Chapter Text
Nero had just finished bringing in the groceries (spectral arms came in real handy when carrying nearly eight bags up the steps) when the phone rang. As Kyrie was busy with the kids putting the bags away, Nero answered.
He never got a chance to say ‘Hello’, which was probably the first sign something was wrong.
“Hey Kid!” Dante’s voice was even more cheerful than usual, almost to the point of forced, “I’ve got a great idea! How about you,” a muffled thudding came from the background, “have your old man stay over for…” now he could hear Vergil’s voice angrily muttering something, “a bit of time… maybe a year-” now Dante’s voice faded out, and Nero could picture him covering the receiver, “Look, it’s not my fault you threw your tighty whities into MY laundry basket and they came out pink.” Another grumble “I’ll have you know I WAS going to get around to it. I just needed to get some detergent. Look, just let me talk to the kid before you take out Yamato” Dante’s voice became clearer. “Sorry, it’s just me and him are going through a bit of a rough patch, and I figured a change of scenery could be good for him. Whaddya say?”
Nero paused. It had been nearly a year since the twins’ return, and while Vergil had made nearly monthly visits to Fortuna, he’d never gone without Dante. Nero hadn’t figured out if it was because Dante wanted to ‘supervise’ the potentially volatile visits...or even more concerning, if it was Vergil’s idea. Either way, this time it seemed his father would come alone, a new, exciting, and a bit terrifying situation. He and Kyrie had been asking Vergil to stay over for a while, and he’d always politely declined, saying how he didn’t want to be a bother. But apparently, dealing with Dante could be the tipping point for Vergil’s (or anyone’s) sanity.
“I mean, if he really wants to come over, that’s fine. We got the spare bedroom almost cleared out-”
“Fantastic!” Dante said with excessive joy, “You’re a lifesaver! Have him over as long as you’d like...or can stand him. He’ll be over in a jiffy.” Dante’s voice got a bit muffled. “Hey Vergil, pack your bags, Pronto! You’re going to Nero’s! You can bitch about your laundry over there, but if you make Kyrie cry, I’ll kick whatever Nero’s left of your ass!”
Nero hung up with a sense of excitement and a touch of anxiety. He’d been screwing up his courage to ask some difficult questions of his father, but each time Vergil had visited, it never seemed right to ask. Either Dante, or Kyrie, or one of the kids was there...but this time… this time he’d get the answers he’d been his whole life for. He might not like the answer, but he’d accept it.
“Hey Kyrie!” he yelled above the din of excited kids who’d gotten some candy as a reward for their help. “Set one more place at the table tonight, we got a guest showing up reeeeaaal soon”
And speaking of the devil, that faint smell of ozone and sulphur wafting in from the front yard meant that Yamato had done her duty.
Nero paced up and down the hallway, working up the courage. Vergil had been pleasant, almost jovial as he sat down for dinner, complimented the meal, and even assisted Kyrie in washing dishes as Nero got the kids ready for bed. And now Nero worried whether his question would ruin everything. Still, with the boys fast asleep, and Kyrie off to do some singing tutoring, there was no time but the present to get this done.
Vergil sat in the living room, a cup of tea on the end table as he looked through a book whose contents looked far too wordy for Nero’s taste. Nero paused one more moment, and walked in… before chickening out. But this time, Vergil didn’t let him.
“What is on your mind, Nero?”
Welp, it’s now or never.
Nero sank down on the couch facing his father. Vergil’s eyes were still fixed on the page.
“I wanted to ask some questions about my mother.”
Immediately, the summer air temperature dropped ten degrees, and Vergil went still. All Nero could hear was the ticking of the grandfather clock, and his own heartbeat.
After an eternity, his dad placed a silk ribbon between the pages, and shut the book with great care as he placed it beside the still-steaming cup. Still, Vergil wouldn’t make eye contact as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his spread knees, hands holding up his chin. He looked at where the floor met the wall, and the only thing that showed how the question affected him was the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Finally he spoke.
“I don’t remember.”
Wait…what?
That was not an answer Nero had expected to hear. Worst case scenario, Vergil would have told him to mind his own business and an argument would have broken out. Not a case of forgetfulness.
“What do you mean you can't remember?”
“I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”
“But that’s such a bullshit excuse, like ‘the dog ate my homework’!” Nero growled, “look, if it was one night stand or…” Nero trailed off. He’d always wondered whether the rumours were true, that his mother was a prostitute, but Vergil didn’t seem to be the type to let his guard down for just any random person.
“It’s not an excuse. ”
“HOW DO YOU FORGET FATHERING A KID!?”
Now Vergil leaned back, his agitation showing only by the way his fists balled up, knuckles white.
“I did not say I ‘forgot’, I said I do not remember.”
“You’re fucking lying.”
“I assure you, I am doing nothing of the sort.”
Nero fury boiled over. Vergil was denying him the very thing that was owed to his son, for some inexplicable reason.
“This is fucking bullshit, and you know it!”
Vergil’s eyes turned icy cold, and the temperature dropped further.
“I will not tolerate being raged on by a child, if you wish you to continue with your tantrum, you shall do it without my presence.” And with that, he picked up his book, and strode out of the room, walking up the stairs, the slightly forceful way the door being shut indicating his anger.
Nero stomped off, furious. All he wanted was a simple answer, he didn’t need the details. And Vergil had the gall to refuse. It wasn’t fair at all. And it made no sense. If he couldn’t remember Nero’s mom, why did he automatically accept that Nero was his son, as if he had known all along?
He paused, looking at the bedroom phone, before looking at the clock. It would be extremely early in the morning in Dante’s time zone, but you know what? Fuck him. He dumped Vergil onto Nero’s lap, he’d deal with the consequences. He stabbed at the numbers, and impatiently waited through the dial tone.
‘Devil May Yawn… I mean cry”
“Dante, I got a problem.”
“Jeesh kid, it’s like three in the morning! What could possibly-” a pause and a creak of a chair, indicating that Dante had probably dozed off at his desk, “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re thinking of sending him back. I was just enjoying some alone time…”
“I don’t want to send him back, at least not yet, but I need some help with my old man.”
“I don’t see how I can help, but whatever…”
Nero took a deep breath, looked back to see if the door was closed. “Has Vergil mentioned to you anything...about my mom?” A moment of silence, not a good sign...or it meant his uncle had fallen asleep, not a good sign either.
Eventually Dante replied slowly. “No, not really. Of course I asked, because who in their right mind would want to jump your dad’s-”
“I don’t want to go down that path, but what did he say when you asked?”
“He said something about ‘not remembering’, which I took to mean ‘mind your own business’, so I let the matter drop. It seemed to honestly bug him that I was being nosey.”
“He said the same thing to me, said that he couldn’t remember.”
“Hmmmm” Dante’s voice on the other end did a grunt, and there was the sound of creaky floorboards “If he’s saying it to you… It might be the truth. Vergil doesn't lie...or when he does, he’s really bad at it.”
Nero stifled a laugh, “What about V?”
“Har har har. Listen, I knew something was fishy about his story, but ‘I’m the human part of your long dead brother’ wasn’t what I was expecting the truth to be. But in all seriousness..” There was a pause and a knock on a door, “He’s probably telling the truth.”
“Bullshit, Vergil doesn’t forget shit. He remembers every time you left the fridge door open.”
Dante’s voice didn’t have any humour in it. “I’m serious… but I’m not the best guy to talk to about it,” his voice got muffled. “Hey Trish, you still up? Good, I need you to talk to my nephew about something. Yeah, it’s about that thing we’ve talked about. The memory problems. Alright!” Dante’s voice, “Best of luck kid, and next time, wait til the morning before asking these questions.”
There was a brief pause, and then another familiar voice came on the line, “Hello Nero, Dante said something about your father experiencing gaps in his memory?”
Nero suddenly felt odd. Did his dad actually have gaps in his life? Was that why he was so agitated (well, agitated for Vergil) when pushed on the subject, because it bothered him that he couldn’t remember?
“Yeah”
“Well, I do have an unpleasant theory. While Mundus was attempting to break your father to his will, he may have…” there was an agonizing pause, “done something to his memories, something that would have made him forget who he was, to make him more pliant.” Nero thought about it for a while. That made sense, it sounded like an extremely twisted version of brainwashing.
“Do you think those memories are gone for good?”
Trish clicked her tongue. “No, even after all the torment he was put through, he still remembered Dante and tried his best to fight back against Mundus’s control. All it took was a way to trigger those dormant memories. Perhaps…” He heard the clack of her heels, “if you took him around Fortuna, there might be a location, or something that would bring the memories back. But,” she warned, “You can’t force him to get those memories back...he has to accept them naturally, and even then, there’s no way to predict how he’ll react.”
But Nero didn’t care. This was a two birds, one stone situation. He needed answers. And it was obvious how much the holes in Vergil’s memories bothered him. So, he steeled himself to keep his cool the next day.
It was hard to keep himself cool the next day under the unyielding rays of the sun, with no breeze coming from the ocean. Normally, Nero would have spent the day indoors, or somewhere shady, but he had insisted to his father that today he would show him the town. If Vergil sensed his ulterior motive, he gave no indication, as he walked down the sidewalk alongside Nero, taking in the sights. He seemed calm, as if last night's outburst hadn’t even happened, much to his son’s relief. Still, he kept an eye on the man, looking for any signs that he was remembering anything.
It was proving a bit harder than he expected, as the company of two had become a crowd of three, with Nico inviting herself to tag along. At least she was suffering the heat as he was, as they walked down one of Fortuna’s main streets, the oldest undamaged section of the city. Nero was certain that something ought to help Vergil remember. Yet, there was nothing, no flicker of recognition, nor a pause to examine a street sign.
“Goddamn, I need something to cool off!” Nico whined. And for once, Nero agreed with her. “Hey V, pick a place to get something before my tattoos melt off!”
Vergil scanned the sidewalk cafes and restaurants, each with signs advertising their chilled drinks, before his eyes settled on one, tucked between a used bookshop and a chocolatiere, a tiny little tea store.
“That one.” He stated, pointing to make his decision known.
“Uh, you sure?” Nero questioned, wiping sweat off his brow, “that place just sells hot tea, and dried tea blends, they don’t even sell iced tea. Not something really great for a day like this.”
Vergil seemed to not hear him, already striding towards the store, a sudden purpose to his steps, not heeding Nico’s or his son’s calls. With frustration, the two of them crossed the road to follow him.
“Sorry to break it to you, but your dad’s crazy.”
Nero grinned. “Wait til you meet his brother, he’s on a whole ‘nother level.”
“Nah, Dante’s crazy all right,” Nico explained, “but he’s the good type. Yah know, the type that is predictably unpredictable. You take one look at the guy, and you think ‘Hey, that guy’s a few slices short of a pizza pie’ Your daddy on the other hand,”
“Please don’t call him that, it just sounds creepy.”
“Fine, your dad...he’s on a whole ‘nother level. Looks normal, acts normal, then BOOM, he pulls something like ‘I want a near boiling drink on the hottest day of the year.’ I mean, who DOES that?”
Nero rolled his eyes once more as they got to the sidewalk, and looked through the window. His father had already placed his order, as the shop was unsurprisingly free of customers, and was waiting for his cup to be prepared. But there was something off about him, a kind of nervous energy, his eyes darting this way and that, taking in his surroundings.
A rustle of fabric came from his right, and he turned slightly to see standing beside him, a woman. He couldn’t get a good look at her face, on account of her hood, which was definitely out of place. All but the most stodgy puritanical people on the island had forgone their stupid looking hoods ever the Order had been disbanded several years ago, and it was far too hot to be wearing it, not to mention that thick red dress she was wearing. Vergil might be overdressed for this weather, but she was taking it to a whole new level. She stood uncomfortably close to him, and he was bothered that he hadn’t even sensed her approach.
God, he thought, she must be sweating to death in that getup. Should I ask if she’s okay?
The lady, as if sensing his thoughts, began to turn to face him, but a shooting pain shot through his skull, and his vision was filled with white.
He needs something to keep himself awake, he must study more. The less time he has to spend on this island, the better. Already people give him suspicious glances, and there’s mutterings of ‘damn mainlanders’ when he requests information. A few more weeks, and he’ll have everything he needs. Still, he’s drunk enough coffee that the mere smell of it makes his guts twist in protest. He needs something caffeinated, but more soothing on his stomach...there! A secluded tea shop.
The bells tingle gaily as he steps in, hit with the refreshing fragrances of a myriad of plants. Lemongrass, lavender, and so many more that he can’t make out. To his relief, the store is devoid of customers, in fact, there seems to be no one here. He basks in the refreshing silence.
That’s shattered by a call from the back of the shop.
“Be right there! Sorry!”
A few moments later, a flustered looking woman pops out, her auburn hair attempting to escape from her bandana like an animal in a trap. Her eyes widen for a moment upon seeing him, and then she composes herself, dusting off some dried leaves that stick to her apron.
“Hello there! What can I get you?” Her smile aggravates him. He’s so used to the frowns and glares from this bigoted island, a smile seems as jarring as a penguin waddling in the desert. He hates it already. No doubt it's fake, like the faux politeness the hotel clerk gives him as he comes in late at night with books he’s smuggled out of the Archives. Still, the sooner he gets his tea, the sooner he can get away.
He looks up at the menu, almost blown away by the choices. Blends and names he’s never heard of, and he can only guess what their flavour profiles are supposed to be. And then, he finds a familiar name.
“Earl Grey,” he requests. Something nice and simple, a memory of happier times.
“Great choice!” she agrees, her smile deepening. “What’ll you take in it?”
“Two sugars.” He’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth, hell, his entire family seemed to suffer from that affliction.
She nods and counts up the change he’s given her, before heating up the water in a copper kettle, humming as she does so.
“So, are you here to take in the sights?” Great, she’s making small talk, the bane of his existence.
He pretends to not hear her, but she must be extremely desperate because she continues talking to him.
“We don’t get many people from the Mainland in the City Centre, most of them stick to the beaches and the tourist district. They seem to get kind of freaked out by the Order guards on every street corner, not to mention the statues of the Saviour everywhere you go. To be fair, we Fortunans don’t do much to help, not with our ‘holier-than-thou’ attitudes, you know what I mean?”
He shoots her a glare, to get her to shut up and just focus on pouring the near boiling water into the strainer. He has to deal with this inane prattle for four more minutes, or however long it takes for the water to steep. Perhaps she’s immune to glares because she continues babbling on.
“I’ve always wanted to leave the island for a little bit, see the world, but the cost of getting travel papers…” she sighs before grabbing a paper cup.
“Your name?”
That throws him off for a moment. Does she not understand that he’s not here to make friends? Is she trying to build a rapport with him so that he’ll feel sorry for her, and take her away from this place? He stares at her, ostensibly to shut her up, but then he sees her holding a paper cup, looking at him expectantly. Suddenly it clicks, she just needs it to write on the cup. He hesitates. He’s gone by his cover name ever since he’s arrived on Fortuna’s shores, it makes sense to continue going by that name, despite how silly it sounds...
“Gilver”
He sees her hold back a snort as she writes, and then she pulls out the strainer, and pours the aromatic concoction into the cup before stirring two cubes of sugar. He’s certain she knows that its a cover name
“Well ‘Gilver,’” she smirks as she hands him his cup. “Hope you enjoy it, and feel free to come back!”
He doesn’t respond and leaves as quickly as one can in polite company. He ignores the happily ringing bell, and steps outside into the balmy spring weather. He has a busy day ahead of him, with ancient tomes, dead languages to decipher, and of course, the smuggling out of these books under the eyes of the ever alert guardians.
He takes a sip of the tea, allowing his mouth a moment to savour the taste, and his brow furrows. No, not because it’s too bitter, or not sweet enough. On the contrary, this tea is quite possibly the best he’s ever had.
The furrow of annoyance is the realization that if he wants tea this fantastic ever again, he has to deal with… her.
“Nero?”
He heard his father’s voice piecing the fuzziness, to find the man standing in front of him, head tilted quizzically. In his hand was a paper cup, much like the one Nero had in his own...wait a minute. His mind tried to process what he had just experienced as he looked down to find his hands held nothing. He hadn’t gone into the tea shop, nor did he get served by a very friendly woman, (and even if he had, he would have never been annoyed with her, she seemed perfectly nice). What the fuck just happened?
His head spun around, trying to find the lady in red that had stood beside him, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did she go?”
“Nicoletta is right behind you,”
“No...not her, there was a chick, red dress, white hood...you couldn’t miss her!” Nero exclaimed, now earning puzzled looks from both his father and his friend.
“Dude, there was no one there, you alright? Maybe the heat is getting to you.”
Nero paused and thought for a while. Maybe it was the heat, after all, only a crazy person would dress so heavily on a day like this. And that weird dissociation thing? Another sign the sun was cooking his brain? He felt fine now, but nothing made sense.
“Maybe…” he confessed.
“That settles it,” Nico exclaimed, yanking him by the arm, towards a cafe, “We’re gonna get something to cool you and me down, and you’re paying.” Nero was too out of it to really argue. Whatever he had hallucinated, it had been incredibly realistic. He swore he had the aftertaste, a hint of lemongrass still lingering in his mouth… speaking of which, he looked back at his father, who was taking a tentative first sip of his beverage. He wasn’t an expert on teas, but it did smell like Earl Grey, or a citrusy variant of it.
“How’s the drink?”
Vergil grimaced, looked at the lid and then to Nero’s surprise, dropped it in a trash bin they passed by.
“Far too bitter.”