Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry.
We shall see, but it looks like the hiatus might be over, at least for now. Three more chapters left after this one.
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He had given her jewelry, and yet another new dress. Her ears weren't pierced: the earrings clipped on but weren't play jewelry. Red roses, carved ruby and gold. A necklace as well, and studded bangles, but no rings. He had some shame, at least.
How far did he want her to go in lying? Simply to pretend? She would not say the words, ever. She would not lie that much. It was a sin.
The dress was black, and there was a red shawl to set around her shoulders. Nothing indecent. A widow's dress, but the shawl was a vibrant color. Heart still beating? Or was it for blood and war, further death? Her favorite color was gold, like her hair.
Her hair that she was brushing out. She'd woken up at six, as usual, and there had been a note inviting her to breakfast at seven. The presents had been outside the door under the note. At least he hadn't taken the liberty of intruding on her space.
He wasn't demanding the whole day, it seemed, not midnight to midnight. Plenty of time to dress and bathe. It seemed a good beginning. She was tired, it had been hard to fall asleep last night, she'd been so anxious. He had seemed truly sorry. Surely he wouldn't take advantage of this?
She could at least expect to be kissed. No bad memories of kissing, at least. She'd never been kissed. A mother for over two years now, and never been kissed. It seemed a minor injustice.
Really, if she'd said yes… the man he pretended to be was a great catch. Wealthy, cultured, considerate… pretend the lie was real. Live the lie, for a day. Her beloved husband.
She took a deep breath and told herself not to be afraid.
Why was she doing this again? Lying was a sin. But… for once, he had been truly repentant. She should encourage that. Was it not customary to grant the dying man a last request?
She'd dreamed of it, plunging his sword into his black heart: she'd tried to wrestle it from him on several occasions in the beginning.
The dress wasn't indecent, even. But then, he'd said he didn't find her attractive, a weak human except for the damned magic in her that had caused this fate. Her children, she didn't regret them, but she wished they had been conceived in love instead of hate from her and whatever it was from him: she didn't think he was capable of love, devil that he was. Though he was skilled at lying to himself. Guilt, respect… at least he was repentant.
Love meant he wanted to do that again. She was glad he was going to die soon, she was. She could stop being afraid then. Well, there were his enemies, she had no idea how much of a threat they were to her and her children. Still, he'd claimed his death would protect them.
When she was done, she went to the children's room first. They looked at her with wide eyes. "What?" Eva asked, smiling.
"You're really pretty, Mommy." Dante grinned. Vergil nodded, stunned.
"What, you thought I was ugly before?"
"Well, uh…" Dante looked at Vergil.
"You never try to be pretty. You make us be pretty sometimes and Father always is, but you don't," Vergil explained. "It's cool! You should be pretty more." Dante nodded so forcefully it looked like his head would fly off.
"It's just for today, but yes, I will try to be pretty more from now on." That was true, she had been deliberately frumpy. She didn't want to look too attractive in front of that devi-Sparda. She was pretending, today. "Your father and I are going to have a date today."
"A date?" Dante asked curiously.
"It's like a party, but for two people who," she tried desperately to think of what to say next. It would be a lie to say 'in love' or 'who like each other very much,' even. 'Are married or are going to be married?' They weren't married and never would be.
She had a moment's image of Sparda wanting her to pretend long enough for a ceremony, to feed this… obsession with her, desire to own her. No, he wouldn't do that. "Who have children or are thinking about a relationship." There, that worked.
"A party? And we can't come?" They were giving her the cute eyes. They always made her melt. Melt, but not give in.
"No, you cannot." She picked them up. "Now, come on, I'll take you to the playroom. You can stay there while your father and I have our date."
"Stay there without you there?" Dante looked excited.
"Now, don't wreck too many of you toys, okay?" She raised an eyebrow at them.
"Father always buys us new ones." Dante shrugged. Vergil looked like he agreed. "And it's fun to break stuff."
"He might not always buy you whatever you want. Where would you be if you broke all the balls and there weren't any more?" They were getting heavy, but she wanted to hold them: they made her worries go away, at least those about Sparda. Her boys, in so much danger their father was willing to die to buy them time… how would she be able to manage on her own?
She'd manage, she told herself.
She met Sparda in the hall, froze for an instant, then smiled at him and carried on. She could feel him smiling at the back of her head, a real smile not one pasted over worry or a polite one, an injured one. She'd smiled at him, and that was enough to make him happy, even if it was just an act.
He followed her. "Father!" Vergil waved. "Can we come on your date?"
"Date? Well, no, I'm sorry. Dates are for two people, not for children. When you grow up, you will have your own dates." He caught up to her and patted Vergil, then Dante on the head. "This is time for your mother and I. We can't only play with you."
Dante frowned, then nodded at Vergil. "We don't want them there sometimes when we just want to play with each other, so it's fair."
Vergil pouted, looking at his father. Dante frowned at him and then Vergil stopped.
Finally, they were at the playroom: her arms were getting tired. Even with the muscles she had from carrying them around, they were reaching the point she wouldn't be able to carry them very far anymore. She put them down and took a bunch of toys off the shelves, then turned to Sparda. "So…" she started to ask, then saw he was sitting down and holding out his hands to the boys, Vergil running over to him and Dante following.
"Do you mind if we play with them as usual? Dates are traditionally in the evening, are they not? You don't have to wear that dress all day, it's an evening dress."
She nodded. "I'll stay in it, though." And she smiled at him, trying to lie with her eyes as well as her lips, though she was genuinely pleased she wasn't going to have to spend the whole day just with him. The children were a joy as well, they would remind her why she was doing this. Of the various reasons she was doing this.
"Yay!" Dante said, and hugged her. "Mommy, let's play toss the ball!"
"Okay, Dante. If it's okay with you, dear?" She smiled at Sparda again.
She saw his smile this time, and if it weren't for her memories she might have fallen in love at the sight of it. "As you wish."
Even lunchtime was spent with the children, Dante telling them all a joke he had made up. She laughed and it was nice, though she still had a knot of worry in her stomach. She told herself that no, she was going to be glad to kill Sparda, but… vengeance was God's not hers, but then he had asked her too… that was another part of his last wish. It was repentance, if she could not offer absolution and she had no hope he would be saved.
That, she was sorry about, no one should go to hell, even a demon, especially not when they would hate him there, torture him not for what he did to her (which he would have deserved), but for saving humanity (if he truly was Sparda, but she would believe that for today), which he should be blessed for.
He had done this to her to save humanity (or so he claimed). If only the ends justified the means, but a sin was a sin. He could have chosen someone else, some witch who would have worshipped him and been willing. She might not have been as strong, but it wouldn't have been rape.
They played, and she tried to laugh and smile. She noticed Dante smiling at her and asked, "What are you so happy about?"
"You're happy. You're never this happy." He hugged her. "I'm glad Mommy is happy. You should have more dates." He frowned. "Do you not have them because we keep you busy all the time? I'm sorry." His eyes begged for forgiveness. "I'll make Vergil be good so you can!"
"Hey!" Vergil glared at him.
"No, it's not you." She hugged him. "Though I'm not going to object to something that makes you well-behaved," she added, tapping his nose. Dante laughed and hugged her again, before going back to the tic-tac-toe championship of the universe.
Eventually, however, it was dinner time, and they fed the children, covered them with blankets in the playroom to sleep off the amount they had gobbled down, then Sparda closed the door and they looked at each other.
He went down on one knee, an anciently courtly gesture like the knight he claimed to be and acting on the prompting of some memory of how these things went she held out her hand: he kissed it, and she wondered if she was blushing.
After… after the deed had been done he had treated her like spun glass, had admired her for retaining her sanity. He honored her by this, and it did strike a cord.
He truly was sorry, wasn't he?
He held out his arm for her and she took it, and they walked in silence to the dining room where a splendid meal was laid out, all her favorites, and she realized that what he wanted wasn't for her to lie, but to essentially be a still target, let him shower her with affection without objecting or dodging it, let him try to prove his love, or at least spoil her rotten.
He pulled out her chair for her, as he always did, and bowed her into it.
Music played softly, something she didn't know the name of but liked: classical. The room was lit by a chandelier and more candles on the table, a small one for two. She tried not to show her discomfort at being this close to him, especially with a chair to get in her way if she tried to run. She told herself there was a table in between them, that it was as safe as anything here was. And smiled, again.
He didn't eat, just looked at her, and she tried not to show that it made her nervous. He, noticing her discomfort, adopted that poker face, which was much less scary than him looking at her like she was besotted. She tried to look at him, though, remembering their bargain, and smile, and think about he was truly, utterly beautiful as only an angel or a devil could be.
Eventually they started talking, about nothing really, just the small talk of two normal people, and he was indeed intelligent and an interesting conversationalist. She wished she could have this without her skin crawling.
When she finished, there was dessert, and he pulled out her chair for her and knelt to kiss her hand again, and she could almost feel his emotions as he could feel hers, and had to suppress panic and cursed: this would certainly break the bargain!
But he only offered her his arm, and she thought perhaps he had done the equivalent of closing his eyes to that sense, because she knew her feelings would have made him shudder and turn away, utterly dejected, otherwise. Letting her feelings be felt was one of the ways she had of punishing him.
She was glad, she wanted him to have his illusion, have his perfect day, as close to perfection as he could ever come, and was glad she was this kind, to want her rapist to have this, she truly was (almost) as capable of forgiveness as she should be.
Perhaps she could forgive him when he was dead and wasn't there to terrify her anymore.
She kissed him on the cheek when he led her to her door, then reconsidered: she could lie once more, and kissed him on the mouth.
Just a brief press of lips, no more, her first and last kiss, and his face was like the sunrise. Then he bowed, hiding it, and bid her good night.