Chapter Text
Dante had left early that morning, vanishing in a blur of red coat, bad jokes, and an absurd promise to “punch a hellhound before lunch.” Vergil wasn’t surprised. He simply nodded as the front door slammed behind him. It was just him and Clara now.
The day stretched out slowly, peaceful in a way Vergil rarely experienced. No demons howling, no urgent calls, no chaotic commentary from Dante about how diapers were somehow worse than bloodstains. Just Clara’s soft babbles, the crinkle of blankets, and the occasional thump of her tiny fists against the playmat, as if she were challenging gravity to a duel.
Vergil moved quietly beside her, guiding a spoon into her mouth when she was hungry, catching the one she threw across the room without a word. Even that minor rebellion seemed almost polite compared to the usual chaos.
When it was nap time, Clara didn’t immediately close her eyes, but she curled into his chest like a small, contented loaf, humming herself nearly to sleep. Her little fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt, and Vergil held her there, still and calm, rubbing gentle circles on her back. He didn’t rush, didn’t fidget, letting the quiet of the office stretch between them. Hours could have passed like that; he didn’t mind.
By evening, Clara was finally sleepy. Her warm bottle finished, eyes heavy, and body settling against him, Vergil carried her to the bed. The space was quiet now, the sky outside deep and indigo. He cradled her in his lap, brushing soft strands of hair from her forehead, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.
“You’ve been… surprisingly well-behaved today,” he murmured softly, voice low. Clara cooed in response and burrowed closer, her tiny body pressing into him like she was claiming a small piece of safety. He studied her for a long moment, exhaling quietly, almost like a laugh escaping without sound.
“…So. Ma, is it?” he asked, half smiling at the thought. Clara responded with a sleepy little raspberry. Vergil let a faint, soft smile tug at his lips, looking up at the ceiling as though measuring each word before letting it fall.
“I suppose I didn’t expect it,” he said after a pause. “But you know what? I’ll take it. If I’m the one you call when you’re tired, hungry, or furious that gravity still exists… then I’ll be Ma.” Clara’s tiny fingers twitched against his chest, and he bent slightly to lower his forehead to hers.
“But when he gets home,” he whispered, “call him Da. He won’t say it, but he’s waiting for it.” Clara blinked slowly, the quiet weight of understanding in her gaze.
“He talks about it when you’re asleep,” Vergil added, voice quieter still. “How much he wants to hear it. From you. Just once. Call him Da,” he said, softer, as if the words were a spell. “He’ll melt like butter.”
Clara yawned, revealing her single new tooth, then smacked her lips with a tiny, dramatic flair. Vergil chuckled under his breath, letting the sound drift into the quiet room.
“…Or scream it at him during dinner. Whatever works,” he added, lying back slowly, cradling her close. Her warmth pressed against him, her soft breathing steady. He closed his eyes, letting the quiet settle over them both, knowing that for now, this small, peaceful moment was enough.