Several days had passed since Andorra had last set foot in Devil May Cry. She had called to say she would be taking some time off, but the reasons behind her abrupt departure remained shrouded in mystery. The only physical reminders of her presence were the daggers she had left behind and a couple of jars containing what appeared to be blood, delivered to Nico with no explanation.
While Dante, Trish, and Lady carried on with their usual banter, seemingly unfazed by her absence, Vergil found himself caught in a web of unease. Leaning against the cool stone wall of the shop, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. His thoughts drifted toward the tome he had given her, its worn pages filled with ancient knowledge about angels. Perhaps she was delving into its contents, piecing together the fragments of her own identity—or perhaps she was lost in a world of her own.
His mind wandered back to a time when the two of them were poring over books and tomes in search of Sparda's power…
Andorra sat at a makeshift table—a piece of plywood supported on stacks of crates, a humble setup but functional. Her long hair was pulled back loosely, and she absentmindedly bit into an apple, flipping through the pages of an ancient book.
"Here." She tossed him a piece over her shoulder, her tone casual yet tinged with fatigue.
He caught the fruit, glancing at it before speaking. "Don't ask," she interrupted, her voice revealing more exhaustion than usual. "Just be happy we have something to eat."
He nodded, moving closer to peer over her shoulder at the yellowed pages. "Have you found anything useful?"
"No…" She pushed the book away and rubbed at her tired eyes, the red rims and dark circles stark against her pale skin. "I haven't found anything."
A surge of disappointment twisted in his gut, but more pressing was the concern for her well-being. "Have you been up all night?"
"Yep." She sighed, sitting up straight and stretching, joints cracking audibly. A tiny wince crossed her features, betraying her attempt to hide the pain.
"Are you well?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." The words felt hollow, and he could see the truth behind them. "Just tired, that's all."
"I see… You can convince yourself all you want, but I know better." He crossed his arms, voice steady. "In your condition, you need rest. Now go."
She paused, turning her head slightly, blinking at him. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she shook her head. "I forget how perceptive you can be. Fine, I'll go rest. But only because if I don't, you'll haul me over there, and I'm not about that kind of sudden movement right now."
"You mean you won't be stubborn this time?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone.
"I can be if that's what you want," she challenged, mischief sparking in her emerald eyes.
Silently, he grasped her elbow, turning her around and placing a gentle hand between her shoulders to push her forward. "No."
"Aww…" She feigned a pout as she walked ahead. "Fun squasher."
"Last time you were stubborn in your condition, you spent nearly a month recovering your strength. I'd prefer not to repeat that."
"I'm going…" she said, disappearing into their makeshift sleeping quarters, a pile of blankets on the floor that sufficed for rest.
With her gone, he shook his head and sighed, glancing at the book she had been reading. No wonder she couldn't find anything; it was based on mythology rather than fact. They were running out of research materials, which meant another library raid was in their future.
Looking back in the direction she had gone, he contemplated the decision ahead. He could go alone, allowing her the rest she needed—but having her around, especially in case demons showed up, was incredibly helpful. She had honed her fighting skills impressively.
Decisions, decisions…
As the memory faded, something clicked within Vergil's mind. Her infertility… perhaps it had flared up again? Was that why she was absent? Had the awakening of her powers not remedied the malady that usually left her weak and ill for several weeks?
It was certainly an aspect of herself she would not let others know about—probably because of him. She likely viewed her health concerns as a weakness due to his past judgments. The thought of her suffering alone ignited a protective instinct within him, one he could no longer ignore.
He let out a sigh and pushed off from the wall, approaching Dante, Trish, and Lady.
"Do any of you know Andorra's whereabouts?" he asked, his voice carrying a thinly veiled sense of urgency.
"Can't say I do." Dante replied, giving Vergil a skeptical yet knowing look. "Why, you worried about her or something?"
"My reasons for asking are my own." Vergil's curt reply left little room for argument, and he turned to Trish and Lady, silently seeking the same answer.
"No idea," Lady said, shaking her head.
"Even Morrison said he has no clue where she stays," Trish explained, crossing her arms.
"That I find doubtful," Vergil murmured. Morrison had a knack for gathering information, especially about those connected to their circle. He couldn't shake the feeling that the man was hiding something.
With a new sense of resolve washing over him, Vergil stepped away from the group. Perhaps it was time to confront his own fears and reach out to Andorra, but the thought filled him with uncertainty.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Dante called after Vergil as he departed.
"Out." was Vergil's simple reply as he exited the building.
Dante raised an eyebrow, concern flickering across his face. "You're not going to do something reckless, are you?"
Vergil didn't respond, focusing instead on the cool night air that hit him as he stepped outside. The weight of his decision settled on his shoulders, yet he felt a surge of determination.
Dante merely sighed and sat back in his chair, throwing a hand up in defeat.
"Stubborn…" He'd grumble before reaching over and grabbing the phone to dial Morrison's number. He'd stop before he finished, though. What exactly was Vergil planning right now? He had a way of getting himself into trouble whenever he went off on his own, and felt like this time was no different.
Feeling as though the decision was out of his hands, he finished dialing Morrison and gave him a heads up.
Meanwhile, Vergil wandered through the city, attempting to glean any information of Morrison's whereabouts. He was an information broker, knowing things was his job…
Though, after a bit of searching, he noticed a presence nearby and halted in his stride.
"I've been waiting to talk to you alone." Morrison's voice floated smoothly through the air. "I hear you're looking for a certain angel hybrid."
Vergil would slowly turn to face Morrison, katana gripped tightly in his hand. "You hear correct." He'd say.
"Well, even if I did know, I promised I wouldn't tell." Morriosn said, stepping closer. "After the spat you two had when I revealed her other personal matters, well… yalls personal matters." He'd correct himself.
"If you have that information, I need it." Vergil stated, tone even and brooking no room for argument.
"Why?" Morrison asked. "Isn't she entitled to her peace and space? She's taking time off for a reason. Do you really want to interrupt that?"
"I have a concern about the reason for her absence." Vergil hated having to explain himself, but perhaps Morrison could be convinced…
"You mean, you know about her illness and want to check on her." Morrison stated. "I know about it, too. It was in those reports that I'm certain you still have stashed somewhere. She is fine, she just needs some rest."
"I will not ask a third time." Came Vergil's clipped and curt tone. "Do you or do you not have the information I seek?"
Morriosn would be silent for a good bit before chuckling and shaking his head. "You Sparda descendants and your loved ones…" He'd say. "She's in the old Victorian on the western outskirts of the city. Can't miss it." He'd relay the information. "And by all means, don't tell her you got that from me."
The old Victorian… so she had achieved one small part of her dreams from back then…
"Very well." Came Vergil's simple reply as he turned away and began heading towards his new destination.
Meanwhile, Andorra lay curled up on the worn couch in her Victorian home, the fabric soft against her skin but offering little comfort. The dull ache of cramps pulsed through her abdomen, a constant reminder of her body's betrayals. She hated this weakness, one her angelic side couldn't heal. Ever since her powers awakened, the cramps had only worsened, becoming more painful and persistent. What had once afflicted her only two or three times a year now came almost every other month, leaving her weak and exhausted for days, sometimes weeks on end.
Clutching a heating pad to her stomach, thoughts of Vergil invaded her mind—uninvited and persistent. Would he worry? He used to, before everything changed. Would he remember her struggles? What would he do if he suspected they were the reason for her absence? A part of her wanted to believe he cared, especially after what Nico had overheard. But the last thing she wanted was for him to see her like this—weak, vulnerable, and struggling.
The past was different; he used to care, regardless of what he said that night. But after their last argument, his distance left her questioning everything.
With a sigh, she tried to relax her body, grateful that this wave of cramps had subsided. Just as she began to drift into a more comfortable position, the timer in the kitchen dinged, jolting her back to reality. She had forgotten the food cooking, and the thought of moving felt like climbing a mountain. Groaning, she rose to her feet and slowly trudged into the kitchen, the warm, savory aroma of stew filling the air—a small comfort amidst her otherwise tumultuous day.
Outside, Vergil approached the Victorian, noting how it looked different now than it used to. No longer crumbling and falling apart, it had been restored to its former glory, gleaming in the sunlight. The combination of black, silver, and green that decorated the home's exterior brought a bittersweet smile to his lips, reminding him of how excited she had sounded when she spoke of her dream to restore it.
It stung, just a little, to know she had moved on… He had admitted back then that perhaps a normal life might be more appealing than power…
How different would things have been?
As he neared, his heart pounded with a mix of urgency and anxiety, the weight of his katana held tightly in his hand—a reminder of the resolve that fueled him. He could sense Andorra inside, but the thought of her seeing him filled him with trepidation. How would she react to his unannounced arrival?
Before he could contemplate further, a familiar voice cut through the tension behind him.
"Hey, where do you think you're going in such a hurry?" Dante called, jogging to catch up.
Vergil turned, surprised to see his brother. "What are you doing here, Dante?"
"I'd think that's obvious—checking up on you," Dante replied, his tone teasing but underlined with concern. "You left in such a hurry; I wasn't sure what you had planned."
"I do not need you to babysit me," Vergil replied, his irritation flaring. "Now is not the time."
"Look… I'm not here to babysit you, but I'd rather you not go into the house of the half-angel chick with a hair-trigger temper by yourself," Dante shot back, crossing his arms. "Last time you two had an argument, furniture got broken."
"I do not plan on arguing. I am simply here to check on her," Vergil stated, his voice firm.
"Whatever you say, but caring doesn't mean showing up unannounced," Dante warned. "I'm here to make sure you don't freak her out."
"Do you really think she needs to deal with both of us?" Vergil demanded, a flicker of frustration breaking through his carefully guarded demeanor.
Andorra could hear the brothers bickering outside her door, and she rolled her eyes. "Great… just what I fucking need right now," she grumbled, stalking toward the door. With a swift motion, she flung it open. "Could you two keep it down?" she demanded, though her voice came out more tired and irritated than actually upset. "Listening to the two of you bicker like children is not helping my massive fucking headache."
Not to mention…
"How the hell did you two even find this place?" she continued, frustration bubbling within her. She had hoped for solitude, not an unexpected visit from both Sparda brothers. The last thing she wanted was for her sanctuary to be invaded, especially not by Vergil. Not right now.
Both brothers looked to her with expressions that were a mix of apologetic and sheepish.
"Uh, hi!" Dante said, giving her an embarrassed wave, his usual carefree demeanor slightly muted. "We were just—"
"Arguing, I'm aware," she interjected, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Why are either of you here?"
"Ask him," Dante said, pointing to Vergil, his tone half-joking but filled with sincerity.
Andorra flicked her gaze to Vergil, then back to Dante, her brow furrowing slightly as she rubbed a hand over her face, fatigue weighing heavily on her. "You can go," she said, her tone a mix of irritation and exhaustion. "I promise I won't kill him—so long as he behaves himself…" She shot a pointed look at Vergil, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, though the humor didn't quite reach her tired eyes.
Dante raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright, alright. Just don't break anything important, okay?" He stepped back, casting a quick glance at Vergil before exiting the doorway, the tension between the two remaining palpable in the air.
As Dante headed off, Andorra turned her full attention to Vergil, her expression shifting from playful annoyance to something more guarded.
"What do you want?" she asked, turning around and shuffling back inside, leaving the door open for him to follow.
Vergil warily stepped inside, taking in the cozy interior of her home. The warmth of the wooden walls and the inviting smell of food briefly transported him back to his own childhood, a time that felt both distant and bittersweet. When he finished admiring the surroundings, his gaze flicked back to Andorra as she made her way to the stove, ladling a thick stew into a bowl.
Her movements were slow and tired, lacking the usual grace and fluidity he had come to associate with her. The simple sweatpants and tank top she wore, along with her unbrushed hair, hinted at her lack of energy and well-being.
"You are ill," he commented, his tone flat and devoid of question.
"Surprised you remembered," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "But yes… is that all you came here for?"
"It… was the main concern," he admitted, his eyes never leaving her face. "But not the only one."
"Then by all means—" she began, but a sudden wave of pain gripped her abdomen. She bent forward, clutching her stomach, breath hitching slightly as she fought through the discomfort.
Seeing her like this, so unlike the vibrant woman he remembered, twisted something deep inside him. Vergil instinctively took a step closer, his expression shifting from concern to alarm.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.
Andorra took in a strained breath through gritted teeth. She wanted to be a smart-ass and ask if it looked like she was okay, but she didn't have the energy for that.
"Ngh… I will be," she opted to say instead, as the wave of pain passed and she was able to stand straight again, though her legs were shaky, and she had to use the stove for support. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before," she added, trying to play it off.
Yup, she'd gone and overexerted herself… dammit!
"Your powers did not remove this?" Vergil questioned, noting her trembling form but wary of offering physical assistance lest she be opposed to it.
"No." She ladled soup into her bowl, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked it up. "Whatever malady this is, it's angelic in nature, unfortunately." Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she forced herself to walk back to the couch.
She could make it… it wasn't that far…
"That's… very interesting," he mused, carefully following after her in case she needed or wanted his help. "Does it still feel the same?"
"Like a dozen white-hot knives are stabbing me in my stomach? Yes." She sank onto the couch with a low huff. "Demonic steel still hurts worse, though." She added that last part without intending it as a jab at him.
He glanced down at her, concern etched on his features as he listened to her words. Seeing her in pain twisted something in his chest—a mix of frustration and helplessness he wasn't used to feeling.
"Andorra—" he began, his voice sincere and heavy, but she held up a hand to interrupt him.
"I know what I said about you needing to figure out what you needed to say, but… I can't, right now," she replied, her voice firm but weary. "I simply do not have the energy for an emotional conversation."Shed add as she sank back into the couch, feeling the fabric press against her as she closed her eyes for a moment, willing the pain to subside. She could sense Vergil's hesitation, his presence lingering in the air like a question unasked.
After a moment of silence, Vergil finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "I understand if you need space. Just… let me know if there's anything I can do," he said, his tone reflecting a mixture of concern and uncertainty.
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. "I'll be fine in a few days, probably. Just need to rest," she assured him, though a part of her felt the weight of her own words. "You should go home, Vergil. You don't need to waste your time here."
He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed her words. "I… don't want to leave you like this."
Andorra felt a flicker of warmth at his concern, but she quickly pushed it aside, not wanting to dwell on it. "Really, I'll be okay. Just give me some time." She paused, then added, "I know you're not great with emotions or being affectionate, but I appreciate that you went through the trouble of tracking me down just to check on me."
Vergil's expression softened slightly, and he nodded, though he still appeared reluctant. "If you're sure…" he began, but she could see the conflict in his eyes.
"Go," she insisted gently, her voice softening. "I appreciate you coming to check on me, but I need to focus on healing."
As he turned to leave, Andorra added quietly, almost as an afterthought, "And… I really do appreciate it, Vergil." The words felt heavy yet freeing, slipping out before she could second-guess herself.
Vergil paused at the door, looking back at her with a faint glimmer of surprise in his eyes. "Take care of yourself, Andorra," he replied, his voice sincere. He hesitated for a moment longer before summoning the courage to add, "You aren't weak. You never were."
The weight of his words hung in the air, and Andorra felt a rush of emotions at his unexpected affirmation. "Thanks," she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the pain.
With that, he stepped out, leaving her alone in the quiet of her home.
Once the door clicked shut behind him, the silence enveloped her, allowing her thoughts to swirl freely. She leaned back against the couch, the warmth of the fabric contrasting with the coolness of the air. As she closed her eyes again, she let herself sink into the moment, reflecting on Vergil's visit.
His concern lingered in her mind, a reminder that she wasn't entirely alone in her struggles. Despite her stubbornness, a part of her felt grateful for his presence, even if she wouldn't admit it out loud.
She took a deep breath, letting the tension ease from her body, and allowed herself to drift into a state of relaxation. Healing wouldn't come overnight, but for now, she could focus on resting, knowing that there was someone out there who cared enough to check on her—even if it was hard for her to accept.
Vergil stepped out of the house, the door clicking softly behind him. He paused for a moment on the porch, looking back at the warm glow of the interior. The faint sound of Andorra stirring inside reminded him of the vulnerability she had shown. It struck him that perhaps she wasn't as alone as she felt; perhaps they could find a way to understand each other better. With a deep breath, he turned and continued down the path, the weight of the visit lingering in his thoughts.
As he walked away, he heard the familiar sound of footsteps behind him. Dante caught up, a grin plastered on his face. "So, how did it go?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Vergil considered for a moment before replying. "I believe it went… okay," he said slowly, his tone reflecting his uncertainty. "Perhaps she'll be more prone to speaking with me once she's better."
Dante nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "That's good news! What's wrong with her, anyway? I heard she's sick."
"It's not my place to tell," Vergil replied, his voice firm. "If Andorra wanted anyone to know, she'd tell them."
Dante raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk appearing. "Fair enough, but you know, of the two of us, I never imagined I'd be the one giving you advice on girls."
Vergil shot him a deadpan look. "I do not need my brother's particular brand of advice."
Dante feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart as he laughed. "Ouch! That stings, Vergil! But really, I hope you two can work things out. At least get along."
"I want that too," Vergil admitted, a hint of warmth in his voice as he glanced back toward the house one last time. The memory of Andorra's determined spirit and the way she had opened up, even just a little, gave him hope for what might come next.
As they walked side by side, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the path ahead. Vergil felt a sense of purpose growing within him, a quiet resolve to bridge the gap between them.