A/N: "Breathless, careless, transcendent into a world of imaginative discoveries and she was there, lifeless like a rag doll yet transparent as a bittersweet memory of my yesteryear.

Oh aching in the moonless wonderment of her sweet downy skin, she entrances, kisses me in the night of starless sky. What an irony that she encompasses and forgives. Only loves sorrow can wound me without dishonesty."

by myself. lol


Dante sits there, a somber figure holding a bottle of Jack Daniels. Lucia hesitates, wavering between the decision to come up to him or leave him to his melancholy trance.

The shadows there reflect the slumping figure with the light of a silver glint just barely notable in the darkness of their contiguous surrounding.

The sound of footsteps, the steady beat of her boots making a rhythmic sound and the demon hunter barely moves, he knows who is behind him and he lifts the bottle to his lips.

"Dante"

"Hmm."

Lucia comes up before him. Her hair, red and bright held up in a pony tail, giving her a look of a younger more innocent woman. She closes her eyes then breathes.

"There was nothing you can do."

"Ah hell, Lucia. I don't need your needy talks or your damn cheer up speeches right now. I just want to……drink and yeah, think." He whispers the last word. They seem to lift up into the airless sky.

"Selfish son of a bitch" she whispers in slow anger.

"What?" his head jerks up. "Look who's calling who selfish." He chuckles, and gives her a toast, lifting up his bottle in a gesture of acknowledgement.

Lucia takes out one of her knives, quick and efficient, the weapon lands effortless between his legs, making a noisy thump. Dante doesn't even make a move, his eyes flash, the deadliness of his teal gaze bore into hers.

In a harsh whisper, he grates, "Is there something else I can do for you?"

"This is NOT the demon hunter I met and have come to know!" her face precariously close to his, "Look at you! Do you want her to see you like this? Do you? Do YOU?"

They perilously stare at another, Dante feeling the sting of her words, and succumbing to the delicious oblivion of the spirits that heal his soul in a bottle.

His hands start to shake, feeling the effects of his failure and hating disappointments.

"Lucia, just leave me alone." Then with a kinder voice, "please."

"Fine."

Listening to the last of her footsteps, the closing of the door, the click, the fading of her departure was he finally able to lift his head and sigh.

"Damn. Women."

The phone rings. He listens to the number of times it rings……5, 6, and 7, click.

He didn't even bother to leave the answering machine on.

Lifting the rest of the contents of the bottle to his lips, he empties the last drop, feeling the sick harsh taste going down his throat. The burning sensation making his eyes blink, and the memories came back like a flooding flash, so close, oh god, if there ever was one, god, god, Trish…..?

The building blew up, like sky rockets in a combustive combination of myriad colors, flashing into the morning light, darkening the skies, a doomsday that ended suddenly.

His throat hurting, he swallows, closes his eyes, rubs them with his fist, wiping away any trace of tear, devils never cry, yeah, that's what I told her.

The knock on the door startles his reverie.

Oh go away.

The knock is persistent.

Lucia has the key to the place so it's certainly not her. Some sucker comes to make a call and perhaps some action will soothe his demon soul. His mortal side, his mothers, the part that made him so human, made him weak as well.

Dante strides to the door, the guns at his hips, his jacket hung carelessly over a chair and he grabs it on the way, and the steadfast knocking continues.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, hold your horses."

He opens the door in a rapid motion, the irritation in his expression changes as he looks at the young woman before him.

"Mister Sparda?"

She was the vision of the same young woman in his poster.

But……better.

Glancing down at her snug clothing, a long coat to ward off the incoming autumn wind, her hair a soft mahogany brown, and eyes that can drown you like a siren calling out to a voyage in a homers odyssey, he liked what he saw. She let herself in, passing me in the tight doorway, their eyes never leaving one another.

"I need your help." She simply said.

Nothing like a new mission to breathe new blood into your veins and Dante could feel a new kind of rush bleed into his soul, the ache burning in his throat lingers. He swallows and he smiles at her. Yeah, devils may cry, but not tonight.

His guns, quivering for the taste of a firing new adventure, throbbing for a new discovery, and eliminating more demons into hell, he takes up her offer.

Time to go to work, guys, Dante thinks as he taps his babies.

The door closes leaving an empty room, the display of various trophies still mounted all around, some old, some new. His desk, undone, reveals atop a picture; framed in loving care, his mother Eva smiling back and a familiar music drifts slowly in.

Devils never cry, Dante Sparda.

finis