Disclaimer: Same song and dance. Know the twins, don't own DMC. Would be a millionaire if I did. Heather be mine, peoples!

Summary: I own no part of Devil May Cry. None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Got it?

Queen's Quornor: Since I've worked with the novels and manga already, I think it's time I worked in somebody from the anime. It's kinda sad, because her name seems to go back and forth on the translated episodes (Capcom had BETTER send this over here to the States...), but I decided to use the one she goes by in most of them. Patty, Betty, whatever. The little blond girl! There are some spoilers for the anime in here, so if you don't want to know what happens, you might want to skip this chapter. I know I said I'd never use Trish in one of my fics, but this is the sole exception. After all, she's in the anime, and Patty does know her. Gotta put her in here, to my greatest sorrow. That's one very nice thing about the anime. They solidified my suspicions: Dante and Trish never, ever had a relationship beyond partners and friends!

Patty

Cleaning really gives you time to think. It's a great way to get your head together, and sort through the things in your life that need it. I guess that's why I still come out here to Devil May Cry, even though I have my mom back. Dante's still my friend, and I find that it's kind of relaxing, cleaning up after him.

Besides, if I don't take care of this place, nobody will.

Dante couldn't care less about how messy his office gets, or what people think when they walk in here. I think that's part of the reason why he never gets any clients. They take one look at the office, and decide to take their business elsewhere. I mean, just look at this place! It's a pigsty! Old pizza boxes everywhere, empty beer bottles, old magazines, crumpled up papers... If one didn't know Dante, one might think he would take just as little care in his work as he does in maintaining his workspace. He's a slob!

And the office certainly doesn't get any cleaner when Miss Lady or Miss Trish come in. They aren't Dante's partners, so they don't spend much time in here. They sometimes come in with jobs they want his help on, and Miss Lady does periodically stop by to bug Dante about the money he owes her, but they never say anything about the way the place looks. Morrison doesn't lift a finger to clean, either.

I'm the only one who cares about how bad Devil May Cry looks!

But when I tried to make it a bit more appealing after Dante first met me, he made me put it back the way it was. He just doesn't like stuffed animals or soft pastels, for some reason. No, he has to have those stupid demon skulls and swords all over the place. He won't even let me trash that poster he has on the bathroom door, the one with the lady in the bikini. Now, what conclusion would you draw about a guy with a poster like that in the bathroom? I tried explaining it to him once, but he just told me to leave it alone. I don't see why he cares so little about what the swords and skulls and poster and the mess say about him. They make him look bad to potential customers!

He's sleeping on the couch right now, as usual. Here I am, scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees, and he's laying there with the latest issue of Guns and Ammo over his face, snoozing. Is it too much to ask that I get a little thanks for my hard work? He doesn't even try to keep the place clean. I come over to clean every Sunday, and every single time it always looks the way it was last Sunday.

I can't get too mad at him, though. He needs me, though he'd never admit it. And I like the guy, so I'll keep indulging him. One of these days, he'll thank me. I know he will.

He hasn't gotten annoyed with me lately. I used to eat his strawberry sundaes whenever I came by, but I promised him I'd stop if he came back. And he did. So, I did. We haven't played poker since before that happened, so he hasn't lost any money to me recently. And of course, I'm never taking Miss Lady and Miss Trish's advice again. The last time I did, Dante got in trouble for owing money to a clothing boutique. I don't want him to get in trouble on my account again.

I sit back and wipe some stray hair away from my forehead, taking a moment to look at him. It's hard to believe that only a few days ago, I thought he was dead. I wasn't thinking when I went in that place. I just wanted to see my mother again, and save her. If I had known what would happen, I wouldn't have put the necklace on the alter. Mom and Morrison almost died, that weird guy became a demon...

And Dante almost died.

I never realized how much he meant to me until I saw him hanging there, on that cross with his own sword through his chest. He's my best friend, and he saved my life. It was my fault he was there. If I hadn't gone to the hotel, if I hadn't been such a selfish little child, if I had listened to my mother and not that guy...

He would never have been in that situation in the first place.

I guess I owe him, now. He's gone through so much because of me, and he's done so much for me. And he didn't have to. He's a good guy, even though he acts like he doesn't care. He's a pig, but he's still my friend.

It is hard not to get annoyed with him, though, when he messes up the office like this and then expects me to clean it up for him.

I'll keep cleaning it for him, though.

It's getting late. Mom's going to be worried if I don't get home soon. She's bought a place here in town, so I can be near Dante. She understands why I don't want to leave him. I also think she doesn't want to leave because she's afraid the demons might attack her again, and she wants to be near somebody who can take care of them if they do.

It only takes a few minutes to dump out the bucket into the bathtub and put my supplies away. Dante never uses his coat closet, so it works as a place to store the cleaning stuff. Normally, I'd wake him up and tell him goodbye before I leave, and lecture him about keeping the office neat and tidy.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, I get him a blanket from upstairs and cover him with it, making sure to tuck him in. We can't have him catching cold, you know. I don't want to think about what might happen if he had to beat devils while he's doped up on Nyquil. The magazine gets taken off his face and laid on the coffee table, where it belongs.

There. He looks so much more comfortable now.

I have to leave him for now. But I'll be back tomorrow, after school. And every day after that.

I'm not abandoning him again.