Though V's statement would be true about nearly anything. He enjoys poetry, but in so far as there is an imperfect reality, he prefers it to his imagination. He wants to do more and experience more and... live. The fact that Vergil is here, that the impossible has become possible, is enough to draw V's attention to it sharply. It took little time to know that he wanted this relationship, longer to think about why. Because that's the natural question, one he asked himself. How could he expect Vergil not to want the answer? And considering the possibility that he might want it more than Vergil—certainly he is more isolated than Vergil and thus, to be frank, in greater need of it—what portion of that answer could he give? Everything feels so unsteady that regardless of the way it'd make him feel raw and exposed, weak in a way that might get slammed in his face, it might be foolish to give the full unadulterated answer?
V controls his body first and foremost. He pushes Griffon's mind away and continues to breath steadily. He lets the weight of Shadow's head in his lap be a comfort. He's not alone, not entirely, not in every way that matters. He will not be, even if Vergil rejects him and any chance of something between them.
"Because I care about you, and I want to help you when I can, and I want your help when I need it," V says it with a calm voice, but his mouth feels dry and patchy. When was the last time he drank water? His heart races, and his pulse jumps. Shadow rolls his head until he can trap V's hand underneath it. It's held steady and warm in V's lap. He had to say the last part. Vergil wouldn't believe V wanting to help him one way, though he will do that part no matter what Vergil says, limited only by the means it is possible. He does not want to take more than he gives, but damn it if he didn't realize he wanted someone to save him trapped and cornered when he thought he was about to die having failed.
He wants what Vergil denied him when he cut V out. Not to be discarded as scraps, as useless. Vergil understands V differently now but as a part of himself. Recognizing V as his own person is barely more. It makes him little more than the useless scrapes of society around Vergil. The book, V thought the book means there's something more from Vergil. It's something V could have saved and bought himself. He didn't need Vergil to give him the book, but he finds he may have needed Vergil giving him... anything. Anything at all. He doesn't want that taken away. How foolish he is. How much he cannot say, cannot explain.
Vergil has been self-interested for such a very long time, and arguably, that has not changed. He does not go out of his way to help others, and it is not much of an argument that needs to be made that what sacrifices he may be willing to make for those closest to his heart bears a degree of selfishness to them. After all, protecting his son, his brother, and his lover go a long way in protecting his tender, weak human heart, still struggling as a child would in his newly acknowledged feelings. Still it seems an alien, untrue thing to hear V say that he not only cares, but cares enough to help. As he is, it does not register as that self-interest. It sounds like another person speaking of him when perhaps it should not. Even with V's acknowledgment that he chose to intervene on Vergil's behalf, tried to partake in curing him of his ailment until he knew for certain Vergil was well again, it does not settle with Vergil as the truth.
What feels more true is the admission that he wants Vergil's help. Not all the time. Vergil's pride is not merely a facet of his demonic blood. No. Only when he might need it.
Need.
What a strange thing to associate with the notion of receiving help. Vergil had been brought low by his illness, but never would he concede on the notion he needed anyone's help to care for himself. Even at his weakest point during his illness, Vergil was still capable of caring for himself by his measure. Perhaps not to the greatest extent, but that did not matter. He still possessed his wits and enough strength to sustain himself. That was what mattered. What even Nero had to acknowledge often several times over before Vergil would allow him to intercede.
But V is not in that position. What ails him runs deeper than that, and unless he is willing to generate enough Lore to reverse the erosion upon his body, there is little else that could be done to change that. He is in a position of needing Vergil's help much in the way he needed Nero's help to reach the end, to survive long enough to begin putting wrongs to rights.
In a strange way, that acknowledgment makes the former portion of his statement an easier thing to believe. Maybe not entirely... But more than just an outright lie, an attempt to curry favor by appealing to Vergil's stock in his strength and power.
But it is still a want. A want for a need to be answered, but a want all the same. Not seeking alternatives even as Vergil has already pushed V to seek out them out from the very day V arrived in this realm, rejecting the notion that this fragment of himself should ever come to rely upon him.
"You returned to me alone," he says, studying V's face carefully for how that settles for him. "I accepted the memories each of them carried, so I had no further use for your familiars. They knew well enough your consciousness was extinguished the moment you joined with Urizen, but their loyalty to you remained. Even with the ability to do whatever they pleased with the time they had left and nothing to gain from it, they still they gave their lives to protect me.
"I would not expect them to question their loyalties even if some of them are intelligent enough to know the difference between you and me." In being the more literal interpretation of stupid as a rock and more thing than being, Nightmare was at a disadvantage relative to Shadow and Griffon on that count. "But I would not expect you to be like them with unearned, unquestioned loyalty and care for my well-being. So, why is it that you care when you have come to here and seek a life separate and of your own? What reason does it matter to you what becomes of me do you have beyond the outcome of your choices in our world? They are choices and an outcome that no longer matter to who you are now in this moment."
V waits in miserable aggravated silence. Putting words to these feelings that are themselves so new, older though they may be than most of his independent existence before Folkmore, aches. It pull a compress away from the wounds, so that they bleed freely again. He feels weak, glad that he's already sitting that he need not stumble and find support. Trish comes to mind. I'm not your mommy, V. She isn't. She never will be. That she shares a face only made it easier for him to realize he wanted to be saved. He wanted his mother to save him. He would not seek that from Trish, were she here.
Vergil, however—
Vergil has always been Vergil. Is Vergil. What he wants is something he wanted, in a way, with Urizen. Something he wanted to provide his younger self, even if that version only exists in his mind, in his memories. Once the future Vergil, a Vergil that's not falling apart, not trapped by Mundus, not so young he thought to take on Mundus in his exhausted injured state, not any of those younger Vergils, that Vergil became real and a possibility in this place, V wanted something of him. The help, yes, but the help isn't about Vergil's power, much as that power cannot be ignored. It's his acceptance, his companionship. V's selfish enough to try and weak and desperate enough to continue under this scrutinizing gaze.
His eyes flicker to Shadow, the only familiar out at the moment, when Vergil describes their fate, their chosen end. He partnered with them because he needed them to stay alive. Even now, he's not sure if he could live without them. So there's never been a question for him to let them die, not since Griffon convinced him to make a pact. He knows they're made of memories, that they are a part of Vergil, discarded scraps that bond together to make something that might live a little longer. They've all lived longer than they were meant to, and V will not apologize for that. He feels hollow hearing of their deaths, despite knowing they couldn't last. They won't, they didn't. It's like reading a sad book. Even when you know how it will end, the ending still wrenches you.
Those feelings are set aside for later, the sore ache in his heart merely a welcome distraction from the incredibly uncomfortable topic of V caring about Vergil. That remains. That Vergil demands an answer for, slow and steady and inexorable. Like the very end that awaits V in their world. Fitting, really.
"Loyalty and care are not earned," V says quietly. He says nothing more for some time as he considers how to put his reasons into words. His feelings, incidentally, but V does not focus on those.
"It took the journey through the qliphoth tree for me to realize I wanted to be saved and protected when I was a boy," V begins, something Vergil knows for himself with their shared origins, with his complete memories, "I also realize I want to save and protect the other versions of me—the young boy, the demon, the half-demon. I care for them. And should they so choose"—a dry half-laugh—"I want them to care for me. I am alive, here, and I need not focus all my efforts in undoing my mistakes, in seeing that through. I can choose to care and give it my attention. I finally have the freedom to do so."
It may not satisfy Vergil. V cannot make the man care for him, but neither can Vergil take his desires and cares from him. Satisfied, unsatisfied, they are his. He's never gotten much that he wanted. V hardly expects that to change now. It's not as though his caring nature has made him some world savior type. He's not trying to save the world or care for most anyone in Folkmore. He's not sure he knows how to care for just anyone. It's Vergil. It's... Nero. Maybe someone else will follow. Maybe not.
Vergil narrows his eyes at V's initial response, disagreement written on his face as he finds the man even more inscrutable than he did a moment ago. He understands his own instantaneous, unquestioned loyalty, love, and care for Nero, but he cannot fathom anything remotely similar being applied to him. Not even from this fragment of himself. But he does not interrupt with further questions. V must know it not to be a sufficient answer, and knows more questions will follow if he does not provide more. Vergil sits impatiently in his own silence until V is able to say more.
V begins with what Vergil already knows to be true, the common ground to try and bridge their understanding together. He's no more patient with it, but he follows V's words as best he can. He purses his lips, barely containing his protest. There is nothing that could be done for the boy or the demon. For Vergil, they both remain firmly in the past. And the half-demon...
"Your efforts are to be a waste then. I've no need for a savior any longer, V," he says. Notably, Vergil does not deny V the capability of saving and protecting him. Not aloud when it is hardly a worthwhile point to make. Vergil does not speak as though this a matter of strength and power because it simply is not. "Nero saved us."
Yes, he did not allow V to die at the hands of Malphas, nor Vergil to die at the hands of his own brother, and he did so with his own strength. But that is not where Nero truly saved them. Would V have ever possibly reached the conclusions that he had about his endless quest for power without the time he spent with Nero? Perhaps. There is always that possibility in that simply seeing what became of Vergil, seeing the rot and ruin of Urizen would have been enough to bring about that understanding. But Vergil would never consider it a guarantee in the absence of his son. Certainly, even if V had reached similar conclusions, there was no way forward for Vergil. He would remain lost still albeit in a different way than he spent most of his life. Wandering and aimless, how long would it have been before he fell back on old habits or worse? He's openly admitted it a few times by now, but Vergil cannot truly emphasize the importance of Nero on his resolve to be a better man, to allow that cast off part of himself that called itself V into his heart completely and fully.
"You may choose to care," he says, "I cannot stop you. But you bear false hope if you believe that I will so readily choose to care in return."
Vergil frowns a little, gaze drifting for a moment as he knows that requires more of an explanation. It is not fair to assume that V can understand it, especially not when he's adopted so close to an opposite perspective. He's not certain he's found the words by the time he speaks again, but he raises his eyes back to V.
"I cannot pretend as though you are not something to me. But what that something is, I haven't a clue. You bear no claim to my past, yet it cannot be said it is not yours. You cannot be without me. And by the same token, I bear no claim to your short life, yet it served as the catalyst for so much change in my own. I would not be without you.
"We know one another with far more intimacy than mere knowledge alone, but you are a stranger to me as I am to you."
And that is the trouble with it all. Vergil struggles with allowing himself to be so known. V must know it from his own reservations around such vulnerability even with Vergil. But Vergil chooses to do that with others. Which is not to say the lack of choice is the challenge with V even if there's no denying it as a factor. The important part of Vergil's choice to do so with others is that he's felt that trust in him earned in return. His vulnerability is so often a response to vulnerability entrusted to him. But what vulnerability does V have to offer in return? There is nothing that he can claim wholly his own by that measure. All of it lies within Vergil's memories and experiences, all his own matters that he does not need to be entrusted with because they are already his. Thus, V hovers somewhere in that strange line between known and unknown, familiar and stranger.
He looks away again to the fire. There is less hostility to his expression, and more a subtle uncertainty.
"You were quick to call me a liar, and I was quick to anger, so I did not say what I meant the other day. I was truthful when I said I did not feel guilt for discarding you." He glances at V, but does not allow his gaze to linger or to hold any meaningful eye contact. "I know what guilt is, and what it means to feel it, and I know that is not the feeling I have when I am around you. But I do not know what that feeling is beyond that.
"You were never meant to part from me. You were never meant to exist like this."
It just feels...wrong. Like looking into a mirror and knowing the reflection is distorted, but being unable to name specifically what it is that's off.
V is not a savior. Between the two of them, Vergil far more looks the part of Sparda's statues and the images those who worship him create. They want someone powerful and strong to be their savior. They don't want him. That's not the point of saving someone. Nor does the fact Vergil doesn't need saving stop him from wanting to do so. Far be it from V to step in on Vergil's behalf under most circumstances. It may even be Vergil didn't need V's help with the illness, but the opportunity was there. Given the number of times he ventured on that journey, he undoubtedly saved other people. That's the numbers game. He doesn't care about that, about them, save that someone trying to save them might save Vergil. It's—
He doesn't want to take Nero's place in Vergil's life, not as a son (awkward, so not the relationship between V and Vergil, for all they don't understand it) and not as a savior. He doesn't comment on Nero saving Vergil at all, just then, but a small smile curls at the corner of his mouth, pleased nonetheless that it's true.
It's hard to stay silent, but they wait for each other. They're trying to wait, in this moment. So V waits and ponders and does not speak, even as Vergil says more. Not until he's done. He's not eight. He has some patience.
Where in that laugh did Vergil hear an expanse of hope? Or is it V's persistence, unwillingness to give up on the matter, that reads like hope. V knows he means something to Vergil each time he touches the book, each time he reads the poetry on its pages, and he opens it every night. He feels whatever lies between Vergil and him every night. Yet he remains without hope that Vergil will allow himself whatever it is or allow whatever it is to grow. Hope is not always the point.
Only then does Vergil say something that tenuously crosses the divide between them. An acknowledgement, both of them and the confusing place it leaves them. V doesn't allow himself to hope but he listens. He understands, and to some extent he agrees. For how well they know each other, they also don't. Vergil doesn't understand him, somehow, despite there being every reason he should, so he can only extend the courtesy in the other direction. (Oh, he doesn't believe he misunderstands Vergil as much as Vergil thinks he does, but it is not the time, it will never be the time, to say that.)
So he starts with a peace offering. "Guilt may not be the right word. It's only the closest word I have. Nor have I found the right verse. A failing of language, perhaps a universal one, given our circumstances."
V shifts a little, flexing his fingers as his hand goes numb under Shadow's weight. The cat only adjusts and keeps it trapped. "I was never meant to exist apart from you or like this, but I have. I do. I did not ask to exist any more than anyone else, but now that I exist, I have that right, as much as anyone. That it would kill me and with me you in our world hardly makes us unique. People fail to live all the time, and it kills others.
"I cannot apologize for wanting to live. Neither of us would be here without it, and as importantly, I want to live." He wants to live long enough that a month and a half feels like nothing. He wants to live for forty-two years. He wants more than he'll ever get, and he knows that. He'll take whatever scraps he can fight for.
"I have been here longer than I existed in our world. If you need time to sort out what you want, so much as our host allows us, I will wait. I'll even cede the cafe back to you, should you wish," V continues softly. That last part hurts. He cannot help the slight flicker across his face. His affection for the place is true, regardless that he always hopes to run into Vergil there. It was Vergil's first. "My care for you isn't conditional on what you choose to do. It's mine."
Vergil's brow furrows a little as V says he cannot apologize for his existence. He was not looking for an apology from V even if he does disagree somewhat with the degree to which V has more culpability surrounding his existence than he acknowledges or claims. It's true that he did not ask to come to be, but it was still his choice to follow the Fox, to exist outside and beyond Vergil for his own reasons. And that does mean something. Beyond just the choice to exist, it means... Vergil purses his lips even as he tries to listen to the rest of what V has to say. He really cannot concentrate on it, however, as while he cannot fully articulate his discomfort with V by naming it exactly, he can at least pinpoint a source of it.
"You gave up," he says, and he says it bluntly. Vergil's gaze locks onto V, scrutinizing the other in the low light offered by the fire. "You say you care for me, but you gave up in choosing to come here. What am I to make of that?"
There's more implicit demand in the way Vergil asks his question. The likelihood that Vergil could somehow keep that out of his tone is unlikely though, so he makes no effort to mask that he wants an answer for that portion. Wanting to live is one thing. He cannot fault V for that. Feeling comfortable enough to want to stay because he knows this to be merely borrowed time and that he shall ultimately succeed is also not something Vergil takes umbrage with. But the fact that V followed the Fox in the first place? Vergil cannot see it as anything other than giving up on his mission, abandoning Vergil in the first place.
All V said, all he had to say and more he hasn't said, but Vergil slices it all away with those simple words. How like him. V, in his desire to live, hasn't thought about that part, not consciously. He hasn't had to. Here, he knows he succeeds. From his conversation with Nero, he understands how he got to the end, how he reached Urizen, and how they became the man sitting before him. It hasn't faced him as plainly as Vergil states. Nor the well-deserved demand in that question.
V's face stays nearly the same, except for the way his jaw tightens. His head goes quiet, and V sits with the uncomfortable fact that he gave up. For a moment, he saw certain death. If he moved and made a sound, Malphas would detect him and kill him before he could escape. If he faced her, he was too weak to win. There was no way for V to survive—not by his own power. It was about to be over so quickly. So when the fox came, when V had that single moment to decide between certain death and uncertain life, he chose life.
He had no way then to know Nero would arrive within seconds and save him. Nero saved him. It's the only reason he lived. It's the only reason Vergil lives. Nero saved them, the way they always wanted to be saved. V lacks the memory of it, but he can imagine it so clearly, save that Nero and Sparda merge in his mind. They stand before him as a child, and they defeat the demons. They're safe. He closes his eyes and grinds his back teeth slightly.
"I gave up," V spits out, like he's removing poison from a wound. "Whether I came here or not, in that moment, I gave up. There was no way out, and I do not have the power to do anything about that. I could not call Yamato. My familiars were too weak. I was too weak. I would have died, if survival were left in my hands. I knew that, and I did not expect anyone to save me."
The van was nowhere nearby. He assumed Dante and Nero were far ahead of him. It was him, only him.
"I chose to live the only way I saw. The only way that gave us a chance."
He tilts his head back and shakes it, not quite a laugh. "She chose the perfect moment. The worst one."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
V controls his body first and foremost. He pushes Griffon's mind away and continues to breath steadily. He lets the weight of Shadow's head in his lap be a comfort. He's not alone, not entirely, not in every way that matters. He will not be, even if Vergil rejects him and any chance of something between them.
"Because I care about you, and I want to help you when I can, and I want your help when I need it," V says it with a calm voice, but his mouth feels dry and patchy. When was the last time he drank water? His heart races, and his pulse jumps. Shadow rolls his head until he can trap V's hand underneath it. It's held steady and warm in V's lap. He had to say the last part. Vergil wouldn't believe V wanting to help him one way, though he will do that part no matter what Vergil says, limited only by the means it is possible. He does not want to take more than he gives, but damn it if he didn't realize he wanted someone to save him trapped and cornered when he thought he was about to die having failed.
He wants what Vergil denied him when he cut V out. Not to be discarded as scraps, as useless. Vergil understands V differently now but as a part of himself. Recognizing V as his own person is barely more. It makes him little more than the useless scrapes of society around Vergil. The book, V thought the book means there's something more from Vergil. It's something V could have saved and bought himself. He didn't need Vergil to give him the book, but he finds he may have needed Vergil giving him... anything. Anything at all. He doesn't want that taken away. How foolish he is. How much he cannot say, cannot explain.
no subject
What feels more true is the admission that he wants Vergil's help. Not all the time. Vergil's pride is not merely a facet of his demonic blood. No. Only when he might need it.
Need.
What a strange thing to associate with the notion of receiving help. Vergil had been brought low by his illness, but never would he concede on the notion he needed anyone's help to care for himself. Even at his weakest point during his illness, Vergil was still capable of caring for himself by his measure. Perhaps not to the greatest extent, but that did not matter. He still possessed his wits and enough strength to sustain himself. That was what mattered. What even Nero had to acknowledge often several times over before Vergil would allow him to intercede.
But V is not in that position. What ails him runs deeper than that, and unless he is willing to generate enough Lore to reverse the erosion upon his body, there is little else that could be done to change that. He is in a position of needing Vergil's help much in the way he needed Nero's help to reach the end, to survive long enough to begin putting wrongs to rights.
In a strange way, that acknowledgment makes the former portion of his statement an easier thing to believe. Maybe not entirely... But more than just an outright lie, an attempt to curry favor by appealing to Vergil's stock in his strength and power.
But it is still a want. A want for a need to be answered, but a want all the same. Not seeking alternatives even as Vergil has already pushed V to seek out them out from the very day V arrived in this realm, rejecting the notion that this fragment of himself should ever come to rely upon him.
"You returned to me alone," he says, studying V's face carefully for how that settles for him. "I accepted the memories each of them carried, so I had no further use for your familiars. They knew well enough your consciousness was extinguished the moment you joined with Urizen, but their loyalty to you remained. Even with the ability to do whatever they pleased with the time they had left and nothing to gain from it, they still they gave their lives to protect me.
"I would not expect them to question their loyalties even if some of them are intelligent enough to know the difference between you and me." In being the more literal interpretation of stupid as a rock and more thing than being, Nightmare was at a disadvantage relative to Shadow and Griffon on that count. "But I would not expect you to be like them with unearned, unquestioned loyalty and care for my well-being. So, why is it that you care when you have come to here and seek a life separate and of your own? What reason does it matter to you what becomes of me do you have beyond the outcome of your choices in our world? They are choices and an outcome that no longer matter to who you are now in this moment."
no subject
Vergil, however—
Vergil has always been Vergil. Is Vergil. What he wants is something he wanted, in a way, with Urizen. Something he wanted to provide his younger self, even if that version only exists in his mind, in his memories. Once the future Vergil, a Vergil that's not falling apart, not trapped by Mundus, not so young he thought to take on Mundus in his exhausted injured state, not any of those younger Vergils, that Vergil became real and a possibility in this place, V wanted something of him. The help, yes, but the help isn't about Vergil's power, much as that power cannot be ignored. It's his acceptance, his companionship. V's selfish enough to try and weak and desperate enough to continue under this scrutinizing gaze.
His eyes flicker to Shadow, the only familiar out at the moment, when Vergil describes their fate, their chosen end. He partnered with them because he needed them to stay alive. Even now, he's not sure if he could live without them. So there's never been a question for him to let them die, not since Griffon convinced him to make a pact. He knows they're made of memories, that they are a part of Vergil, discarded scraps that bond together to make something that might live a little longer. They've all lived longer than they were meant to, and V will not apologize for that. He feels hollow hearing of their deaths, despite knowing they couldn't last. They won't, they didn't. It's like reading a sad book. Even when you know how it will end, the ending still wrenches you.
Those feelings are set aside for later, the sore ache in his heart merely a welcome distraction from the incredibly uncomfortable topic of V caring about Vergil. That remains. That Vergil demands an answer for, slow and steady and inexorable. Like the very end that awaits V in their world. Fitting, really.
"Loyalty and care are not earned," V says quietly. He says nothing more for some time as he considers how to put his reasons into words. His feelings, incidentally, but V does not focus on those.
"It took the journey through the qliphoth tree for me to realize I wanted to be saved and protected when I was a boy," V begins, something Vergil knows for himself with their shared origins, with his complete memories, "I also realize I want to save and protect the other versions of me—the young boy, the demon, the half-demon. I care for them. And should they so choose"—a dry half-laugh—"I want them to care for me. I am alive, here, and I need not focus all my efforts in undoing my mistakes, in seeing that through. I can choose to care and give it my attention. I finally have the freedom to do so."
It may not satisfy Vergil. V cannot make the man care for him, but neither can Vergil take his desires and cares from him. Satisfied, unsatisfied, they are his. He's never gotten much that he wanted. V hardly expects that to change now. It's not as though his caring nature has made him some world savior type. He's not trying to save the world or care for most anyone in Folkmore. He's not sure he knows how to care for just anyone. It's Vergil. It's... Nero. Maybe someone else will follow. Maybe not.
no subject
V begins with what Vergil already knows to be true, the common ground to try and bridge their understanding together. He's no more patient with it, but he follows V's words as best he can. He purses his lips, barely containing his protest. There is nothing that could be done for the boy or the demon. For Vergil, they both remain firmly in the past. And the half-demon...
"Your efforts are to be a waste then. I've no need for a savior any longer, V," he says. Notably, Vergil does not deny V the capability of saving and protecting him. Not aloud when it is hardly a worthwhile point to make. Vergil does not speak as though this a matter of strength and power because it simply is not. "Nero saved us."
Yes, he did not allow V to die at the hands of Malphas, nor Vergil to die at the hands of his own brother, and he did so with his own strength. But that is not where Nero truly saved them. Would V have ever possibly reached the conclusions that he had about his endless quest for power without the time he spent with Nero? Perhaps. There is always that possibility in that simply seeing what became of Vergil, seeing the rot and ruin of Urizen would have been enough to bring about that understanding. But Vergil would never consider it a guarantee in the absence of his son. Certainly, even if V had reached similar conclusions, there was no way forward for Vergil. He would remain lost still albeit in a different way than he spent most of his life. Wandering and aimless, how long would it have been before he fell back on old habits or worse? He's openly admitted it a few times by now, but Vergil cannot truly emphasize the importance of Nero on his resolve to be a better man, to allow that cast off part of himself that called itself V into his heart completely and fully.
"You may choose to care," he says, "I cannot stop you. But you bear false hope if you believe that I will so readily choose to care in return."
Vergil frowns a little, gaze drifting for a moment as he knows that requires more of an explanation. It is not fair to assume that V can understand it, especially not when he's adopted so close to an opposite perspective. He's not certain he's found the words by the time he speaks again, but he raises his eyes back to V.
"I cannot pretend as though you are not something to me. But what that something is, I haven't a clue. You bear no claim to my past, yet it cannot be said it is not yours. You cannot be without me. And by the same token, I bear no claim to your short life, yet it served as the catalyst for so much change in my own. I would not be without you.
"We know one another with far more intimacy than mere knowledge alone, but you are a stranger to me as I am to you."
And that is the trouble with it all. Vergil struggles with allowing himself to be so known. V must know it from his own reservations around such vulnerability even with Vergil. But Vergil chooses to do that with others. Which is not to say the lack of choice is the challenge with V even if there's no denying it as a factor. The important part of Vergil's choice to do so with others is that he's felt that trust in him earned in return. His vulnerability is so often a response to vulnerability entrusted to him. But what vulnerability does V have to offer in return? There is nothing that he can claim wholly his own by that measure. All of it lies within Vergil's memories and experiences, all his own matters that he does not need to be entrusted with because they are already his. Thus, V hovers somewhere in that strange line between known and unknown, familiar and stranger.
He looks away again to the fire. There is less hostility to his expression, and more a subtle uncertainty.
"You were quick to call me a liar, and I was quick to anger, so I did not say what I meant the other day. I was truthful when I said I did not feel guilt for discarding you." He glances at V, but does not allow his gaze to linger or to hold any meaningful eye contact. "I know what guilt is, and what it means to feel it, and I know that is not the feeling I have when I am around you. But I do not know what that feeling is beyond that.
"You were never meant to part from me. You were never meant to exist like this."
It just feels...wrong. Like looking into a mirror and knowing the reflection is distorted, but being unable to name specifically what it is that's off.
no subject
He doesn't want to take Nero's place in Vergil's life, not as a son (awkward, so not the relationship between V and Vergil, for all they don't understand it) and not as a savior. He doesn't comment on Nero saving Vergil at all, just then, but a small smile curls at the corner of his mouth, pleased nonetheless that it's true.
It's hard to stay silent, but they wait for each other. They're trying to wait, in this moment. So V waits and ponders and does not speak, even as Vergil says more. Not until he's done. He's not eight. He has some patience.
Where in that laugh did Vergil hear an expanse of hope? Or is it V's persistence, unwillingness to give up on the matter, that reads like hope. V knows he means something to Vergil each time he touches the book, each time he reads the poetry on its pages, and he opens it every night. He feels whatever lies between Vergil and him every night. Yet he remains without hope that Vergil will allow himself whatever it is or allow whatever it is to grow. Hope is not always the point.
Only then does Vergil say something that tenuously crosses the divide between them. An acknowledgement, both of them and the confusing place it leaves them. V doesn't allow himself to hope but he listens. He understands, and to some extent he agrees. For how well they know each other, they also don't. Vergil doesn't understand him, somehow, despite there being every reason he should, so he can only extend the courtesy in the other direction. (Oh, he doesn't believe he misunderstands Vergil as much as Vergil thinks he does, but it is not the time, it will never be the time, to say that.)
So he starts with a peace offering. "Guilt may not be the right word. It's only the closest word I have. Nor have I found the right verse. A failing of language, perhaps a universal one, given our circumstances."
V shifts a little, flexing his fingers as his hand goes numb under Shadow's weight. The cat only adjusts and keeps it trapped. "I was never meant to exist apart from you or like this, but I have. I do. I did not ask to exist any more than anyone else, but now that I exist, I have that right, as much as anyone. That it would kill me and with me you in our world hardly makes us unique. People fail to live all the time, and it kills others.
"I cannot apologize for wanting to live. Neither of us would be here without it, and as importantly, I want to live." He wants to live long enough that a month and a half feels like nothing. He wants to live for forty-two years. He wants more than he'll ever get, and he knows that. He'll take whatever scraps he can fight for.
"I have been here longer than I existed in our world. If you need time to sort out what you want, so much as our host allows us, I will wait. I'll even cede the cafe back to you, should you wish," V continues softly. That last part hurts. He cannot help the slight flicker across his face. His affection for the place is true, regardless that he always hopes to run into Vergil there. It was Vergil's first. "My care for you isn't conditional on what you choose to do. It's mine."
He'll always have the book.
no subject
"You gave up," he says, and he says it bluntly. Vergil's gaze locks onto V, scrutinizing the other in the low light offered by the fire. "You say you care for me, but you gave up in choosing to come here. What am I to make of that?"
There's more implicit demand in the way Vergil asks his question. The likelihood that Vergil could somehow keep that out of his tone is unlikely though, so he makes no effort to mask that he wants an answer for that portion. Wanting to live is one thing. He cannot fault V for that. Feeling comfortable enough to want to stay because he knows this to be merely borrowed time and that he shall ultimately succeed is also not something Vergil takes umbrage with. But the fact that V followed the Fox in the first place? Vergil cannot see it as anything other than giving up on his mission, abandoning Vergil in the first place.
no subject
V's face stays nearly the same, except for the way his jaw tightens. His head goes quiet, and V sits with the uncomfortable fact that he gave up. For a moment, he saw certain death. If he moved and made a sound, Malphas would detect him and kill him before he could escape. If he faced her, he was too weak to win. There was no way for V to survive—not by his own power. It was about to be over so quickly. So when the fox came, when V had that single moment to decide between certain death and uncertain life, he chose life.
He had no way then to know Nero would arrive within seconds and save him. Nero saved him. It's the only reason he lived. It's the only reason Vergil lives. Nero saved them, the way they always wanted to be saved. V lacks the memory of it, but he can imagine it so clearly, save that Nero and Sparda merge in his mind. They stand before him as a child, and they defeat the demons. They're safe. He closes his eyes and grinds his back teeth slightly.
"I gave up," V spits out, like he's removing poison from a wound. "Whether I came here or not, in that moment, I gave up. There was no way out, and I do not have the power to do anything about that. I could not call Yamato. My familiars were too weak. I was too weak. I would have died, if survival were left in my hands. I knew that, and I did not expect anyone to save me."
The van was nowhere nearby. He assumed Dante and Nero were far ahead of him. It was him, only him.
"I chose to live the only way I saw. The only way that gave us a chance."
He tilts his head back and shakes it, not quite a laugh. "She chose the perfect moment. The worst one."