Morrison sighed as he entered his small home, the familiar creak of the door behind him a comforting sound amidst the chaos outside. He left his hat on the rack by the door, the weight of the day still clinging to him.
He hadn't taken two steps inside before he heard her voice, as sharp as ever.
"I know you're in here, Andorra." He called out, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Nobody else has ever had the guts to break in twice."
A sarcastic chuckle echoed through the dimly lit room, and a lamp flickered to life above his desk. Andorra lounged in his chair, arms crossed, a devious smirk playing across her angelic features. "Maybe don't leave your key where anyone could guess it," she shot back, her green eyes glinting with mischief.
Morrison stepped closer, his expression turning serious. "I shall keep that in mind. Now… what do you want?"
"I want to know why you changed our deal." Her voice was steady as she leaned back in his chair, hands folded in her lap, eyes unwavering. "I did my part."
"Like I said, I think someone with your talents could be helpful. We could use all the help we can get." His tone was earnest, but he could feel the tension in the air.
Andorra's gaze narrowed slightly, and he caught the subtle way she chewed on her tongue, a tell that Vergil had mentioned. She could taste lies, and he wondered if she was tasting the truth in his words now.
"Isn't that why you had me go fetch frick and frack in the first place?" Her tone was even, but the underlying edge was unmistakable. "So the humans could have Dante's protection?"
"Yes, and then you were able to bring them back." Morrison stated, his resolve firm. "You've played a major part in keeping the world safe. Even on your own, you've done much. You don't have to keep working alone."
He saw the flicker of indecision in her eyes, the internal battle playing out as she weighed his words against her pain. It was a moment of vulnerability, and he hoped she would see the truth in his offer.
"I can't, Morrison…" She shifted her gaze to the ground, fingers twisting the fabric of her shirt, as if trying to weave away the memories. "I can't face that right now. It brings back everything, I…" Her voice faltered, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. It was a very sudden shift from the confident and powerful woman she was just moments before.
"In this line of work, sometimes you have to face things you don't want to." Morrison's tone was firm yet gentle, like a steady hand on a trembling shoulder. "You're not alone in this, Andorra. We all have our ghosts. But letting them dictate your life won't bring you peace."
"You don't understand…" Her breath hitched as she met his eyes. "Those photos give you a glimpse, but you weren't there. You have no idea—"
"Grief is fine to feel, but wallowing in the past only poisons the present." He reached out, placing a hand on her back, a silent promise of support. "Everything you've done has been because of your feelings. Now it's time to act in spite of them. Let go and let things play out."
Andorra took a deep, shuddering breath, the air thick with unresolved pain.
"I know…" She whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "I just… need a little more time."
"I understand, but I can't give you much." He withdrew his hand and pulled a card from his coat, offering it to her with a resigned gentleness. "This is how you can reach me. Whenever you're ready. Until then, I'll respect your space… unless I don't have a choice."
She took the card, her fingers brushing against the cool surface—a lifeline and a reminder of the past all at once.
"I'll… think about it." Andorra managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't guarantee anything, though."
"I understand." Morrison nodded slightly, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "And if you ever need someone to talk to—"
"Did you know all of that stuff when you reached out to me?" She interrupted, her gaze suddenly sharp as it met his. "About… you know." The unspoken reference to her history with Vergil hung heavily between them.
"I knew about your recent activity, but when it came to the other stuff—no." He shook his head slowly, regret etched across his features. "And I apologize for how I—"
"Why did he need to know?" She demanded, suddenly on her feet, her frustration palpable. "He didn't remember, and I was fine with that… angry, yes, but… it was easier."
"How so?" Morrison pressed gently, sensing the depth of her pain. "Those memories are his too. He deserves to know about his past."
"Because he threw that past away when he—" Her voice rose, then faltered as she caught herself, inhaling deeply. "He forgot for a reason. Making him remember won't change the fact that I was never important to him. I was just a distraction… Everything was a lie… just a ruse to keep me comfortable and complacent."
Morrison fell silent, absorbing her words. It was a painful revelation, and it made sense given everything he had heard about Vergil.
"Time has a way of changing people," he said finally, his voice soft but firm. "Perhaps he is not the same Vergil you once knew. Just as you are not the same Andorra he once knew."
Andorra's brow furrowed, her mind racing. "Maybe," she said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it's hard to believe he could really change. I'm not sure I can trust that… or myself."
Morrison nodded, understanding the weight of her doubt.
"Trust is a fragile thing, especially when it's been broken," he replied gently. "But sometimes, to heal, we have to take that leap, even if it's terrifying."
She chewed her lip, contemplating the possibility. "What if I'm just setting myself up for more pain?" She asked, voice trembling slightly.
Morrison took a moment, his gaze steady on her. "That's a valid concern, Andorra. But think about it this way: if you don't take the chance, you might never know what could have been. Staying in the shadows of the past can be just as painful as confronting it."
She looked away, wrestling with the weight of his words, the fear of the unknown clashing with the desire for closure.
"Let me ask you this one question…" Morrison began, leaning slightly closer. "What do you want from him, Andorra? Are you after remorse, an acknowledgment of the past? Are you after revenge? A chance to inflict the same pain to make him feel the weight of his actions? Or is it something more profound—like a chance to redefine what happened, to reclaim everything he took from you?"
Upon seeing Andorra did not have an answer, or had never thought of what it was she wanted if she ever had to see him again, he pressed further.
"It's very possible he may ask you that very question," Morrison said, his gaze unwavering. "And when that time comes, you'll need to have an answer for him. Because the truth is, understanding what you want is the first step toward finding peace, whether it's with him or within yourself."
Andorra's brow furrowed as she absorbed his words, a sense of dread mingling with the uncertainty swirling in her mind. "What if I don't know?" she whispered, the vulnerability in her tone revealing her inner turmoil. She'd never expected to see him again…
"I suggest you figure it out." Morrison told her, his tone firm but supportive. "This isn't just about you, or him. Take the time to understand that. Otherwise you may end up in a confrontation in which you don't have the clarity and purpose you'll need to see it through."
Andorra took a deep breath as she thought about what he said.
"Yeah…I guess you've got a point." She agreed. "Fuck, i hate having to think about stuff but now thats exactly what ive gotta do."
Morrison chuckled. "It's never fun or easy dealing with important things." He said. "Just remember, you're not as alone as you might think. Take your time, and stay out of trouble."
Andorra shot him a sidelong glance and a mischievous smirk. "Have you met me?" She asked, moving out from behind his desk and heading for the door. "Trouble is my middle name."
"Oh, I'm starting to learn that. But seriously, take care." He'd say as she walked past.
As she reached the door, she'd turn and look back at him over her shoulder. "Thanks Morrison." She'd say, voice low. "For…Everything, I guess."
And with that, she opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air.
Morrison watched her go before moving to sit behind his desk. Maybe he should call Dante and give him a head's up… Or, he could let it play out for now.
Decisions, decisions…
(MEANWHILE)
Dante had pretty much settled in, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him as he relaxed in the familiarity of his home. The chaos of the outside world seemed far away, and he was grateful for the chance to rest.
He had offered Vergil the opportunity to stay for a while, and surprisingly, his brother had accepted.
"I'd offer you the couch, but it's, uh…" Dante chuckled, glancing at the ruined remains of the furniture. "Did you throw her or just push her back? She went through it with some serious force…"
"Does it matter?" Vergil questioned, his back turned as he stood by one of the windows, staring outside. His expression was unreadable, the weight of something heavy on his mind.
"Just curious, really." Dante replied, thumbing through a magazine, though his gaze kept drifting back to Vergil. "So… you wanna talk about it?"
"There is nothing to talk about," Vergil replied coolly, his voice steady but distant.
"Oh, come on…" Dante pressed. "An ex-girlfriend? You? You sure do get around with the ladies for someone with a stick shoved up his ass."
"As usual, you are insufferable…" Vergil muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That was a long time ago."
"Yeah, that's the same thing you said about Nero." Dante smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "But seriously… you spent almost two years with her and then just left. There's something there worth discussing, don't you think?"
"No." Vergil's voice was flat, devoid of any inflection. "She meant nothing to me then, and she means nothing to me now. Drop the subject."
"Ha, whether she meant anything to you or not, you meant something to her," Dante pressed, his eyes narrowing. "I saw those pictures. Either you were a damn good actor back then, or you're just avoiding the consequences of your actions now."
"Her attachment is her problem," Vergil replied, a hint of irritation creeping into his tone.
"And if Morrison convinces her to work with us, it'll become your problem. And my problem. And everybody else's problem." Dante leaned closer, urgency in his voice. "At the very least, you two need to be on civil speaking terms."
"Civility? Andorra is not the type to settle for that." Vergil murmured, his brow furrowing. "She is quick to retaliate."
"Then fight it out," Dante suggested with a shrug, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just don't almost kill her again."
"I cannot make that guarantee."
"Bro, you knew her once. Do you really think she'd let you pull a stunt like that again? Did you see the fight in her eyes when you held Yamato to her neck? I'm betting she wants a round two."
"I saw a flicker of fear," Vergil stated, his frown deepening. "Quickly masked by her rage."
"Fear, I can understand," Dante said with a slight nod, his voice softer now. "Look, you buried those memories, but she's been living with them for almost three decades. Whether she's important to you or not, you owe it to her to at least give her an explanation."
"I did explain." Vergil's tone was clipped, firm, like a door slamming shut. "She chose not to understand."
Dante let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his face with his hand as if trying to wipe away the stubbornness of his brother. "You are the most stubborn dumbass on this planet…" he muttered before waving his hand dismissively. "Fine, keep avoiding the issue. See how well that turns out for you."
Vergil's only response was a sharp exhale through his nose before he turned back to the window, his posture rigid.
Andorra's appearance and heritage were intriguing developments. Was that how she survived? Being on the brink of death must have awakened her latent abilities. Memories flooded back, some clear, others shrouded in mist.
He was not in the mood for emotional reckonings.
Hadn't he already confronted his past?
What difference would it make to make amends with her?
As he stood, lost in thought, the phone rang, its shrill tone cutting through the silence. Dante answered it, his voice becoming a murmur in the background.
Vergil tuned out the conversation, his mind still whirling with unspoken doubts and unresolved feelings.