A/N: You came back for Chapter 2, and I appreciate it so much! Thank you!
Reaper Requirements
"I'm not going to do it!" Kid insisted, scowling furiously at his father.
"You know, you're adorable when you make that frowny face, but you're still going to do it." Lord Death said with an infuriating calmness. He toyed with his mask, idly spinning it on the top of his desk.
"I'm not!" Kid stomped his foot and immediately regretted it. It made him look like a toddler having a temper tantrum just when he needed to seem rational and mature. Besides, the thick Oriental carpet in his father's study rendered the gesture completely silent and ridiculous-looking. Especially for a sixteen year old boy who was just a smidge over six feet tall.
"Thought you'd outgrown the stomping thing. I haven't seen you do it in years." Lord Death said in a highly amused voice. Kid took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.
"Dad," he said, trying to sound firm and reasonable, "How could you ask me to do something like this to Liz and Patty?"
"The stomping was so cute when you were little. You had the chubbiest little knees..."
Kid stared at his father in amazed exasperation. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Kiddo, I never said you had to give up your weapons. You think I'd do that to family? I said you need to learn to use a scythe. Requirement of the job, son. A scythe is the traditional weapon of the Grim Reaper and everyone is going to expect you to be able to handle one, at least on certain occasions."
"I never saw Maman with one." Kid said defiantly. Bringing his mother into the conversation was sure to get under his dad's skin.
"Quit trying to get my goat, Kiddo. And your mother handled a scythe beautifully. She just preferred other weapons. She was never much for close combat; said it was hell on her nails." Death smiled sadly at the remembrance. He drummed his fingers on his leather blotter and looked wearily up at his son. The boy was so rigid that sometimes his father despaired of him ever being ready to take over as Lord Death. He'd matured a lot over the last few years, but he had a stubborn streak a mile wide.
Kid felt guilt wash over him when he saw the look on his father's face. It really had been low to bring his mother into an argument, especially one he wasn't going to win anyway. And he didn't want to think about his mother's sharp little throwing knives.
"Fine." Kid flopped down into a wingback chair in front of the fire. "When do we start?"
"Atta boy!" Lord Death was back to his usual smiling self, "Stein would be my first choice, but I don't see the two of you playing nice together. I can have Spirit work with yo-"
"No way, Dad. Spirit is the worst teacher ever. Ever. He'd hold training sessions at the bar. The only thing I'd learn from him is how to score with cheap floozies!" Kid gripped the padded arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles turned white.
"Well, maybe we could get him to teach you how to score with expensive call girls instead." his father suggested with a huge, taunting grin on his handsome face.
"Dad!" Now Kid had a red face to go along with the white knuckles, "How could you think that I would...that I want to..."
"Keep your hair on, Kiddo, I was just messing with you. How about if you work with Soul instead? After all, he'll be your personal Death Scythe someday."
Kid thought it over for a moment and then shook his head. "I know he will, but..." he trailed off and averted his eyes.
"But what?" Lord Death asked gently, knowing that his son had something to tell him that was no laughing matter to the boy. Kid kept his eyes on the floor.
" I don't want the rest of the guys making fun of me while I'm trying to learn something I don't want to do anyway. If I could at least learn how to handle a scythe properly it wouldn't be so bad. Then I could just work on resonating with Soul and I'm actually at an advantage there." Kid knew that wanting to look cool in front of his friends was a terribly human reaction, but there it was in all of its embarrassing reality.
Lord Death looked up at the ceiling for a moment, processing the information. Kid was all too frail and human sometimes, a legacy from the beautiful French seamstress who had given birth to him. She'd given up her human life and joined a Reaper family in order to be with the man she loved. His Sophie. It had been perfect...until it all went so horribly wrong.
He shook himself out of his reverie and looked tenderly at his son. The boy needed someone sympathetic to work with, someone who could see how his sensitive soul worked. Someone like...like...
"What about Maka?" Lord Death exclaimed.