Author's Note: Thank you so much for encouraging reviews, guys, I was pondering making this a multi-chaptered fic, actually, so, Seeker must have read my mind there. This chap's written a little more simply, and Dante is dark as promised.
–some might think he's a bit ooc, but that's just the way I see him- Also, I've added Trish's emotional struggle as well.
I hope you enjoy this. Remember, reviews are always welcome, and inspire me to write more. Please do let me know if you like it.
Trish stepped out of the mall, looking over her shoulder warily at those on the street before she began walking down the sidewalk. One hand rested on her backpack strap that was slung over her shoulder, a shopping bag that contained a brand new pair of supple black gloves, the latest cd by his favourite band for Dante's birthday, and a bottle of his favourite bourbon clutched in her left hand.
It was getting dark, shadows deepening. Trish felt right at home.
She and Dante had become creatures of the night, spending most of the day asleep, exhausted, and handling the "local concerns" after daylight.
A light mid-April drizzle began to fall, and she tipped her black cowboy hat down a little bit to keep the rain from falling on her face.
Today, she didn't mind the rain so much.
Today, she would break the barriers Dante had erected between them in the past few months.
She was determined to make things right again, for both of them. She couldn't sit and watch him brood over his past. She cared about him.
She cared about him a lot.
If only Dante could see that, she thought to herself, suppressing a wistful sigh. When he looked at her, all he saw was a friend, sometimes even worse; a mother, even though they were pretty much the same age.
Why couldn't he see that she was more than that? Why did he refuse to see her for what she truly was; a woman?
In an effort to make herself more attractive for his birthday, she had tied her cascading golden hair back in a high pony tail, dark make-up outlined her eyes, and her usual choice of black leather outfit was replaced by a more elegant, but practical pair of dark red velvet pants that accentuated her slender figure, and a crimson corset.
Hurrying through the traffic, she crossed the street and with a smile, headed for Devil Never Cry.
Night had embraced the city by the time Trish got home.
Shrugging the backpack off her shoulder, she dumped the groceries on the kitchen counter and went upstairs. She paused outside Dante's bedroom door and knocked lightly.
When there was no reply, she quietly opened the door and let herself in, casting a glance around.
The room was ill-lighted and empty. The curtains were tightly drawn, and strangely enough, there wasn't a single take-out container or any other rubbish in sight. Even the bed was made, and desk wiped clean; its only ornament a framed picture of Dante's mother, Eva.
She carefully trod over to the desk, and nearly jumped in surprise when she heard Dante's voice behind her.
She waited for the vicious session of tickling followed by a warm hug, just like he did after every time he sneaked up on her.
Instead, he just stood by the door, his arms crossed in front of him.
"Where've you been, if you don't mind me asking?" His voice was decidedly flat, coldly polite.
Trish was quiet for a moment or so. Dante looked breathtaking as always, but in a different, more imposing, dangerous kind of way, in his blues and blacks. His twin pistols were buckled to his belt. Low lamplight caused shadows to flicker and dance about him as he moved quietly with a predator-like grace. Trish wanted to reach out and smooth those errant spikes of white hair.
"Out." She said, tilting her head up and smiling at him from under the brim of her hat.
And where exactly is that, my dear? What are you concocting behind my back?
"I can see that." Dante said softly, and stepped inside the room, shutting the door behind him and –much to Trish's surprise- locking it.
She watched apprehensively as he slowly made his way over.
"You still haven't answered my question." He murmured.
Trish raised a gold-brown eyebrow. "But I just did…I told you I was out."
"I'm afraid that's not a satisfactory answer, Trish. Out could refer to a number of places." He said in a cold, calculated voice, and crossed the room with soft strides, retrieving Force Edge from its place. Trish saw that the hand that closed over the hilt was clad in a fingerless glove of worn, light brown leather.
Wherever he got that from…
Her instinct told her this was not the time to play games, but she did not want to spoil his birthday surprise either.
"I was just getting some groceries done." She replied.
Dante nodded slightly, as if some inner suspicion had just been confirmed, and ran his fingertips down the length of the sharp, cold blade, caressingly.
"You do love me, don't you Trish?" He asked abruptly, distractedly, his voice a deliberate low murmur.
"Yes." She said, stumbling over the word, a sudden quiver creeping into her voice. Then she cleared her throat and repeated, more strongly, and firmly.
"Yes, I do, Dante."
He seemed satisfied with her answer, nodding again, to himself. With a swift alacrity, he raised the blade and levelled the sharp, deadly tip to her slender throat.
Caught completely off-guard, Trish took a reflexive step back, her eyes widening in growing apprehension.
"My mother loved me too. And she paid the price for it; Mundus killed her." Dante said, his voice shaded by an emotion that made her want to pull him into a tight embrace, and recoil from him at the same time.
"You wouldn't betray me, would you, Trish?" He asked in an acidic tone, taking a step forward.
Alarmed, Trish took another step back and encountered the hard, solid wall.
Reluctantly she was reminded of her deception in Mallet Island. Dante must have been thinking the same, for his eyes suddenly froze like glittering blue ice shards.
"What are you doing, Dante?" She inquired lowly in kind, frowning lightly. His assumption that she could betray him in such a fashion again angered and saddened her.
What am I doing indeed? Holding my best friend at sword point…
His face paled, and Dante lowered the Force Edge slowly, propping it against the desk. An unnerving, uncomfortable silence fell heavy between them.
The clock on the wall continued to tick by.
He felt guilt stinging him, words of apology for his odd behaviour formed on his lips.
And he remained quiet.
"Happy Birthday, Dante." She said finally, producing the shopping bag that contained his presents, and forcing a feeble smile.
Dante ignored the bag extended to him, and took her face between his hands, looking into her startled, soft blue eyes.
Vergil, Dante, happy birthday… A spectral female voice whispered…
When she placed her hand on his, arching her head up into his hand, he let her go just as suddenly.
What am I to do with you Trish…He sighed, his eyes fixed on his mother's picture.
Watch her carefully, my brother…Don't get too attached, lest she betrays you again.
Love will hinder you, it will cripple you, and leave you weak, defenceless.
It's either love, or power.
You can't have both.
Without power, your crusade is lost.
Remember, might controls everything…And without strength, you cannot protect anything…
Let alone yourself…