By Blood Connected

By Blood Connected
A Fanfiction by Vir M.
Chapter 11:
“Smile”
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I checked to make sure the boxed up dagger, tied with that deep blue ribbon, was still safely tucked into my bag one last time before pushing open his office door. My heart pounded against my rib cage sporadically as I rested my hand on the cool oak of the doorframe. The gold plate set into the wood gleamed in the hall’s half-light, gleamed like a watching eye.

All day I had been jumpy and snappish, which wouldn’t have seemed that abnormal, except that the usual rate at which blew up in people’s faces seemed to be multiplied by twelve. Not a pretty sight, to say the least.

Nevertheless, I had somehow made it through the day, and now here I was, about to (well, probably about to) commit the most embarrassing act of my young life. A willing act, but I digress. I was here to not only to report to my session, but deliver Aeneid his gift, as well as FINALLY return his blasted book, “The Legend Of Sparda.”

Steeling myself, I pushed open the door.

He was sitting behind his mahogany desk and was, as always, regarding me over the top of his laced-together fingers as I entered.

“Hello...” I said nervously. //Does he HAVE to stare like that? He quirked a neon eyebrow at me as I sat down in my familiar seat and settled my school-bag in my lap.

“Is something wrong?”

I jumped at that. //Damn him and his perceptiveness! I thought darkly.

“I’m just peachy, why?” I snapped. He smirked.

“Not that’s more like you.” His eyes glittered brightly. “How are you this evening?”

I stared at him suspiciously. He didn’t normally begin our sessions in this friendly manner.

//He’s up to something. My cynical side said. //Be on your guard, Jira. I smiled mechanically.

“Oh, fine.” My voice echoed an off-handed tone. “How about you?” He smiled a bit at that.

“My, aren’t we polite?” That stung, and I bristled.

“This is me being ‘civil,’ and you should very well know it by now.” I looked away from him to glance around the room.

His office was like it always was, books, lamps, sword. The helmet he had worn on Halloween was sitting on the mantel as usual, seemingly taunting me. Suddenly, I felt like my blood was on fire. The wickedest idea popped into my head and before I could think it through, I spoke:

“That helmet would sure make a great Halloween costume!” I blurted, still not looking at him.

In my mind, I was mentally beating myself over the head with a very large stick, a stick labeled “IDIOT WHACKER.” //You’re so stupid! My brain screamed at me. I tore my eyes away from the helmet.

His face was impassive as he looked at me with those cobalt eyes. He slowly, deliberately, turned his head to monitor the helmet, then he turned back to me, staring over the top of his laced-together fingers.

“It would, now that you mention it.” He said softly.

Then he abruptly stood, pushing himself away from his desk, and walked over to one of the large filing cabinets behind him. He reached a hand slowly into one of his pockets and pulled out a ring of keys. He fiddled with the ring for a moment until he found the key he was looking for, then inserted it into the lock on the middle drawer of the structure. He turned it deftly, then opened the drawer, reached inside, and pulled out a thin, white, eight-inch long box. He set it on the desk behind him, locked the cabinet back up, and turned to me.

“Merry Christmas.” He said softly. “Open it.”


I stared at him for a long moment, mind blank. Then I looked at the box, then back at him. I blinked several times.

“What?” I asked. His blank look softened slightly.

“It is Christmas, isn’t it? That’s your present.”

I numbly reached for the package, wrapped in plain white paper and secured with a tiny black bow, heart hammering in my chest. The package was neatly, meticulously wrapped. I tugged gently on the ribbon; it fell away without protest. I hooked one of my nails under the section of tape securing one of the ends and pulled. The flap it had help popped up with a -SNICK-, and the box slid easily out of its wrapping.

The box itself was deep blue velvet, and was obviously a jewelry box. It had hinges on one side and a minute clasp on the other. I looked up at Aeneid as I flicked away the tiny catch.

He wasn’t watching my hands, but my face. His expression was slightly hungry, it drunk me in as I sat there. His eyes were glittering, their sparkle dark yet happy. His eyes caught mine as I stole that glance, and held my gaze captive for a long moment, his features smoothing over into that expressionless look they normally assumed.

Though his eyes retained that glimmer.

He nodded slowly at me, and I flicked the box open.

Then the breath caught in my throat, and I gasped.

It was a pendant, hung on a fine gold chain, nestled into a strip of soft, shining blue velvet. The pendant itself was a smooth, shining tear-drop of crystal, unfaceted, glassy, and delicate. The core of it was hollow, and rolling about in the center of the inch-high droplet was–

“It’s a pearl.” Aeneid said, clearing his throat. “And dandelion down.”

I looked up at him as I lifted the necklace from its midnight nest and held it in my fist, gold chain spilling out either side. I met his eyes, my heart hammering.

“It’s lovely.” I whispered.

“Do you like it?” He asked, face concerned. “I didn’t know if–“

“I love it.” I said, and for once it was me who did the cutting-off. “It’s beautiful.” My eyes met his:

“Thank you, Aeneid.”

He pinned me with a look.


“You’re welcome, Jira.”

Suddenly, I remembered. I clutched the bauble in one hand, then hefted my school bag into my lap. I unclasped the buckles holding it closed, reached into its depths with one hand, then picked up “The Legend Of Sparda.”

“Here.” I said, holding our the book. “I accidentally took it home a while back...”

He stared at me for a moment, then chuckled.

“Did you read it?” I nodded at him, still holding the book. He continued.

“Did you like it?” I gave him another nod, arm beginning to ache. //Take the book, dammit! I thought.

“It’s yours.” My eyes snapped wide.

“What?” I managed to choke out. His deep chuckle filled the room.

“I can always make another one.”

“You mean...” Then his implication struck me. “You WROTE this?!” He laughed again at my surprise.


“And illustrated it, yes.” His face sobered. “My... mother used to tell me that legend. I felt it needed to be written.” His gaze locked with mine again. “I’d like you to have it. And please, don’t argue with me on this. Just do it.”

I did as he bid, just re-stowed the book in my bag.

“You’re a good writer...” I mumbled. “And a really good artist, too.”

“Thank you.” He said quietly, still standing behind his chair.

To cover the blush that had ridden up in my cheeks, I began to rummage around in my bag until I located his gift. I picked up his present in one hand, held it for a moment, braced myself, then drew it out of my bag and into his field of vision.

“My turn.” I said. “Merry Christmas, Aeneid.” I held the package out to him, insides trembling.

His look was a mixed one, consisting of shock and slight amazement. He held out a hand wordlessly, and lowered himself into his seat as I handed over the proffered gift. He took it gently from my fingertips.


He held the box in his hand for a long moment, staring at it. Then he gave the blue ribbon a hard tug, drew it away from the box with deft fingers, then tucked the midnight-blue silk stip into the breast-pocket of his black jacket. He lifted the lid off the box, and slowly, very slowly, removed the dagger from its resting place.

The blade shone brightly in the dim light, glinting with hard steel. His eyes were trained on its sharp edge, taking in every detail, turning it this way and that, eyes narrowed in concentration. He eventually let his eyes drift towards the long sword, a sword I know knew was called a ‘katana.’ Then he spoke.

“A replica of Yamato...”

“Yamato?” I asked, confused. “I thought that sword was a katana.”

“It is.” He said slowly. “But that sword in particular is... a rarity, and its name is Yamato.” He looked at me for a moment. “You are a very thoughtful person, Jira, to remember my tastes like this.” I shrugged.

“You like swords, and when I saw that, I remembered that one.” I said, gesturing my free hand at the mounted one. “It just clicked, I guess...” I gave a sheepish smile.

“It’s engraved.” He then said, noticing the words. “My name...” His fingers traced the letters etched onto the blade, letters inscribed in a flowing, calligraphic script.


“My initials are on the hilt somewhere.” I offered. “The year, too. Y’know, as a memento and all...” I trailed off, looking at the floor. My head then snapped up as he said my name.

“Jira.” he was saying, eyes boring into mine. I met his gaze levelly, and he spoke again. “Thank you.”

Then he smiled.

His smile was slight, very slight, but it was like the sun breaking through storm clouds, vague, but undeniably present. It lit up his features like a searchlight; his face turned into something beautiful and secret. When I had angered him that one time on the car ride home, I had thought him beautiful. A mesmerizing dragon, all glittering scales and wings, but with needle teeth and claws, who would lash out and eviscerate you if you got to close, deadly, but something you were unable to keep yourself from longing for. Now, however, he looked utterly approachable; kind, and caring, willing to listen. My heart began to pound, to beat wildly against my constraining ribs; I felt like my soul would burst with the happiness that began to course through me.

Then, all too quickly, that small, small smile faded.

To cover my disappointment and encroaching sadness, I loosened the fist holding the necklace, found the clasp, flicked it open, and slipped the necklace around my neck. The bauble lay nestled in the hollow at the base of my throat, just barely showing through the slit in my collar, winking out at the world like a pearl in an oyster; secret and precious. I lifted my head to look at him.

His gaze was cool, yet somehow personal and comforting.


“It looks beautiful on you, Jira.”

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AUTHOR TIME

I JUST GAVE YOU GUYS SEVEN MORE CHAPTERS!!!!!!! BE GRATEFUL!!!!! REVIEW TO READ MORE!!!!!!! I have 30 chapters total already done; that's 19 you haven't seen!!!! REVIEW!!!!!

And by the way... the next chapters are PIVOTAL in the storyline. We learn the TRUTH about Vergil's appearance, as well as his connection to Jira... You do NOT want to have to wait to read them.

JIRA & CO. Copyright VIR M.
VERGIL & DMC copyright CAPCOM