WHAT: DMC; friendship, drama, angst, hints of romance if you wish.

WHO: Dante, Lady.

- - - - - - - - - -

Even A Knight's Armour Has It's Blind Spots.

Your shortcomings are mine to make up for.

. . .

The houses; the run-down brick walls, the shipment containers and the metal fences lay covered in a calm blanket of darkness all around them. The asphalt was wet and the air was warm; just like late summer and early fall. Least one street light nearby had been dead from the beginning. The newly broken one sputtered a little, electric fuses popping and hissing alongside a few fires that had yet to die.

Further away, sporadic lights illuminated spots in the dark; a little evening mist wrapping the neighbourhood docks in a ghost-like aura. He found it ironic that the one street lamp around the scene that had survived intact was the one right here; shining a warm spotlight reaching just up to where they were sitting, basking them in just enough light to hide nothing.

.

“Have... I ever told you that you are an idiot?”

“Yes. Many times.”

Dante sat still, resting unceremoniously with his feet tucked up beneath him, and made no attempt to joke about in the conversation. Instead, he just listened to her shallow breathing and kept wondering... why did she always insist on wearing white? Was it some kind of subconscious (or perhaps even conscious) jab at lost innocence? Irony of frailty? Purity? He had no clue, but he supposed it fit the bill. It made the dirt and grime stand out so much more; made it look so much worse than any other colour would. Perhaps that was the point. It was the red stains that stood out the most, though.

In a perverse sense it was fascinating. The wet, dark red stains seemed to silently invade the white fabric; darkening, but not loosing that red lustre. In places where the red was thin it had almost been washed out to a soft pink. In places where it was thick, it was dark, almost black. And in some places still... it was slowly soaking the textile, expanding slowly.

The air smelled faintly of night, asphalt, pollution, smoke, sweat, gun powder, and a stingy tint of copper. Dante sighed.

“You don't have to do this you know.” he said. She chuckled in response. He could hear the strained gurgle at the back of her throat that shouldn't be there. It was probably uncomfortable at best, although he wasn't sure he could ever truly know what it felt like.

“Of course I do.” She answered, very simply. In fact she even looked amused, like a grown-up correcting a child on an everyday fact of life. Dante felt like scowling or being angry, but the feeling of defeat extinguished that flame before it caught real fire. Instead he just sort of scowled a little and knit his brow together in a concerned look.

“No. You don't.”

“Yes... I do. ”

Dante watched as she gave him one of those looks that suggested she was thinking about calling him an idiot again. He heaved another sigh. Wasn't going to win that argument any time soon.

“You... on the other hand, don't have to be sitting here you know. Trish might need a hand. Aren't you worried?” Looking up he saw she was giving him a sympathetic look. He shrugged.

“As kooky as she is sometimes, I trust Trish with a lot of things. Suppose I can trust her to stay alive. Speaking of which, perhaps something you should try too.” He gave her another half-a-scowl and meaningful look. One that she brushed off easily enough after a few coughs.

“Oh I do. She's a cunning one, that one. Won't go down easily I'm sure.”

“I didn't mean Trish, I meant me.” Even if it didn't last long, Dante scowled for real this time. “You of all people do not have to babysit or watch over me, okay?”

“Wow. Ow, that hurt.”

.

Dante really hoped that gleam in her eyes was due to the pain. She kind of looked hurt though. He watched as she eyed at him as if mulling over some undecided continuation of her words in her mind... only to look away; lost in thought.

“I didn't mean it like that.” He said quietly, although he wasn't sure what 'like that' really meant. “...I didn't mean it like that, babe. I just...” He grunted and waved his arms out wide once in a sign of frustration. “...Hey, I'm the bloody guy who kicked the emperor of Hell's ass for crying out loud! I can take care of myself. I'm good at not getting killed!”

She turned her head and looked at him. “Saying alive is not always about who is the physically strongest, Dante.”

The kind of soft and tranquil honesty she uttered those words with caused goosebumps to break out all over his back. It wasn't like her to be that kind of honest. She was often brutally honest and far from sensitive, but it wasn't a type of vulnerable honesty. To be frank, it made him nervous.

“Of course it is.” He replied automatically and in a smaller voice than he would have liked. She smiled mysteriously at him, as if secretly amused by something he probably wouldn't understand.

“No. It is not. If it were... I, a human and thus physically inferior being, would not have lasted even this long in our unsavoury business. The legendary Sparda should perhaps never have died or disappeared, and if he still had... your mother would never have survived for as long as she still did; you and your brother would never had lived to call yourselves teenagers... and... I... Had I arrived here a little bit later, there would have been no chance... no chance at all... of me finding you... not only falling unconscious... but perhaps also... with your head and your body in different locations... There'd be no chance at all.”

He hated when she was being calm and logical. And right. It had been a close call -he hadn't seen it coming, the poison had nearly totally knocked him out even if just for a few short minutes, and when he'd groggily gotten back on his feet after being shook awake by a breathless and newly arrived Trish, the fight had been over. The fake client had been gone, the demon had run, Trish had continued pursuit... and Lady... Lady had been in the same spot she was still; sitting half propped up against a somewhat splintered pile of wooden crates on the edge of a street lamp's halo.

Dante watched as she coughed again and grimaced at the pain. He wished so bad he could do something besides sitting there. He so wished he could dare move her; pick her up and run the hell out of there. He didn't, so he stayed where he was. A long silence followed before she spoke again. Her voice was raspy when she did.

“Even the strong needs help sometimes.”

Dante rubbed his face and felt his jaw strain from the effort to stay calm.

“That's why I have a partner.” He snapped, sounding far more angry than he meant to. “She has my back. That is enough!” Or it should be. It ought to be.

“Ow. Again.” She smiled, but she didn't look at him. She was beginning to look tired. Dante wanted to hit himself but just like he didn't know what to do he couldn't make himself move even for that purpose. Instead, he shifted his weight, put his head in his hands and sighed in frustration.

.

“Dante.”

He glanced her way. She was looking at him with a calm and gentle face. Her skin was a bit pale but he tried to convince himself that it was mostly the sweat and the lighting giving the illusion of the colour draining from her features.

“It's okay.”

This time he looked up. Was she trying to reassure him now, to cheer him up? This wasn't happening. His mouth felt dry. He must have looked shocked or bewildered; or both, because she did it once over. As if once wasn't one time too many.

“It's not your fault. Really, it isn't.”

He could argue that, he really could. He wanted to but he had the nagging feeling she wouldn't listen. She seldom if ever did listen to him. Why was that? Damn women. No, damn woman. Dante drew a long and shaky breath. Far away, he could hear the sound of sirens. Thank God. Although they weren't here yet. He glanced over his fingers at Lady who was still gazing at him; watching. Maybe he should keep her talking. However, before he could think of a reply, she beat him to it and continued.

“This is what I do.”

One part of him wanted to object, the other part of him made him shut up. He wished she'd stop smiling like that. It too, caused the hairs on his neck to rise.

“Really.” He whispered.

“Yes... After all, I am Lady.”

Lacing his fingers together, Dante leaned his chin and lips against his hands and didn't answer. Yes, he remembered. It had been one long night, that night. He'd always wondered why she had kept that name. She'd left everything behind and she had kept the name he'd given her. It was strange. Lady... He didn't know much of her past and she lived as if it didn't exist.

He'd met her that night, she had shocked him, annoyed him; but most of all meeting her had changed him. She had made him wake up to looking at the world and himself somewhat differently, and he had helped her. She'd lived... and since then she had been there. Never really around, sometimes out of contact, never really his partner and certainly not his side-kick. Nevertheless, she had been there. His Lady. His annoying, bossy, stubborn, headache-inducing, and money-craving harpy woman... Lady.

Dante breathed a long sigh. A long, somewhat shaky sigh through his nose. The sirens was getting closer. Close enough that it seemed Lady too was hearing them. Slowly, he stood up and began removing his coat. Taking a step forward he crouched down beside the little lady in white and gently draped it over her reclining, hunched figure.

.

“I'm not cold.”

He ignored the weak protest and tucked the warm leather around her with a determined face. When done, he sat back but didn't move from her side. Reaching out, he gently brushed away a sweaty lock of hair from her face. He gave her a serious look. She gazed back at him silently; tired, but a little curious.

“Hey, babe. You know what.”

“.. What?”

“A devil may cry... but that doesn't mean he particularly fancies to do so.”

Dante watched as her face registered recognition. She nodded. He could almost imagine she blushed just a little.

“Fair enough.”

He leaned in closer, all the way until their foreheads gently bumped together. He stared forward, meeting her eyes without blinking. She returned the gaze; eyes somewhat unfocused but she returned it none the less.

“Babe. Don't fall asleep now. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She closed her eyes. He didn't move. He listened to her still shallow but calmer breathing. He smelled the blood on her breath, the sweat on her skin and how the blood and sweat both on her forehead now also clung to his. The sirens were close now. He closed his eyes and stood up. She in turn opened hers at the sound of him picking her guns from the ground. After sheeting Rebellion on his back once more, he knelt down and picked up Kalina Ann from her rough place on the asphalt where she'd fallen. After giving the scorched weapon a pensive look, Dante slung it over his shoulder... just like that time.

Turning to the side, he looked back at Lady. She looked small underneath his large coat. Small, tired, pale... but she braved him a nod.

“Never surrender.”

“Never surrender.” She agreed and pursed her lips in a determined line.

.

The dark houses and walls were lit up by the lights of vehicles. The silent and almost ghostly night was overrun by noise. Dante shouted to get the attention to where it was needed, before taking off into the shadows. He watched as they put her on a stretcher, carried her off and closed the car doors behind her, before he really ran. He had to find and make sure Trish was fine. They had to finish this, and when they had done so... Lady would be there when they came around.

For the sake of the world she'd better be. Somehow he'd feel a little less enthusiastic if she dared leave him alone with it. It was her responsibility since it was partly her fault he'd bothered to care in the first place. Damn women. Damn woman. Damn pain in the ass, for sure.

. . .