Sorry for the delay, folks! Life ... you know. Life. The good news is, there are only two more chapters after this one, so I'm solemnly swearing that this fic will be finished before the summer's end. August, if all goes well. So hold out, folks, because we're starting to wind down and things are starting to go very well.
This is a freaking long chapter, by the way. I'd say that it's to make up for the wait, but it's actually because a lot has to happen before the last chapter. As predicted, we're starting to broach into DMC2 territory, which is all I'm going to say about that because it's a little bit tricky and I don't want to spoil it. This Dante isn't exaaaaactly the Dante of DMC2, by the way, but I don't think anyone wants to remember that Dante anyway. Instead, this is more of the Dante of the later games (3 and 4) who grows up a bit and then goes through the events of DMC2.
Speaking of which, some of you may have noticed that I posted the prologue of the Lady-centric version of this fic, called Ephemerality. People have read it, but only one person has reviewed—which, I'm not going to lie, is actually kind of heartbreaking. I'm not trying to be a reviewmonger, I promise, but if you haven't already read it, go ahead and do so, and if you liked it please let me know! I'm going to continue updating even if nobody reads it, but still, it's nice to know whether or not people like what I'm doing.
Be warned, there are some themes here. :) Let me know if you think I need to bump up the rating, but I think we're still safe at T.
The Passage of Time
Part Three: Longevity
Chapter 3: Counting Down
Trish, despite still looking and acting like woman in her early thirties, was actually chronologically about fourteen years old, and while she didn't behave like an overgrown teenager, there were certain younger qualities that the demon exhibited. For instance, Trish could be strangely petulant at times, whimsically refusing to do something just because it inconvenienced her or because she didn't feel like it. She could be selfish and agitated, mistrustful of Dante and Lady, and generally slightly unpleasant to be around. It wasn't constant, but after a few months of her sudden change of disposition—particularly after three peaceful, fun years of working and living together—Trish's edginess was taxing.
One day when the attitude was a little much to bear, Lady joked that Trish must have been going through puberty. The resulting outburst ended with Lady storming off into her room, Trish steaming on the couch, and Dante standing in front of her and shaking his head.
"Was that really necessary?" he asked her, crossing his arms. He wasn't surprised that he and not Lady was the one who was finally having a talk with the blonde. Lady had once admitted that she was pretty sure she would just berate Trish the entire time; Dante, when he wasn't being resorting to being flippant, could be very patient, albeit still a bit arrogant. For that reason, and because Trish had met him before meeting her, they had agreed that it would perhaps be better for Dante to talk things out with her and see what was wrong.
"Yes," Trish told him bluntly. "She started it."
Dante definitely felt like he was talking to a kid and not to an adult demon, and suppressed the urge to sigh, roll his eyes, or some combination thereof. "'Wishful thinking,' Trish?" he quoted. "'You just wish you'd been a normal kid?'"
"'Normal teen,'" Trish corrected, but already the fire was seeping out of her voice. She looked—uncharacteristically—a little bit defeated. "I screwed up."
"To say the least, yeah," he agreed. A part of him wanted to smile at the fact that Trish hadn't put up much of a fight and had finally admitted to doing something wrong, but he didn't want to bask in the glow of her guilt.
"I've been screwing up," she continued, leaning back into the couch and clasping her hands in her lap. She seemed uncomfortable, speaking as if the words themselves surprised her by coming out of her mouth, much less occurring to her in the first place. "I'm ... sorry."
Here, Dante did let a small smile slip out, but it was a smile of relief so he figured he'd let it slide. "Now tell that to Lady," he instructed, casually unfolding his arms. He thought, briefly, of the brunette sitting in her room and staring at the wall, playing with the pendant around her neck—something that she tended to do when something was bothering her. "She deserves to hear it more than I do."
Trish didn't say anything—something she tended to do when something was bothering her. After a beat, she finally said: "I'm leaving in a week."
"What?" he asked, staring at her incredulously. "That's ... what?"
"I should have told you before," Trish admitted, sitting up slightly, "but I kind of hoped I would change my mind before then. I don't ... want to leave exactly." She shook her head. "And yet I do."
"Why?" Dante asked, probably painting an impressive picture of astonishment. He had kind of assumed that Trish had settled down after returning from her wanderings. Yet again she had always been a bit fickle, relishing in the opportunities to run off on her own and work undercover, as she had in Fortuna and many other circumstances. Her favorite part of the killing was always the hunt, as she had told him once, and the more challenging the hunt the better. There was something in Trish's nature that, no matter how direct she could be, would always enjoy doing things in an underhanded way; likewise, despite her loyalty towards her friends, would always take a moment to consider whether or not helping them would best suit her more selfish needs. He obviously held none of that against her—no one was perfect, after all—but he hadn't expected that particular bomb to drop again.
"I don't know, I'm antsy. I'm sure you've noticed," she threw in, smiling wryly as Dante snorted. "I know we're hunting, but the walk-in-and-kill missions are driving me insane. I can't rely on travel missions anymore to let me escape from the routine, I actually ... need to escape for real." She looked aside and ran a hand through her hair. "I know I'm running. And I don't want to leave you guys behind but it's something that I need to do. I like you, but I need my space."
"I'm guessing you don't just mean a few hours in the day when we're not allowed to come talk to you, right?" Dante instinctively joked.
"Yeah." She laughed in what would have been embarrassment if Trish were capable of expressing such an emotion—it was more to validate his attempt to diffuse the tension that had been settling over them. "I don't know if it makes much sense, but it's what I need. It's just ... wanderlust." She sighed tiredly. "And I don't know when I'll be back."
"It's cool, Trish," Dante said, nodding. "Take as much time as you need, and then get your ass back here."
"I promise," Trish responded, smiling sincerely. Whoever this sincere Trish was, he definitely liked her, though he would always prefer the brusque one that he had known for about thirteen years now.
"You should go tell Lady," he added. While the other woman would definitely be sad to see her friend leave, but would, at the very least, be satisfied and relieved by the explanation for the blonde's recent attitude.
Trish stood, stretched slightly, and shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm going to go for a quick walk. I think we both need to cool down a bit first. I'll tell her everything when I get back in a little bit."
While Dante knew that Trish wasn't about to skip town or anything, he still frowned as he watched her head towards the door. "Well, should I tell her anything?" he asked, crossing his arms. "She deserves to know."
The blonde paused next to the door, hand moving to rest on the wood. "You know what? Tell her everything. Tell her that I'm going for a walk and that she and I will talk when I get back, but tell her everything yourself first."
"Why?" What was the woman pulling? She had that knowing smile on her face again—the one that said: "I know exactly what will happen but I'm not going to tell you, so why don't you just try it out for yourself?" Curse the woman; she was a schemer.
"Just ... trust me, okay? As hard as that may sometimes be." She opened the door and, laughing as she passed through the threshold, added: "I was worried about leaving the two of you alone, but I think you'll be okay without me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dante called out after her, but the door closed behind her and the question remained unanswered.
Well. That was cryptic.
He didn't move for a moment, dreading what he had to do next, but ... well, it was inevitable. It was a bit unfair that he would be the one to break the news to Lady, particularly when she was already in a foul mood, but it had to happen. Besides, he had a bit of experience cleaning up some of Trish's messes in the wake of her less successful plans—loath as she was to admit it, the demon wasn't always right. In fact, more often than not, she boasted about being always right regardless, at which point he and Lady would share a skeptical look.
Dante smiled. He had always imagined that Lady and Trish were friends so that they could gang up against him and get their way, but after living with each other for a while they had developed a language of glances with which to communicate outside of Trish's knowledge. Granted, he had that with Trish for when Lady was being difficult as well and knew that Trish and Lady still maintained that "Dante is an idiot" camaraderie upon which they had based their early friendship, but it was different knowing that he had such a connection with Lady. It made him feel as though he were privy to a wealth of information that she had previously denied him, even though they had already developed such a bond when they had spent three or so years working together in their twenties—knowing that the bond had not only lasted all those years, but also grown and flourished in the presence of while still excluding a consistent third party was strangely comforting.
He took a moment to pick up two of the three beers that had been discarded on his desk earlier before Lady and Trish had had their spat and made his way towards the back, where Lady had her room. There were actually only two bedrooms in Devil May Cry, Lady's current room actually having been an old storage room that he barely used—he had a second one where he kept his weapons and some of his trophies, so he was willing to condense everything into one room and convert this room into another bedroom. It had a window, at least, so Lady was more than fine with it.
When he reached her bedroom door, he heard no sounds coming from inside except for, faintly, her breathing. He again imagined that she was sitting on her bed, staring ahead of her, playing with her pendant and thinking; Lady was the kind of person who expressed her frustration through a wealth of secondary activity, so for her to be doing next to nothing meant that something was really bothering her. And he knew that Trish's words were bothering her: it was something that would have bothered him a lot as well, and he knew that the shift in Lady's life had arguably been worse. Granted, he had gone from living in a happy family to homeless, but as she had once told him, Lady had assumed a lot of responsibility at a young age all the while coping with the idea that demons were real and that her father was siding with them. He wasn't sure he would ever understand what that must have been like.
Dante knocked on the door—five knocks, his knock, she would realize. It took her a moment, but she eventually answered: "Come in," her voice quiet but still firm.
He cracked open the door and, unsurprisingly, saw Lady sitting on her bed and playing with her necklace, but staring not at the wall but at him. Her expression was blank, but he could still read hurt in her features, particularly the shadows around her eyes. She seemed ... older somehow—not that she was old; she wasn't young either, but she certainly wasn't old. It was just that, when she looked as tired as she did, she betrayed the fact that she was pushing forty and that she wasn't as young as she seemed. The rest of the time she looked great for her age—having a younger face and staying in such good shape for her job had truly worked to her advantage—but she wasn't young anymore.
He suddenly felt guilty: he didn't want to be thinking of Lady as getting older. He had once thought, when he met her in the Tower, that she would probably die young, cut down by a scythe from a Pride in some dark alley where nobody could come find her and bring her to a hospital. It had been a gruesome mental image, but a realistic one, though he had always hoped that she might make it until she was older. Now she was in her prime—maybe the tail end of her prime at the latest, but with the shape she was in she could certainly continue fighting demons for at least another decade. This was a good thing, because he wasn't prepared to deal with the idea of Lady having to retire, despite Trish's occasional reminders.
"Well?" Lady snapped, staring at him in expectation.
"Oh," Dante responded, a little taken aback by Lady's attitude but aware of the fact that he had been spacing out. "Your beer."
"Thanks," she said after a second, standing up to grab it from his outstretched hand. She took a quick sip of the beer, which was starting to go a bit warm but still cool enough to be good, and added with an apologetic look: "Sorry about that. I've had better afternoons."
Dante couldn't mask the smirk that broke across his face. "Two apologies in one day? I'm on a roll or something," he joked, even though it was true. The one downside to living with two powerful women was how little they would admit they were wrong.
Lady blinked in surprise. "Wait, two? She apologized?"
"Yeah," he answered, smirk turning into a smile as Lady began smiling herself. "For the past few months. She says she's sorry about what happened, too." He took a sip of beer and sat down on Lady's bed, knowing that she wouldn't really mind. She made a point to glare—a quick formality—before joining him. "She'll tell you herself too when she gets back from her walk. She wants to clear her head."
"Okay," Lady said, nodding. "I can live with that. Good. As long as this is settled."
Dante knew that he would have to break the news to Lady next, but dreaded doing so—he kind of knew what Trish had felt like when she avoided telling them that she planned on leaving for who know how long. Instead, he took a sip of beer, hoping to delay the inevitable.
"Something's bothering you," Lady said, so blunt that it was almost accusing. "What is it?"
Dante laughed mirthlessly into his beer and removed the bottle from his lips. "You know me too well."
"Normally you'd be gloating at this point, so you must be hiding something," Lady pointed out, scooting up on the mattress so she could lean against he wall. "Spill. No secrets between the three of us."
He shot her a quick look before looking back down at the beer bottle. "She's leaving next week," he said, picking at the condensation-soaked label. When Lady didn't answer, he glanced back at her, only to find that she was staring back at him with a blank look on her face. "She just told me. Apparently she's been going a little crazy and needs to go off on her own for a while. She'll come back, but she's not sure when."
"That ... explains it," Lady confirmed, her face still slightly blank but showing signs of disappointment. "Well, whatever she thinks is best, I'll support her."
"You okay?" Dante impulsively asked, also scooting back on the mattress to join her against the wall. He realized that his free hand was close to hers, but resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.
Lady laughed momentarily and stared straight forward. "It just makes me think," she explained. "Which one of us to go crazy and leave next?"
Dante was almost hurt by the allegation that they would drive each other crazy, but knew that she had said it, in part, to lighten the tension. "Well, I don't know about you, but I live here. I don't plan on leaving," he joked in response.
"I live here too, Dante," she pointed out. "I don't plan on leaving either."
Pleased by her answer, he raised his beer bottle and shot her a meaningful smirk. Lady smiled back and touched her bottle to his with a satisfying clink.
While Dante had been very sad to see Trish go, at the same time he was grateful for the opportunity to spend time exclusively with Lady.
To be honest, he wasn't even sure what that meant anymore. Her rejection was about twelve years old now, the pain having long since faded away and replaced by a need to simply continue getting closer and closer to Lady—to what end, he wasn't sure. While his desire to be her friend had certainly been born from his feelings for her, he had stopped imagining the two of them getting together, the occasional fantasy excluded.
Trish had phrased it very well when she had told him, at one point, that any relationship between him and Lady was a missed opportunity. Despite the fact that something might have worked between them, if it didn't back then, then it probably never would. It didn't matter how close they were, how well they could read each other, how openly and often they talked about anything and everything, how they never seemed to be bored of each other—those were all things that really good friends did. He and Trish did that, but were they going to start dating? Fuck no. Just because Dante saw Lady as incredibly beautiful and still wondered what it would have been like if they had gotten together, it didn't mean that anything was going to happen between them. That ship had sailed, despite the twinge of bitterness that had stuck with him.
Perhaps Lady had sensed that his intentions had changed and was letting him get closer to her as a result. She was definitely a lot more at ease around him than she had been before they had started working together, and in the aftermath of Trish leaving she had only grown closer. To be honest, he imagined that it had something to do with the fact that they were both a bit older: while they still had strong, stubborn personalities, neither of them were as hotheaded as they had been in their twenties. Their personalities complemented each other more now, playfully chiding each other in moments of arrogance or indulgence. It just ... worked. He didn't know how else to put it. They worked well together, both as friends and as partners. She seemed happy, and this made him happy.
One day less than two years after Trish had left, when Lady stepped out to make a phone call, Dante got a call about a weird job: some girl needed help stealing some relic out of a museum.
"Listen, kid, I'm a demon hunter, not a thief," he said, massaging his forehead. Shit but they got some strange calls nowadays. "Call someone else."
"Wait, you do not understand!" the girl protested—she spoke strangely, and had an accent that he couldn't identify. European or something. "I cannot tell you much, but you're the only one who can help me, Son of Sparda."
This piqued his interest. Despite his fame as the son of Sparda within certain circles, the average caller wouldn't be privy to that kind of information and know him only as a reliable demon hunter. Those who knew his heritage would have found out for one of two reasons: either they wanted to stop someone who was trying to exploit Sparda or some other demon's power, or they wanted revenge against the Sparda bloodline for his father's actions over two millennia ago—or some combination thereof. Whoever this girl was, it was worth listening to her.
"There is a coin called 'The Medaglia' at the Museum of Archaeology in New York," she continued. "We need to steal it before the man who wants to use it for ill does."
"Who says you aren't going to use it for your own purposes?" Dante asked suspiciously, leaning forward in his seat as if to intimidate the girl, despite the fact that she wasn't there.
"Please, I am only a protector," she explained, sighing. "If you are interested, please meet me at the museum tomorrow at midnight. I will tell you more there."
"We'll see," Dante said, frowning. He didn't like information being withheld like this, but if this girl was genuine then he understood why. "What's your name, kid?"
"My name is Lucia," the girl responded. "I hope to see you in a day's time, Son of Sparda." And with that, she hung up.
Dante was eager to tell Lady about this mission so she could help him determine whether or not it was legitimate, but Lady was taking a long time with her phone call. In the time that he waited, another call came in for a job for that night: just a few harpy-like demons that hung around a construction site at night. Nothing too complicated.
Lady finally returned in the evening, three hours after she had left in the first place, looking a little bit more haggard than she had when she left. "Sorry about that," she said, putting her phone and sunglasses on the desk, lying down on the sofa, and shutting her eyes.
"Are you okay?" Dante asked, watching as she breathed and massaged her temples. When she didn't immediately respond, he figured he would change the subject and wait for her to tell him what was bothering her. "We got two jobs when you were out."
"Really?" Lady asked, her right eye peeking open to look at him. "What and when?"
"One's tonight, something like harpies at the construction site on Sherman and Greenwood," Dante reported. "They'll contact us about payment when the demons are dead."
"Fair enough. And the other?"
"Some girl named Lucia wants us—or maybe just me, I don't know—to help her steal this coin from a museum tomorrow night," he explained. As he spoke, Lady straightened on the sofa to watch him more carefully.
"Which museum?" Lady asked.
"Museum of Archaeology."
"New York? That's kind of far," she mused, relaxing against the back of the sofa. "Travel mission, then. Trish might have liked it."
The last time they had heard from Trish, she had promised to come home soon. That had been several months ago. They knew she was safe—it was Trish, after all—but still wondered where the other woman was and when she would actually return.
"The girl didn't say much about the mission, but apparently someone else is after the coin," Dante finished, trying not to think about Trish. "Does it sound legit to you? She called me Son of Sparda."
Lady paused for a moment in consideration. "It's worth checking out, anyway. It's definitely not a prank," she answered, resting her chin in her hand. "Either the girl is trying to stop someone who's after demonic power, or she's the one after the demonic power, in which case you'll want to be near her so you can stop her." She sighed, moving her hand from her chin to her neck to give herself a one-handed massage. "Either way you'll have to go without me."
"Why?" Dante asked, surprised. Lady almost never turned down missions, and this definitely wasn't the type of mission she would opt out of. "I don't know if she knew we worked together when she asked for my help, but if she's for real then she'll like all the help she can get. If she protests, then we'll know something's up."
"It's not that," Lady explained, standing up to sit on the edge of the desk, closer to him. "I got a call from the law firm that managed the sale of my family's old estate. Apparently the current owners just found some kind of ... secret room where my father did his research. They want me there to help clean it out." She sighed. "I'm leaving tomorrow, and will be there for at least a few days."
Despite being casually perched on the desk, Lady looked incredibly tense, her eyes flashing with memories. Had she even been in her house since her mother's death? He wasn't sure, but he knew that he certainly wouldn't want to return to his childhood home either, even after all these years. He instinctively reached for the hand that was resting on the desk and gently held it in an attempt to show his support—Lady, surprisingly, didn't pull her hand away, but squeezed back.
"I'll go with you," Dante offered. She needed someone there with her when she was dealing with the past like that, and he wanted to be there for her.
However, Lady shook her head. "No, you have to go to the Museum of Archaeology," she told him. "I can handle it. The job's more important."
Loath as he was to agree with her, she was right: the job was more important, if there was a chance that someone was going after demonic power. He would have preferred to accompany her, but he had his responsibility. "I'll tell you what," Dante said, deciding that if he was going to go on the mission he might as well have a bit of fun first. Letting go of her hand to pull a coin out of his pocket, he said: "Heads I go to the Museum of Archaeology; tails I go with you."
"Dante, this isn't something to joke about," Lady protested. "You're going—"
"Whoa!" he cried, tossing the coin up into the air. Lady stopped talking and watched as he caught the coin. Opening up his palm, he declared: "Heads. Looks like I'm going to the museum."
"Dante," Lady said very simply, looking a little disappointed in him.
"Oh, don't get mad, I was going to the museum anyway," he assuaged her, laughing and handing her the coin. "Look. Both sides are the same."
"Where did you get this thing?" Lady smirked despite herself, turning the coin over to look at both sides. "It kind of looks like Trish."
"I saw it at that antique shop you dragged me into the other day," he explained, watching her eyes as she scrutinized the coin. "They didn't have any of girls with short hair holding rocket launchers, so I settled for this one."
"Cute," Lady deadpanned, tossing the coin back his way. "Come on. We have a job to do." She slid off of the desk and, heading back into her room to grab her guns and Kalina Ann, added: "Let's have some fun before we both skip town."
"Son of a bitch," Lady groaned, rubbing the back of her head from where she sat against a support beam.
"You okay?" Dante asked, coming up next to her.
"Are those things dead?" she asked, and sighing when he nodded. "Then I am now."
"It's not your fault," he casually said as he watched her massage the back of her head. "You were caught off-guard when that one dove at you. It also wasn't your fault that the pillar was in your way—"
"I have bullets that I didn't use on those harpies. Don't make me use them on you," Lady threatened, glaring up at him darkly as she continued to massage the back of her head. "Fuck," she added under her breath, wincing slightly.
"Do you need any help?" Dante asked, more serious this time, kneeling down to her level. "I'll drive us home, and then we'll pick up your bike in the morning so you can head out."
"Yeah, that sounds good," Lady admitted. "I'll be okay, but I'm dizzy as hell right now."
"Well, hold on, let's flip for it," he joked, but still held out his hand to help her stand. He pulled her up, and then offered his arm for her to hold onto on the way back.
"You know, using the coin like that suits you," she said, grabbing onto his arm as they walked in the direction of where they had parked.
"Really?" Dante asked, surprised. He hadn't really expected to say anything like that.
"Yeah," she continued. "That way you can still come off as an asshole, even when you're about to do the right thing."
He snorted. "Oh, come on, you don't actually think I'm an asshole, do you?"
"Yes?" Lady joked, and laughed when Dante mock-glared at her. "No, I don't. You're—" She hesitated. "You're not an asshole, don't worry."
"Good to know," he responded, smiling when she held onto his arm a little tighter. "You don't need to go to a hospital, do you?"
"What? No. I'll get a bump, but it's not bad at all. I just don't want to drive myself off the road because I'm dizzy, you know?" Lady laughed again, but this time it was less humorous. "I'm just getting too old for this, that's all."
"No, you aren't," Dante very quickly and almost sharply said. Maybe it was too harsh, but ... no, she couldn't be too old: she was still in good shape and had sharp wits. It was just an off night; that was all. He had them too sometimes, and his off nights usually involved being impaled on Rebellion, so she had it good.
Lady didn't answer, most likely still agonizing over her carelessness.
Either way, they reached the spot where they had both parked, and Lady let go of his arm to get her helmet from her bike. Dante immediately missed the feeling of her arm locked with his and hoped that his sharp reaction hadn't put her off at all. This little snafu of a job aside, he wanted to spend a nice evening with her before they parted ways for at least a few days.
As he climbed onto his bike he realized that the last time he had given Lady a ride on his bike was when he was twenty-five, still overconfident and convinced that the way to Lady's heart would be short. They hadn't ridden together since then simply because the need hadn't come up—twenty years later, he was getting another chance. Back then she had put up a fight over him giving her a ride home, but this time she hadn't so much as blinked at his offer.
This time, when she climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist like she was supposed to, her grip was more desperate.
"Are you feeling better?" Dante asked Lady as they walked into the shop.
"Yeah," she answered, smiling lightly as removed Kalina Ann from where it rested on her back, leaning it against the wall before removing all but one of her guns from their holsters to replace them on a small table near the sofa. "I definitely feel the bruise forming, but I'm not dizzy anymore, so it's all good. I'll be fine to leave in the morning."
"Good," Dante said, walking over to his desk and pulling a bottle of tequila from the drawer. "Now how about that fun we talked about?"
To his surprise, Lady shook her head. "I'm ... actually kind of tired. It's not my head," she quickly added, "I promise. I'm just not up for staying up and drinking, so I'm going to call it a night."
With that, she turned and headed down the hallway towards her bedroom. Dante remained in his seat, flabbergasted, before looking over at the clock on the wall and checking the time.
It was only 10 PM.
He practically leapt out of his chair, still desperately clutching the bottle of tequila as he ran towards her bedroom. Bursting through the door and pointing at her with the hand that held the tequila, he demanded: "What's this all about?"
Lady rolled her eyes, apparently having hoped that she would just be able to go to bed without any arguments. She was holding onto her plain black travel bag, dropping it on the bed in annoyance. "I'm tired, I feel like an idiot, and—"
"Why do you feel like an idiot, because you got hurt?" Dante pressed. "You never used to get upset like this when you got injured before, and I've seen you walk out of much worse with your head held high."
"I'm not upset," Lady muttered.
"Then what?" When she didn't answer, Dante put the bottle of tequila on the dresser by her door and shut it behind him—for what purpose he wasn't sure, since there was nobody else in the building to overhear their conversation. "Look, I'm not gonna drop this."
"There's nothing to talk about," she insisted, turning to her closet to pull out a few pairs of dark pants that she seldom wore unless she needed to do something more formal, and packing them in her bag.
Dante exhaled roughly. She was being impossibly stubborn, and he wasn't sure how to handle it. None of his usual techniques would work today: Trish wasn't there to send in as backup, and he would give Lady time to cool down if they had such time to waste. But Lady was leaving for her old home tomorrow morning, and he wanted to figure out what had gotten her into such a funk now at least so that he knew that she was leaving without holding any bitterness, but also so that she could address the issues surrounding her father's work without worrying about anything else.
Unfortunately, as he had learned over the years, the only way to get her talking was to push her buttons, and he knew a few topics of conversation that could work her up.
"You're not too old for this, if that's what's bothering you," Dante said, leaning against the door behind him. Seeing Lady freeze in her movements, he knew that he was on, or at least near, the right track, and pressed on: "It's not like you're losing your touch or anything. You just—"
"Stop," she interrupted, turning to face him and tossing the button-downs she had been holding onto the bed, missing her travel bag by a foot. Her face was cold and serious, and more than a little bit hurt. "Stop right now. You have no idea what you're talking about."
Dante frowned, surprised by the fact that he was getting slightly offended. "What? What don't I know? Please, Lady, tell me."
Lady laughed sardonically. "You're lucky," she said accusingly. "You're a half-demon and nearly immortal, so you don't know what it's like to walk into a room full of demons and ask yourself if you're going to make it out alive."
"That's bullshit," he contended, raising his voice a little. "My healing ability is not perfect, and with enough strain I could die as easily as you."
"Oh, sorry, how many Vergils do you need to stab you before you finally bleed out?" Lady put her hands on her hips—obviously aware of how low of a blow it was to bring up his brother, but too angry to care—and glared at him even more intensely. "You want to know what I'm feeling right now? I'm feeling aches and pains from injuries that I'd once ignored. I've always had some close calls, and while it was so easy then to prance out of them and think of myself as untouchable, it's not so easy anymore. I'm slower than I used to be, my aim's not as sharp, I get tired more easily—not that you'd notice, because you're always in peak physical condition. You kind of need that to not get killed."
"So you get knocked aside by a demon once tonight—most people couldn't survive the shit you've been through, and now you're railing on me for being in better shape than you? What are you, jealous?" Dante accused. "That's rich."
"Don't belittle me, Dante," Lady spat. "It's more complicated than that."
"You're right, it is!" he insisted. "You know something? Yeah, having demonic blood is great when I don't want to die during a mission, but you want to know what else's it's great for? Being the only survivor." Lady didn't say anything when he paused for a breath, so he continued: "Everyone I knew as a kid died—"
"So did—" Lady started, but he cut her off again.
"No, you don't know," he continued, raising his voice a little more. "You survived because you weren't there—I was there, and did that change anything? No. I woke up, soaked in my own blood but without any scratches, my mother was dead, Vergil was gone, and my father had long since disappeared to who the fuck knows where, and where did that leave me?" He ran a hand through his hair so hard that he nearly ripped out some strands. "I know I'm going to outlast everyone except Trish, and I would fucking kill to be able to have the luxury of death."
"Yeah? You weren't the only one in that boat, Dante!" Lady shouted. "It would have been great to die along with my mother, but if I had then I never would have had the chance to kill my father. So yeah I had the option if I fucking felt like it, but I didn't really have a choice." He was aware of the tears welling up in her eyes—he felt like shit for starting this fight with her the day before she had to face those memories again, but maybe this was exactly what she needed to get off of her chest.
It was funny, what they had just argued about: time, death—both things that were issues for them in their own distinct ways. For him, time dragged on slowly, never-ending, events like islands in a sea of monotony and death a distant shore. For her, everything must have moved quickly and quietly, with death's promise looming in the near-distance and ready to strike. She fought to stay alive and he fought because he couldn't die, and they each envied the other's fortune.
Funny how, despite those differences in opinion and perspective, they understood each other so well.
He felt his own face soften, and while his pulse was still racing, his blood didn't feel as hot as it had been moments ago. "I never had that choice, and I never will," Dante said, this time a lot calmer. "So I'm going to watch everything around me die and I won't be able to do anything about it. I don't even get to be as lucky as my father."
Lady frowned, but it was more in confusion. She seemed less angry than she had been before—she almost seemed a little guilty herself. "How was your father lucky?" she asked. Her right hand twitched as if she wanted to reach out for him, but she didn't move it. Instead she stood, staring up at him.
Dante smiled nostalgically, staring at the wall in front of him before letting his eyes drift back down to Lady. "I think he finally died," Dante admitted, "or he's as good as dead, anyway. Wherever he is, he never had to watch my mother die."
"He also never had to watch her grow old," Lady added, sighing. "He might have felt differently if he had stayed as beautiful as ever while she had just withered away." She averted her eyes, staring at the other corner of her room so as not to stare at him. "It's not as hard to watch us die when we're old and useless and you're still young and be—" She stopped speaking, choosing not to finish her thought.
The air changed, he realized, as something unspoken—that had, all things considered, remained unspoken—suddenly came to attention. Lady looked surprisingly meek, and for a moment he wondered if she was channeling the fifteen-year-old Mary who had grown up too fast and become Lady before her time. It was strangely refreshing, and Dante saw a sense of completeness in her stiffly embarrassed posture. Everything seemed to have come full circle for them: just as he had seen the grown woman in the girl, he was starting to see the girl in the grown woman, a strange effect that transcended their earlier discussion of aging. It was as if no time had passed at all between their first meeting and now.
"That's not how it works," Dante said, or maybe promised, as he lifted his hands to rest on her shoulders.
"Oh?" she asked, recovering, turning back to scrutinize him. A few fine lines appeared on what otherwise would have been smooth skin, but he decided that it didn't matter. The crease between her brows didn't change how fierce of a glare she was giving him, and laugh lines only made her smiles more brilliant. Besides, he didn't expect something flawless because he knew that he wasn't flawless either, despite joking otherwise. "How does it work, then?"
He felt her hand reach up and touch his arm, and he felt himself smile. "You flip a coin," he answered.
She laughed lightly, eyes still locked with his. "I didn't realize we were betting on anything," she pointed out.
"Just call it," he instructed, removing one of his hands from her shoulder to reach for the trick coin in his pocket. "Heads or tails?"
"Heads," she said certainly, her hand sliding farther up his arm until it hooked behind his neck, brushing the hairs at the nape of his neck.
"Heads it is, then." He knew his smile had just gotten wider and probably looked really silly, but he had stopped caring when she had started twirling her fingers into his hair, unintentionally—or maybe intentionally, he wasn't even sure anymore—pulling herself closer. He wanted to close his eyes and indulge in the rather pleasurable sensation, but her eyes were locked with his and he didn't want to break their moment. Strangely enough, her eyes was still a little bit guarded, as if she were trying to maintain one more defense against what he hadn't realized she wanted. More than ever he wanted to know: how long had this been going on? But he knew he would have to save the questions for later; this was the moment he had been waiting for.
"Watch me carefully," he instructed, and with that, he tossed the coin up into the air. Her eyes flitted up, watching as the coin careened up towards the ceiling; before it could start its journey back down, he announced: "Heads. You win."
And kissed her.
The coin must have fallen somewhere near them, but he wasn't exactly paying attention. All he could feel was Lady: her lips moving against his, her skin brushing against his, and her chest pressed against his—all in tandem, fitting together as if they had never been apart. Dante felt desperate and calm—desperate because he had waited so long, and calm because he suddenly felt as thought he had all the time in the world. Yet all he wanted to do was press forward, close the space between them, make up for lost time and fill the rest of it with their bodies.
Lady's leg had somehow nestled its way between his as the gaps between them tightened even further, hands running down arms and sides, over face, threaded between strands of black and white hair. The kiss naturally deepened when there was no other space between them to fill, their tongues battling for dominance as if they were fighting with words. Vaguely, Dante wondered when the last time she had done this was—because at her age, and the way she moved her tongue, she certainly had —but, given the fact that he couldn't currently answer the question for himself anyway, there was no point in even musing over the issue. Instead, he took a few steps back, legs hitting her bed and causing him to fall back—despite the fact that he hadn't even remembered being in front of the bed in the first place.
Lady followed him onto the bed, her body naturally adjusting to straddle his hips as she dipped down to meet his mouth. Her hands cupped his head, fingers once again weaving through his hair and massaging the scalp as his own arms reached around her body to run along her spine. As his fingers brushed past her lower back she let out a moan and tugged on his hair, to which he responded by bucking his hips forward slightly.
With that, Lady pulled up, freeing one hand from his hair to wipe back her bangs. "You're ... hard," she pointed out, laughing lightly.
"...is something wrong?" Dante responded, feeling a little self-conscious. What, did she think he was small? Because he wasn't. He definitely wasn't small. No way.
"No," she insisted, though her voice trailed off into thought. "I'm just surprised."
Feeling more than a little threatened at this point, Dante took advantage of Lady's hesitance to flip them over—and more onto the bed—so that he was lying on top of her, between her splayed legs. Her eyes shot back up to meet his, still a little bit surprised but clouded over with lust. "What's so surprising?" he asked, mouth meeting the skin of her neck to trace the arteries. He sincerely hoped that her answer had nothing to do with his performance. No woman had complained before, and this would definitely be a terrible time to break that streak.
"I..." Lady started, her words cutting off abruptly when he found a sensitive spot on her neck and traced it with his tongue. "I don't want this to go too fast," she finally managed to blurt out despite Dante's continued use of his tongue on her neck.
With that, Dante froze, quickly pulling back to stare at her lust-clouded eyes. "What?"
"It's ... sudden," she admitted, panting. "And I don't know if it's the right time for ... for this." She accented her words by gesturing out with her arms, one hand accidentally brushing against his arm and, somehow, causing a shiver to run down his spine. "Not when we're both about to leave."
Dante frowned. "Are you sure? Couldn't it be just something to look forward to?"
Lady laughed, her voice stronger this time. "Oh, believe me, it's something to look forward to," she joked, but the truth written between the lines was enough to boost his ego a little. "But there's so much I need to take care of first, and I kind of want things to be simpler when I'm back there." She reached up and ran her hands back up his sides, smiling at him pruriently. "And then I come back and I get rewarded for a job well done."
"That's true," he agreed, relenting slightly by climbing off of her and lying down next to her instead. Of course he was still pretty hard, but that would subside after a little while—he was happy to just stay next to her for now.
"In case you're wondering, I ... I do want to give us a try," she added. "But I need to sort through that last bit of my life before I can move on to the good things again."
"I understand," Dante said, which he did. "It's fine. We'll both head out tomorrow, and when we're both back, we'll have that fun you talked about earlier."
"What, this wasn't fun enough for you?" Lady teased.
"There's always more fun to be had," he responded with a wink. "Besides, I've waited this long already—a few more days won't kill me."
Lady laughed under her breath, letting the room fill with a comfortable silence. He had so many question that he wanted to ask, but they all were silenced when she asked hers: "Stay here tonight?"
"Yeah," Dante promised, lifting his arm to allow her to get closer. She pressed up against his body, head resting against his shoulder as she draped her arm across his torso. Smiling, he rested his arm against her side and leaned his head closer to hers, pressing a light kiss against her forehead. He felt himself nodding off slightly despite it still being a bit early in the evening, but allowed himself to just shut his eyes and enjoy the feeling of Lady breathing against him.
"Dante?" he heard her ask into his neck.
"Yeah, Lady?" he answered, keeping his eyes closed but allowing his hand to rub her back gently.
"How long have you been waiting?" she continued drowsily.
He figured she probably knew the answer to that question, but wanted to hear it from him anyway. "Oh, I don't know," he started, sighing into his words. "About twenty-six years?"
She didn't immediately answer, and Dante imagined that she must have nodded off. Just as well—he was starting to do the same. As sleep started to catch up with him, he heard her answer:
"Thank you."
Dante smiled and held Lady closer.