The balmy night air enveloped the empty streets like a mother's loving embrace. The light of the full moon flooded the ink-blue sky with such an intensity that the streetlamps, swarmed by myriads of insects, seemed dull in comparison. Bats and owls already took flight, looking for an easy meal. They had jobs to do. The young ones needed to be fed.

The serenity of the town was near perfect. Not even the low hum of the engine of the car that crossed the small bridge could really disturb the contemplative mood Fortuna was in.

The driver of the vehicle, a tan woman of about twenty-five, yawned. Her jaw threatened to pop out of its place, something the man sitting on her right hoped for.

He checked the cylinder of the oversized silver revolver and calculated silently. Three bullets. If he used only two, that could give him enough time to regenerate before they arrived home. On the flip side, if there is a bump in the road-which is a possibility on the cobblestones that were wet from the evening due-he would remain conscious, but unable to move.

"So all I'm saying is, I ain't your personal chauffeur or something. Y'know? Got my own life. And a lady needs her sleep."

"The only lady in this van is sitting on the sofa. Plus, it's only ten-thirty."

"And I've been up since five in the morning all day, every day, for the past week to get this baby up and running. And this is the thanks I get? Asshole."

"Maybe it would not need fixing all the time if you would not drive like an absolute maniac. Just what the hell did you do to it?"

"Not me," she said in protest, "I love this pile of junk and you know it. It was Trish, if you must know."

"Trish."

"Yup. She's been doin' some rat-catching at your place. A dang big bastard, I'm told."

"With the van. What did she do, ram the thing?"

"Probably. Hey, I ain't happy about it either. Didn't ask, didn't even say hi. I wake up, note is on my window. 'Sorry', it says. Well, sorry did not fix the van, but I did. We can talk cash later. Something tells me you won't be in the mood to pay up today."

The vehicle came to a screeching halt as she slammed hard on the breaks. Items of varying size that were not properly fixed in their places took this chance to escape. In the back someone groaned in pain as something big and equally heavy fell onto his head.

"I warned you," Lady said, flashing her brilliant smile at her oldest friend.

"Yeah, you kind of forgot to mention the attack of the random flying rocket shells."

"They are not random if they are stored above your head in that cupboard."

"The mighty Dante," Vergil on his other side said sardonically, "Battling demons for months, done in by a rocket shell."

"I wouldn't even feel a thing if someone had my back like I kindly asked them to."

"If it makes any difference, I wouldn't have protected your front either."

"Cut it out, won't you?" Nero snapped at the twins before turning his attention to the driver again. "So… How is she?"

"Do you know what happy is? Like, winning the lottery happy? Seeing puppies play happy? Now imagine the complete opposite of that. In short, you're done for, buddy," Nico finished on an all too cheerful tone, but her expression turned serious a moment later. "She thought you dead, Nero. With good reason, too. And so did I, you dick. You better pray she doesn't throw your behind out 'cuz you put her through an awful much this time. Always told you that you don't deserve her."

"I know."

"Make it right then."

Nero shot her a grimace as he climbed out of his seat.

He ignored Dante's exclamations of relief ("A shower! A real, honest to god shower with hot water!") as he fumbled with his keys, his hands cold and sweaty. He wanted to go in and get over with it, but dread crept upon him, filling his stomach with ice. Nico was right; he did majorly fuck up this time. Would there be a relationship to salvage by the time the night is over?

The door opened before he could find the right key. Julio peeped up at him sheepishly, then looked over his back, sighed, and shook his head.

"That bad?" Nico asked, her voice still overly bright. The boy nodded.

"Well, no use avoiding the inevitable," she said, slapping Nero on the back, "Kyrie! We're here!"

"In the kitchen!"

A simple answer. It would fool others at any other time, but not him, not at that moment; he knew that tone. It was the tone.

Nico looked at him with mock-sympathy. "Nice knowing ya."

"Fuck you too," Nero growled as he stepped inside before adding automatically, "Shoes off. Slippers to the right."

"Yeah, Kyrie is real particular about some of them house rules," he heard Nico explain to the trio at Vergil's words of protest, but he didn't feel like concerning himself with the rest. One battle at a time.

Kyrie stood above a pot of bubbling soup, stirring it with the determination of a soldier. Nero watched the woman as she moved with such confidence and grace between all the hot and sharp items of the kitchen, not bothering to spare him a look, lost in her own world like she always was when preparing dinner. But there was a tenseness to her this time.

Every fibre of his being screamed at him to go and hug her, but an older, more animalistic instinct told him that it would be a rather unwise idea at the moment.

"Uhh. Hey?"

Nice one, stupid.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes face full of emotions he could not decipher.

"Just a moment."

She put the spoon aside and lowered the flame underneath the pot before covering it with a lid.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" she asked, her eyes and voice just as steely as the lid she placed on the soup.

"I'm sorry."

Kyrie shook her head then pressed a bunch of the nice plates into his hands.

"Set the table, please. Lady sent a text ahead. With Dante and your father, that's three extra people, right?"

"Right, but Kyrie, please just…"

"Listen?"

"Well, that too, but…"

"Let you explain?" The force with which she slammed the glass of trays on the table made Nero jump, despite himself. "Well, Nero, I'm all ears."

"Of course, just please calm down first?"

If there was a prize for being an idiot, he would definitely be one of the top contenders.

"Oh, I'm plenty calm. So maybe you can start explaining why, after telling me that you went to visit a friend in the States for some security work, I get a call that you are quite probably dead a month and a half later, and then three weeks later I see you climbing out on television from a literal hellhole?"

Oh yes. He was in deep shit now, if he ever was.