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."
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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.
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"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.
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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."