wave of nostalgia washed over her and she paused behind him, watching as he directed Link up a snowy mountain toward the Yetis.
"Link, uh. You race?" The smaller yeti on the screen said with a squeal, bouncing from one foot to another.
"You're on, bitch," Sakaki growled, startling Doujima. "And this time I'm taking you down despite your cheap tricks. Let's go!" He accepted the yeti's challenge and on the screen Link followed her down a ski slope on a sled made of ice. Sakaki leaned forward in his seat as he held the white remote balanced before him, biting his lower lip in concentration.
Caught up in the game, Doujima watched Link leap from a cliff and land on several snowy treetops before traversing a narrow bridge over a bottomless ravine, taking a shortcut to get in the lead. It looked like he was going to win, but at the last moment, the yeti cut in front of Link and sped to the finish line ahead of him. Sakaki erupted in rage and Doujima shook herself out of her reverie.
Stepping around him and deftly switching off the power on the white brick perched on the side of his desk, she casually walked away from him without a word. His eyes were boring holes into her back, but he remained silent and she did not acknowledge his glare.
She was halfway across the room before she heard him leap from his chair and pursue her, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her back against the wall roughly. Startled, she blinked up at him, unnerved by his proximity as much as his aggression.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with fury. "Haven't you already done enough without trying to ruin the last thing in my life I enjoy?"
Swallowing her retort and forcing herself to reply calmly, Doujima said, "You didn't seem to be enjoying it much at the moment anyway. And—as I already announced this morning—we have an important visitor from headquarters coming to the office today. Headquarters already thinks this branch has become nothing more than a joke. The last thing we need is one of their chief representatives walking in to find a STN-J hunter kicking back and playing video games."
"We? You're not one of us. You're practically headquarters yourself. What's this 'we' bullshit?"
"Haruto…"
Scowling, Sakaki released her abruptly. "Don't call me that. You've lost the privilege."
Doujima watched sadly as he stomped back to his workstation to sulk. Part of her was tempted to follow and attempt patching things up with him. It was a temptation that had been growing within her for days. She didn't know what good it would do—or why she wanted to try so badly—but at times the temptation was almost more than she could bear.
The chime of the elevator stopping on the fifth floor startled her back to reality. Turning swiftly and heading back to the foyer, she managed to skid to a stop before the doors opened, smiling broadly at the severe features of a distinguished old priest as he stepped out of the elevator.
"Welcome to the STN-J, Father Colegui."
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"I had the weirdest dream last night," Michael said between mouthfuls of rice and fish. Looking at Vergil, he continued, "You and Dracula were eating strawberry sundaes. And he wanted you to—"
"You dreamed about me?" Vergil did not seem pleased by this fact in the least. Michael froze, wishing that he hadn't said anything at all; he didn't really know what to think about Vergil, but he didn't think he wanted to be on the man's bad side.
"And did you say Dracula?" Karasuma asked doubtfully.
"Yeah? Well it could have been weirder," Dante interrupted after glancing at the door to the hotel restaurant for the dozenth time during breakfast. "He could have been dreaming about David Bowie." Dante said the name in a strange singsong tone that made Michael wonder if he was merely making an observation or if he was actually recollecting a dream of his own.
"Or David Hasselhoff," Robin murmured and everyone paused, shifting their focus to her in shock. Startled, she added uncomfortably, "One of the nuns at the convent used to watch Knight Rider." She lifted her bowl to finish her miso while everyone pondered this. Amon's eyes seemed particularly glued to her, but Michael supposed that was only to be expected.
"Anyway," Michael said, feeling the need to say more about his dream so that Vergil would know it wasn't kinky or anything, "he had hired you to kill Alucard, but then Dracula turned into Willem Dafoe when Alucard said Richter's line about him 'stealing men's souls' and he got his head cut off by Dr. Salvador."
Karasuma sighed. "Why do I suddenly feel as if Sakaki is with us?"
"Well, Haruto and I did play Resident Evil 4 back at the STN-J," Michael replied thoughtfully, "And he would always scream like a little girl when the guys with chainsaws showed up."
"Frankly," Dante commented dryly, stabbing a bit of egg with his chopsticks, "I think the scariest part of your dream was Willem Dafoe. That guy gives me the creeps."
Raising an eyebrow at him, Karasuma commented, "You kill demons for a living, and yet you are frightened by a movie star?"
Unperturbed, Dante looked up at her seriously, "Have you seen him?"
Michael felt an almost uncontrollable urge to throw his glass of water on the floor, but he knew that no one present would get the joke. Chuckling to himself, he finished off his rice and pushed his tray away. He was the first one to finish; everyone else seemed to be picking at their food as if they didn't have much of an appetite. Michael guessed that was because of the tension in the air. He had managed to alleviate it for a few minutes, but trying to bring Amon out of his near trance and Vergil and Dante out of their glaring wars was a lot of work.
Suddenly, pushing his tray away though it was only half finished, Dante announced, "I'm going upstairs."
Karasuma looked up at him with a hint of understanding in her eyes, and Michael noticed that she handed him a room key. He must have been going to check on Trish who still hadn't joined them. When he was gone, the silence became even more uncomfortable than it had been before, and Michael searched desperately for something to say.
"You know, they say that if you only visit Osorezan once, your soul stays there when you leave," he said ominously, hoping to catch everyone's attention.
Vergil laughed shortly, and Michael blinked in confusion as he looked at Amon with meaning in his eyes. Robin watched the two of them in apprehension and even Karasuma seemed disturbed by the silent exchange.
"It's probably not true…" Michael managed awkwardly. "Just a stupid superstition."
"Superstitions are repeated because they often contain a thread of truth," Vergil replied quietly, taking a sip of tea.
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Trish took a long, hot shower, letting the scalding water pound against her skin until it was an angry pink. Though she knew it was impossible, she felt as if she were washing away the suffering of the last several days along with the grime.
She had been too tired to bother with a shower the night before, though she imagined that part of her had simply wanted the excuse to have some time to herself. She had shooed the other girls along, telling them to go downstairs for breakfast without her. She would grab a snack later—in a place where she wouldn't be forced to sit at a table with Vergil. He tended to make her lose her appetite entirely. Reluctantly, Karasuma had relented, dragging Robin along with her and leaving Trish alone for the first time since she had fallen through the gate into hell.
Finally turning off the water, she stepped out into the steamy bathroom and toweled off, taking her time to dress and brush the tangles out of her hair. She had to admit she was grateful that Dante had brought all her luggage along with him so it was waiting for her—though the exchange between them the night before had been rather awkward.
Sighing, Trish regarded her tired expression in the mirror, wishing that she could have managed to get a little more rest. It had resulted in a strange, but comforting heart to heart between her and Robin though, and she had to admit that the talk had been almost as good for her spirit as sleep would have been.
She shivered at the cooler temperature as she stepped out of the pleasantly warm bathroom. Looking around for where she had left her suitcase, she froze when she realized that the room wasn't empty. Leaning against the wall casually, Dante was gazing down at the street below, one hand hooked in a pocket of his worn blue jeans, the other raising a bottle of tomato juice to his lips. Trish's fingers tightened in the bundle of clothes she had brought from the bathroom and she swallowed, her eyes lingering on him hungrily while her heart raced in her chest. She hadn't been prepared to see him yet.
Finally dragging her eyes away from him, she noticed the assortment of food spread over the coffee table. He had brought her breakfast. Some selfish part of her that had been wanting to cling to her anger thawed slightly and she quickly turned her attention to putting her things away in her suitcase in an attempt to keep herself from melting into a puddle on the floor.
He turned at the sound and she looked up at him reluctantly, trying very hard not to be persuaded by the intensity of his eyes; his face was nearly expressionless, but his eyes were burning like a wildfire. For the briefest of moments she feared that she might have somehow mistaken Vergil for Dante because of his placid expression, but the quiet, lopsided smile that gently tugged at his lips erased her fears.
"Hungry?" he asked softly, gesturing to the table and turning away from the window.
"A little," she said just as quietly, approaching him with caution and stopping far enough away to be safe. Emotion boiled within her, fear, doubt and guilt twisting her insides into painful knots.
Dante regarded her with uncertainty as if he was afraid to make the first move, a highly uncharacteristic but understandable reaction considering how she had acted the night before. "I was worried when you didn't come down for breakfast," he said, looking away self-consciously and carefully placing his empty bottle of tomato juice down on the dresser. "I know you're probably still angry…and if you want me to leave, I will. I just—"
"Dante," she said with a smile and he fell silent, watching her intently. "Shut up." He didn't blink as she closed the distance between him and pressed him back against the wall with a hand on his chest. The doubt in his eyes broadcast his discomfort with surrendering all the control over the situation to her, but he seemed willing to deal with it for the moment at least.
She traced the contours of his face tenderly with her fingertips, and though it had only been a few days, it felt as if it had been years since she had been this close to him. Though the last thing she wanted to do was compare him to his brother, she found herself searching to find the visible differences between him and Vergil. While Vergil was smooth and manicured, perfect and cold like sculpted marble, Dante was uneven and rugged, imperfect, but so very real.
Her fingers had moved along his jaw to his neck, but her eyes lingered on his lips. She wanted to kiss him but she was afraid—frightened that the memory of other lips would cause her to react and push him away. Her nerves were still raw and his aspect too similar for her to trust herself.
With surprising patience, Dante allowed her to continue her tactile appraisal of him without making contact on his own, though she could feel how hard it was for him to do so by the tension in the muscles beneath her fingertips. He wasn't one to hold himself back, but she suspected he had some possible explanations for her extreme reaction already developing in his head and he was being abnormally cautious because of them.
Still, she knew that his restraint was not endless, and if she pushed him too far she would end up thrown back onto the bed and stripped before she could even protest. And that was likely to end profoundly badly. She knew that her defensive instincts were heightened enough that she would probably end up ripping him to shreds without thinking if he even attempted such a thing.
Sensing his growing restlessness at her teasing touches, she met his eyes again and felt a reckless need take hold of her. Her fears suddenly became less important as she gazed into the desire in his eyes. She needed to get Vergil's taunting face and hateful touches out of her head. She needed to erase him from her memory and replace those tainted memories with new memories of Dante.
Tangling her fingers in the strands of hair at the nape of Dante's neck, she pulled him down toward her, attacking his mouth fervently. She clamped her arms around his neck a moment later and deepened the kiss to the limit of her tongue's reach, unable to get enough contact once she had finally broached the invisible barrier between them. He tasted like the tomato juice he had recently been drinking, but she didn't care—for her, the kiss was about emotion, not flavor. For his part, he seemed a little startled by her passion, but no less eager, his palms splayed across her back as he pressed her against him as if he could merge their bodies into one through force alone.
Coming up for air without relinquishing her hold on him, Trish pulled herself off the ground and swung her legs around his hips, one of her hands working at his shirt while her other arm was still hooked around his neck at the elbow, her mouth finding his again and continuing to devour it relentlessly. He helped her with his shirt and shrugged out of it with impatience, taking the opportunity to switch their positions and press her back against the wall. Clawing at his bare skin in her eagerness, she released his lips finally and allowed him to tug her shirt over her head as well. The wall felt cold against her back, but she barely felt the chill with the heat of his body pressed against her.
Lost in sensation, Trish fought the small but steadily growing panic inside of her. His lips and tongue explored her neck and followed the curve of her breasts like a man exploring familiar territory; he knew where to touch her to make her cry out, knew how to hesitate just long enough to make her growl for more. She tangled her fingers in his hair helplessly, wondering when she had given him all the control. Irrational fear was growing steadily inside of her, and though she wanted him, she knew a frightened, abused part of her that had been created by her encounter with Vergil was starting to view him as a threat.
She found herself suddenly frozen, unable to move as he clutched her to him and caged her within his strong, unyielding arms. Her legs went limp and he misread the gesture, gripping her torso firmly with one arm just above her waist and lifting her against him as he began undoing the fastenings of her pants. She braced herself against his shoulders, panic suddenly overflowing inside of her and a scream building in her throat.
"Stop!" she shouted breathlessly, shoving him backward with all her strength and collapsing back against the suddenly icy wall. She knew the rejection would hurt him, but she had been unable to stop herself.
Catching himself against a chair, he gaped at her in disbelief, his lips flushed to a delicious red and his shoulders crisscrossed with scratches she had written into his skin. Sweat dampened hair clung to his neck and his silver brows were furrowed as he stared at her with raw emotion burning in his cerulean eyes. He looked beautiful and she could only tremble as she panted for air and looked away, covering herself hastily with one arm and searching for her discarded clothes on the floor. He didn't move, continuing to stare at her as if she had just grown a second head.
When she was dressed again and somewhat composed, she turned around reluctantly to look at him. He was perched on the arm of the chair, his arms crossed over his bare chest and his face set in a scowl as he glared at some insignificant detail of the dresser beside her.
"I'm sorry," she said feebly, wishing that she had not given into her impulses so completely. It had been incredibly unfair of her to initiate something like this with him when she hadn't been sure if she could finish what she started.
Without looking at her, he asked icily, "Am I going to get an explanation?"
"I…" Trish couldn't finish the sentence. She couldn't say the words. "I'm sorry."
Still avoiding her eyes, he scooped his red shirt off the floor and headed for the door.
"Dante," she cried, and he actually paused, though he didn't turn around. "It's not what you're thinking."
"And what am I thinking?"
There was a knock at the door and both of them jumped in surprise. His expression dark and brooding, Dante absently threw his shirt around his shoulders and began buttoning it, taking a step away from the door so that she could answer it. She gazed at his back for a long moment in regret before finally turning away and reaching for the doorknob.
Karasuma regarded her uncertainly from the hallway. "I hope we're not interrupting anything," she said, biting her lower lip. All the others were standing behind her and Trish was momentarily floored by their terrible timing. On one hand, it had rescued her from being forced to tell Dante what had happened, but on the other, it had left Dante with a likely mistaken impression of why she had pushed him away. It was worse than their argument the night before.
"We need to decide what our next step is before we waste another day," Vergil snapped coldly and Trish gripped the doorknob to keep her hand from shaking.
She glanced at Amon; he of all people should have known better than to interrupt them at that moment since he had surely felt Dante's emotions. His grey eyes were not exactly repentant when he returned her look, but she was reassured that they were not gloating either. It seemed that Vergil had been the instigator of the interruption and the others had been unable or unwilling to talk him out of it—a fact that surprised her not at all.
Wordlessly, Trish stepped away from the door, pulling it open and ushering the others inside.
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Though it was the larger of the two rooms, the hotel room was a tight fight for all of them. Karasuma, Michael and Robin were squeezed onto the couch, Amon on one chair, Trish on the other, and Vergil and Dante both leaning against walls on opposite sides of the sitting area. It certainly lacked the comfort of Harry's, but it was the best they could manage at the moment--and it wasn't as if the size of the room was what was really bothering Dante anyway.
Turned toward the window in nearly the same place he had been standing when Trish had come out of the bathroom, Dante scowled at the scenery outside with his arms crossed over his chest. He was having a hard time paying attention to the conversation, his senses on overdrive and his body still recovering from the sudden, painful disappointment of Trish's rejection. While he had guessed at several possibilities of what had happened between her and Vergil that could have been significant enough for Amon to notice, none of them seemed to quite explain her strange behavior now.
If Vergil had hurt her--had physically abused her or sexually assaulted her--he didn't think she would have been so willing to get close to him in the first place. Not when he had the same face. Unless she had been trying to act as if everything was normal. She might have come on to him to try to hide that anything had happened at all, but had been unable to go through with it in the end.
He knew Trish would talk to him eventually and he would find out the truth. Until then, there was no use jumping to conclusions—except that he was going to blame Vergil for everything until he was given proof to the contrary. Shaking himself slightly, Dante tried to focus on the discussion to distract himself from his useless, circular thoughts.
Sitting forward on the crowded couch and trying to find a little more room, Karasuma was asking, "Should we go back to Tokyo? The resources at the STN-J would be—"
"We can't go back to the STN-J," Michael interrupted sadly, actually capturing some of Dante's attention. "Out of curiosity, I hacked into the database this morning. Headquarters has sent one of their head honchos there to investigate what happened with Zaizen, and from what I can tell, they also have orders out to find Robin."
Robin's eyes widened. "They're looking for me?"
Michael nodded. "Apparently, they noticed you when they were flying back over the area they had bombed and your powers sent up a huge red flag. For some reason, I think they assumed that you were the one responsible for everything. They think you've turned into a witch."
Looking down at her hands in her lap, Robin's shoulders slumped and she seemed to fold into herself. Dante's scowl deepened as he thought about how she had been using her powers to protect him at the time. It wasn't fair. She had nearly died—would have died regardless if she hadn't used her powers to protect them from the bombing--and yet she was being targeted for surviving. And to top it all off, she couldn't even remember any of it.
"We need to leave the country," Amon said suddenly, his expression serious and edged with worry. "Quietly. If we can slip out before Solomon knows we are leaving, then it will take them longer to catch up with us."
"What about Lucifer?" Karasuma reminded. "I thought he was our next priority. If we have reason to suspect he's still in Japan, then we can't just leave."
"He's not in Japan," Vergil offered blandly.
Dante smirked bitterly at him; it was really hard not to fly across the room and the throttle the self-assured expression off the bastard's face. "Care to elaborate?"
Vergil paused, meeting Dante's glare evenly. "While I don't know the exact location of Lucifer's body, I am fairly certain it is somewhere in Europe."
Chuckling dryly, Dante retorted, "Somewhere in Europe, huh? That's pretty specific. Let's just comb the whole continent, then. Shouldn't take more than a few hundred years."
"I have a starting point," Vergil interrupted without emotion in his voice, either unmoved by Dante's reaction or choosing to ignore it.
"And that is?" Amon prompted with a hint of impatience; Dante knew his emotions were probably putting the other man on edge as well, but he didn't care enough to feel guilt over it.
"We need to start at the last point we know for certain our father has been." Vergil's eyes settled piercingly on Dante again. "I believe we can find clues still buried there."
"Buried where?" Dante wasn't about to assume anything; Vergil was too good at leaving things unsaid that would raise questions if one only thought to ask.
A small, thoughtful smile curved his lips. "In our home. The place where we grew up."
Looking away to hide the emotion in his eyes, Dante gritted his teeth. Hearing Vergil talk about the place where they had endured their childhood as "home" affected him more than he wanted to admit; the entire time they had been there, Vergil had been clamoring to escape. Dante had been eager to leave as well, but that was mostly because he had secretly hoped that his brother would include him in his plans wherever he went. As much as they had fought as children, Dante had always believed that he and Vergil would always be together, their relationship as indivisible as it was volatile. Vergil had not felt the same way, and when circumstances had forced them out of their home earlier than their mother had wanted, Vergil had left him behind without looking back.
Oblivious to Dante's thoughts, Vergil continued in that emotionless voice, "I believe the answers we seek can be uncovered there. Our father's study was not entirely destroyed in the fire that burned our house. Before we left, I sealed it to keep it safe, but now I think it would be worth a visit. And there are dozens of places in that sleepy village where our father might have left us a hint. He must have suspected that eventually the seal he created would break down and need to be renewed, so he certainly would have left us some kind of information about doing so."
They debated Vergil's suggestion for an hour, though Dante found he could only half-heartedly argue the point. He knew his brother was right. If their father had been the one to seal Lucifer's body away, then he must have left clues behind for them to continue what he had started. Anyway, it wasn't as if they had any better ideas about where to start looking.
Finally they dispersed, the decision all but made and Michael set to start booking their flight out of the country. Karasuma dragged Vergil away with mutters of needing to get him a passport—exactly how she intended to do such a thing was beyond Dante, but she seemed to be confident that she would find a way to make it happen. He was mildly amused that someone as straight-laced as Karasuma would have a way of obtaining an illegal passport, but he was also a little worried that she was going off alone with his brother.
Trish seemed to be thinking the same thing because she offered to tag along with them—at least, Dante chose to believe that was her motivation—and Karasuma accepted. She looked back at him as they left, her eyes mournful and apologetic all at once, but Dante looked away before he found himself saying something he shouldn't.
"Is everything all right?" Amon asked quietly, pausing next to him.
Avoiding the concern in his eyes, Dante summoned his best imitation of his usual smirk. "Just great."
Catching his arm firmly, Amon said, "There's something I have to take care of while I still have the chance before we leave the country. I'm likely to be tied up with phone calls for a while. Would you look after Robin?"
Sighing tiredly, Dante murmured, "Whatever."
Amon seemed to take his answer as a yes since he nodded and headed for the door.
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Robin felt anxious and she didn't know what to do about it.
Michael was absorbed with booking their flights while trying to cover their tracks so that Solomon would not figure out their plans until it was too late, his fingers flying over the keyboard and his eyes focused intently on the screen. Dante was napping on one of the beds, his feet still on the ground as he sprawled back sideways over the mattress and one arm flung over his eyes. Neither of them seemed very approachable at the moment, so Robin found herself pacing slowly around the room, her arms crossed over her stomach.
She couldn't stop thinking about Amon. All though the meeting, and even after Michael had announced that Solomon was targeting her, she could do nothing but think about what Trish had told her during their late night discussion. What was it that she couldn't remember? Whatever it was, it clearly must have involved Amon since Trish seemed to think he was the most appropriate person to tell her about it. And Trish had been so certain of her feelings for Amon…as if those feelings had already been revealed publicly. Robin shivered. It was unnerving to think that a part of her soul had been exposed to everyone and yet they had chosen to ignore it and pretend it didn't exist. Had Amon rejected her? Had they been trying to save her from embarrassment? She couldn't stand not knowing.
Finally, unable to stand her restlessness any longer, she found herself wandering over to Dante. He was shielding her from his emotions again, but she could still tell that he was troubled. Tentatively sitting down on the bed beside him, she pulled her knees up to her chest and gazed blankly at the white glow of the windows.
"Dante," she said softly when he didn't even react to her presence.
He grunted wordlessly in response but did not move.
"Where is Amon?"
"Hell if I know," he mumbled, his voice muffled by his arm as he shifted his position with a sigh. Though she didn't know him very well, she felt that he was being unusually irritable.
They sat in silence for a while and Robin listened to Michael work on the computer with increasing impatience. After trying and failing to think of another way to engage Dante in conversation, Robin finally announced, "I'm going to go look for him," and scooted back toward the edge of the bed.
Dante caught her wrist and she looked back at him in surprise. His expression a mixture of annoyance and resignation as he looked up at her from beneath a fringe of tousled hair, he said, "Not a good idea."
Robin bristled. "Why not?" she asked crisply, and his drowsy eyes sharpened at the anger in her voice.
"He said he had some things to do. He's probably busy."
Trying to tug her wrist out of his grasp, Robin said with a frown, "Why do I feel like everyone is trying to keep me away from him?" She realized that she had drawn Michael's attention when she noticed that she couldn't hear his fingers against the keyboard anymore, but she didn't care.
"Robin…" Dante began, but he didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence because it hung incomplete on the air for several moments.
"I'm going," she said again, freeing her hand finally and sliding off the bed.
Dante had sat up and caught her around the waist before she could even take two steps. "Amon asked me to look after you," he said flatly.
"Why would he do that?" Robin avoided Michael's wide-eyed gaze as she pried at Dante's arm.
"Because he's worried about you and doesn't want you to wander off. We have Solomon to worry about now as much as Lucifer."
Twisting around in his grip, Robin demanded, "Then why doesn't he look after me himself if he's so worried?"
The fire in her eyes must have startled Dante because his grip went slack. She took advantage of the opportunity and pulled away, rubbing her wrist where he had been holding it before. "Robin!" he said sharply when she darted for the door.
She growled in frustration as he shoved the door closed before she could open it wide enough to slip into the hallway. Glaring at his hand, she felt tears burn in her eyes. "Trish told me that you and Karasuma left things out when you were telling me what I've forgotten," she whispered, unable to keep the resentment out of her voice. "She said I should ask Amon about it."
Though she couldn't see his face, she could sense Dante's tangled emotions twisting even tighter. He didn't reply right away, but his hand twitched against the door.
"He's probably in the other room," he said finally with a voice bled dry of emotion, his hand sliding down the door and dropping to his side. "I have the other key."
Robin turned toward him cautiously, taking the keycard he offered though she was surprised by his sudden change of heart. His expression was unreadable, but she could tell that he had no intention of stopping her again. "Thank you," she murmured.
"Just don't go anywhere else," he said firmly. "And if he's not there, come back and get me before you go wandering around looking for him."
Nodding, Robin touched his arm lightly. "I'll be careful."
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In spite of his better judgment, Sakaki found himself staring at Doujima as she leaned against the windowsill, one finger pressed against her lips pensively as she stared blankly at the floor. He had just been grilled by the big wigs from headquarters and he felt equally disturbed and frustrated by what the questioning had revealed.
For the first time since Karasuma and Michael had left, Doujima was alone, her friends from headquarters nowhere to be seen and Sakaki found himself tempted to talk to her. He had no desire to forgive her—she hadn't proven she deserved to be forgiven—but he did feel the need to talk to her after the interrogation he had just endured.
He could hear Father Colegui and his subordinate beginning their interview with Chief Kosaka, and Sakaki shivered, burying his hands in his pockets and slowly crossing the room to Doujima. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear him approach, and he had leaned up against the wall next to her before she reacted.
Blinking up at him in surprise, she opened her mouth but didn't say a word, slowly closing it a moment later uncertainly.
"They're after Robin," he said evenly, watching her expression.
"I know."
"Did you know before?"
She shook her head slowly. "They have Michael's computer tapped. They know everything he does—purposely leaked information to him to influence their plans. Solomon won't let them get away." Her voice was quiet but fraught with worry, and she bit her lower lip when she was finished, rubbing her palms against each other.
Sakaki hesitated, pushing away one last doubt as he took the leap of faith and allowed himself to trust her again. "What are we going to do about it?"
She gaped at him in astonishment for a moment. "We?" she asked.
He smiled tentatively. "You are going to help me, aren't you?"
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Sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the ugly still life of several apples and a vase with flowers hanging on the wall, Amon clenched the phone tightly enough that he was surprised it didn't break in half. The phone continued to ring in his ear, and his teeth grinded against each other painfully.
Finally, a voice answered and Amon's tension reached a new level of unpleasantness.
"Nagira," he said quietly.
"Amon?" the voice on the other end snapped. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"That's not important. I'm calling you about—"
"She's gone," Nagira interrupted him before he could say anything more, anger dripping from his words. "Some goons from Solomon tried to kidnap her, but she fought back."
"Fought back…" Amon echoed softly, his mouth going dry.
"Yeah." Nagira confirmed sourly. "She's inherited your powers. I tried to help her out, but she thought I was one of them and nearly killed me. She's powerful, and she's just as bad tempered as you."
Amon didn't blink for fear of dislodging the liquid that had suddenly filled his eyes. "Did she escape?"
Sighing, Nagira shifted in his chair. "For a little while. But they caught up with her before I could. I've been searching for days, but the trail's gone cold."
Amon's mind was racing. It just didn't make sense. Zaizen was dead and Amon had always assumed his threats about Simone had implied that his death would mean hers, but if the men after her had been trying to kidnap her and not kill her then what had Zaizen actually intended? Unless the men after her weren't actually Zaizen's at all and were merely Solomon agents acting on orders to capture a witch. But Solomon didn't take witches captive anywhere else in the world other than Japan and the STN-J was temporarily closed down. Everywhere else, they simply killed them.
"You don't seem surprised by any of this," Nagira commented coldly. "Should I assume that you had something to do with it?"
Amon took a deep breath to slow his heart rate, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Zaizen's dead. He promised that he had a failsafe in place that included her."
"So they're hunting her on your deranged dead boss' orders?"
"Now that her powers have awoken, I doubt Zaizen's orders are the only reason they're after her." He paused, trying to swallow past the dryness in his throat. "But she's only a child. She can't outrun them forever."
"You're just going to write her off?" Nagira demanded, and Amon felt shamed by the frustration in his voice. "Dammit, Amon, I won't forgive you if you leave your child to her fate just because you're too busy to look for her."
Amon's hand clenched in his hair and he fought the temptation to snap back at his brother. "I'm not writing her off. But there's something I have to take care of. I need to leave the country."
"I've hit a dead end on this." The anger in Nagira's voice was rising exponentially with every word. "I've run out of leads to follow, and frankly, this isn't my responsibility in the first place. I'm not about to let them just kill my niece without trying to stop them, but I'm not letting you get away with another one of your disappearing acts either. I swear, if you try to run away, I'm coming after you and—"
"Syunji." The unspoken plea was obvious in his voice.
There was a long pause at the end of which Nagira sighed deeply. "Something's happened, hasn't it? I can hear it in your voice. I thought maybe…no, I was just angry. I didn't want to give in. But this time things are different, aren't they? You really are in trouble."
Amon swallowed and tried to think of a response. He couldn't possibly tell Nagira the truth; he would never believe him regardless. And really, was it absolutely necessary that he help the others defeat Lucifer? Was there anything he could personally do to help in the first place, or was he just unwilling to leave Robin to face Lucifer without him? It wasn't as if she would be alone. Dante was more than capable of protecting her on his own.
"Where did you lose the trail?" he asked faintly, already feeling himself making the decision. It would be better for Robin if he weren't around anyway. He wouldn't have to keep pushing her away—wouldn't be constantly tempted by her.
His voice still betraying his worry though it was less severe than before, Nagira began telling Amon all the details of Simone's disappearance, the status of her injured foster parents and where he guessed the Solomon agents had taken her. Amon absorbed the information distantly, feeling disconnected from his body as he considered the new possibilities that had just been laid at his feet.
Amon stiffened when he heard the door open and close behind him, but he didn't turn to see who had entered the room. It was probably Dante since he was the one with the other key and Amon relaxed somewhat, relieved that he would be able to tell the demon hunter about his decision first before he had to reveal it to everyone else.
"And that's all I know," Nagira finished. "Do you have any ideas?"
Hesitating, Amon replied, "I'll have to do a little more research on my end. They could have taken her anywhere."
"Okay. Let me know what you find out. I'm going to contact a few other people I know again—see if anything new has turned up."
"I'll talk to you soon," Amon replied hollowly, starting to hang up the phone.
"Take care of yourself," Nagira said just before they were disconnected.
Amon closed his eyes, letting the full significance of his decision sink in. Then, feeling the weight of a gaze focused on his back, he turned to look behind him as he dropped the phone back into its cradle. He felt his resolve waver instantly at the sight of wide green eyes. "Robin," he whispered.
"Has something happened?" she asked softly, her fingers twisted in her skirt as she took an uncertain step toward him.
Looking away, Amon tried to decide how much to tell her. She didn't remember anything about Simone, and he would rather keep it that way. "I may not be able to come with you to find Lucifer."
Robin didn't respond and he finally glanced up at her through strands of dark hair. Her emotions came through their connection so clearly that he almost felt them as his own; she was shocked by his statement, but also felt slightly betrayed. "Why?" she whispered, standing forlornly at the end of the bed.
"Someone…I know is in danger. Someone I have a responsibility to protect." Saying the words out loud made him feel like he really was betraying her; even if she couldn't remember everything that had happened, she had surely been depending on him to protect her, but he was abandoning her to protect someone else—someone she didn't even know. "Dante can—"
"Dante's not my partner," she murmured, though her quiet voice silenced him easily. He found it odd that she would choose to remind him of their assignment as partners when it had never really had much influence over his actions before. But he supposed it was the only connection between them that she really had to cling to.
"Robin, this is important," he said firmly. "I want to defeat Lucifer as much as you do, but I can't just let this go."
"Then we'll go with you and take care of it together."
Standing up and turning his back on her to avoid the hurt in her eyes, he snapped, "No. This is something I have to do on my own. And Lucifer has already had enough time to get ahead of us."
"Amon," she breathed, hovering at his side.
Summoning what little resolve he had left, Amon pushed his emotions aside and turned to her. "Where is Dante? He was supposed to be looking after you."
"I'm not a child." Amon felt something inside of him crumbling when he saw the defiance in her eyes. "I can take care of myself."
Amon wanted to tell her that she shouldn't take the danger she was in so lightly--that this was not the time for her to be needlessly reckless--but he didn't have the words. "Robin…that's not what this is about. Solomon is hunting you, and you should know better than most what that means."
Her expression fiercely determined, she said, "I want to know what happened between us that no one will tell me about."
Feeling as if the floor had just fallen out from beneath him, Amon steadied himself with a hand against the wall, trying to continue meeting her eyes without losing control. After what Karasuma had told him, he had expected Robin to be her cautious self with him again. He certainly hadn't expected her to confront him--especially about something like this. Was it possible that she had started to remember—or did she only suspect?
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said impassively, praying that she would accept his explanation because he didn't know how long he could deter her.
"I don't believe you." She shook her head sadly. "I need to know, Amon. What happened? Why do I feel as if you're the key to my missing memories?"
Amon shook his head, feeling cornered by her direct questions.
"Please," she begged, and his eyes focused on her again, guilt twisting in his chest when he saw the frustrated determination in her eyes. "I'm tired of not remembering. I'm tired of feeling lost. Ever since I woke up after the fight with Beatrice I feel as if I've been surrounded by strangers and everyone's only been telling me half of the story. I don't want to be protected anymore. I want to know the truth!"
A tear slid down her cheek, and Amon found himself gently brushing it away before he could even think to hold himself back. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion and her eyes were burning with a desperation that ate away at his last scrap of restraint. Dante's words on the bus came back to him. Why are you holding yourself back? He found that he could no longer remember the answer.
His hand still cupping her cheek, he said softly, "You really want to know what happened? You confronted me and forced me to face my own weakness—like you're doing now." He took a step closer to her, tilting her chin so that their noses were nearly touching. She was trembling beneath his fingertips. "You pushed past my defenses as if they weren't even there, and I could do nothing to stop you."
"Amon." Her eyes were impossibly wide, her lips parted invitingly.
Closing his eyes, he remembered how she had undone him before by merely saying his name. Stunned by how quickly she had made him submit to her this time, he relinquished his last thread of control and decided that he had never truly had the control in the first place. Light filtered dimly through his hair as it tumbled down around them like a curtain and he watched the emotions pooling in her eyes as he leaned closer.
She melted against him as he claimed her lips, her hands clutching at his shirt and clinging to him anxiously as if she expected him to disappear. Pulling her against him, and lifting her off her feet slightly to improve the angle between them, Amon felt all his anxiety, frustration and longing pouring out of him through the kiss, and though he knew it was probably unfair to take advantage of her when she couldn't remember how they had gotten to this point, he was past being able to stop himself.
He came up for air briefly, nuzzling against her cheek and following the line of her slender neck with his lips, her quick, shallow breaths tickling against his skin. Astonishment mingled with a feeling of fulfillment of some long unspoken need washed over him through their connection, and he couldn't help but hold her tighter as he felt his own emotions echoing her need. Coherent thought drained away from him and he became a slave to sensation, his worries and guilt for his daughter and his decision to leave Robin lost in his inability to think.
Lowering her down onto the bed, he perched himself carefully above her, returning his attention to her lips. Her slender fingers tangled in his hair and her back arched beneath him, causing him to growl softly against her lips, his hand wandering down over her waist and tugging at the fabric of her skirt to lift it. He knew he should stop himself; they were alone in a hotel room with the only keys to the room in their possession, but he was emotionally weakened by everything that had happened lately. He wasn't exactly in a sound state of mind, and her need was enough to consume him.
Doubt echoing in his head, he finally found bare skin, nipping at her lips as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress, brushing lightly over smooth skin. Suddenly she stiffened beneath him and he froze, realizing that he was probably moving far too fast for her. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her clenched features in dismay; her brows were furrowed and her mouth was contorted in something close to a grimace.
"Robin," he murmured helplessly when he felt agony sweep across their connection, followed quickly by a confused flurry of emotion that left him reeling. By the time it subsided he was shuddering above her, unable to even breath.
Her eyes opened, jewel-like emerald orbs glowing with unearthly light. Gripping his shirt firmly, she practically sat up beneath him, forcing him to stagger backwards, his eyes glued to hers as she stared at him with unnerving intensity.
"I remember," she whispered, clutching at him even more tightly. "I remember everything."
Amon couldn't speak, simply gaping at her as her skin began to glow faintly as well, her eyes on fire and her skin feverishly hot.
"And I saw something else. The one you need to protect. It's your daughter, isn't it? She's in trouble."
"Robin." For once he was the one who could do nothing but cling to her name. His fingers traced lightly over her face, testing the warmth of her skin wonderingly.
"I understand why you have to go," she said sadly, and he caught her tear with his thumb before it fell. Leaning forward he caught a second tear on her cheek with his lips.
"I don't want to leave you." He was shocked by the meekness in his own voice.
Blinking slowly, she replied, "But you have to."
Swept up in emotion, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, one hand cradling the nape of her neck as his other arm pressed against her lower back. Her arms clung tightly to him as well, and the reverberations of their emotions echoing through their connection and back again were overwhelming enough to drown him.
"Stay with me," she said faintly. "Just for a little while. I know you will still have to go eventually, but please, just hold me until then."
He nodded against her, slowly rearranging them so that they were lying side by side on the bed. It was nearly platonic, such a contrast to the desires that had recently been flooding through him that he could do nothing but lay in bewilderment and hold her crushingly close.
Slowly, reason returned to him as he began to calm down, drawing circles over her slim back and listening to the sound of her heartbeat. Relief that her memories had returned was doubled by relief that it had happened in time to stop him before he rushed through something that he wanted to be able to take the time to enjoy. If he was going to give in entirely and stop fighting what he truly wanted, then he was going to do it right.
"What are you thinking?" she murmured, and he knew that she had felt his shifting emotions and was wondering at them.
"You deserve better than what I almost did," he replied with regret heavy in his voice.
She hugged him tighter, but did not say a word.
----------
Michael's hands hovered over the computer when he heard Dante's dry laugh. Glancing over at him curiously, Michael raised an eyebrow as Dante pushed himself up on his elbows on the bed, his lips curved into a wistful smile.
"Well," Dante said gruffly. "At least someone's happy." Standing up and stretching lazily, he wandered over to where Michael was still regarding him in confusion. "Sorry, kid," he added, patting Michael once lightly on the head before turning and heading for the door.
Watching him go with a sadness he couldn't describe, Michael pieced together what Dante wasn't saying and frowned at his computer screen.
Author's Note:
I know, I know. They just got back together and I'm splitting them up again. I hadn't originally intended things to go this way, but as I was actually writing it out I realized that it couldn't go any other way. Otherwise you people would be screaming that Amon was being a terrible father to abandon his child. That doesn't mean he's going to be missing forever though. He will be back before long, and I think you'll like how it works out in the end.
I had originally intended to do a lot more with Juliano as well at this point, but found that it didn't really fit. I don't think this will be the last we see of him though...
The part of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess that Sakaki was playing in the beginning was a part that really annoyed me—as I'm sure you could imagine. Damn yetis and their race for a heart piece…
Poor Michael…and poor Dante and Trish. I'm so mean to my characters. But at least some of them are having a slightly easier time of it.
Oh, and before I forget to mention it, I'm going to put a disclaimer right here that I am being purposely vague about where they're going. I'm sort of making things up as I go with DMC history, and there's no official word as to where Dante and Vergil grew up. Because of that—and the fact that I write a whole lot faster when I'm not being anal and researching the crap out of locations in my story—this place will henceforth be known as "undisclosed location in Europe." A cop out it may be, but it is a useful one. Plus, I really like having such a cool name for it. We can even shorten it to ULE. I can say right now though that this is going to be one creepy little undisclosed location in Europe. I'm really excited to write about it. But first, we need to get out of the country.