A/N: This drabble is a gift for heysaxylady to cheer her up after exam hell.


It was the type if thing she was sure he would bitch about, whining and moaning every step of the way. She told him about it one morning casually over breakfast and his response had her picking her jaw up off the floor:

"Alright, cool."

"Al—alright? You mean—you aren't going to whine about how uncool this is or how only nerds need classes for this stuff or—whatever?"

"Maka," his tone was one of fond exasperation, as if she were a child. "You're doing all the work. The least I can do is sit through a couple a classes."

"Oh, yeah. Um, right."

They'd continued their breakfast, then, and it hadn't come up again.

Two months later, they sat in a room full of other couples looking a mix of nervous, expectant, and excited. Soul was sporting his normal mask of boredom, but he'd brought a pen, a notepad and the book they'd been reading through for reference, and he seemed almost—eager underneath it all.

The first part was introductions. The instructor went around the room and asked each couple to offer a little bit about themselves and they were suddenly faced with a line of accountants and customer service reps and stay at home moms. Maka tried to keep them all straight, and was doing a pretty good job, but with fifteen other couples in the room, it was a little hard. They ended up going last, and as all eyes went to them expectantly, Maka was about to speak when Soul surprised her by doing it for her. He really was taking this seriously.

"Uh, so, I'm Soul and this is my mei—er—wife Maka, and we work for the DWMA. Um, I think that's it."

There was a breakout of whispering. Maka hated it when that happened, when people recognized them—she'd even signed up for classes in Vegas rather than Death City hoping to avoid it. Too bad it hadn't worked.

"Is this your first?" The instructor asked brightly.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah it is." Soul responded a bit sullenly, his enthusiasm draining with the sudden buzz of whispers around them.

A woman—a nurse, Maka thought she recalled—raised her hand.

The instructor called on her. "Yes, Lana."

The woman, Lana, turned her eyes to Soul and Maka. "Aren't you—The Last Death Scythe and his meister?" She sounded excited. Maka wasn't sure she'd ever get used to this type of odd attention and Soul absolutely loathed it.

"Uh, yeah, but—"

"Oh my gosh!" She gushed, elbowing her husband. "See? I told you!" She turned to him for an instant before turning back. "I heard you two got married, but I didn't realize you were expecting! My gosh you are just too cute together, and so young!" The whispers had become a clamor and Soul looked like he wanted to fuse with his uncomfortable metal chair and disappear. Maka grabbed his hand and squeezed it. It was going to be a long two hours.

The instructor cleared her throat. "Yes, well, since introductions are through, what do you say we watch the birthing video?"

Thirty minutes later, Maka wanted to crawl into herself and die. Somehow, she'd managed to put out of her mind that she'd have to do—that—sooner than later. It had been… had been… horrifying. She was pretty sure she was green. She stifled another shudder of revulsion, took comfort in Soul rubbing slow circles in her back; he could feel her utter repugnance, and it was reflected in his own. Why did she have to go through that for them to have a child together? Hell, wasn't it bad enough that her own body had felt alien to her for months and that they'd had to stop taking missions recently until after the baby came?

She willed herself not to hyperventilate as the instructor asked if people had questions. She had about twenty herself, all surrounding why anyone would dothat to themselves, her included, but couldn't find it in herself to articulate any of them. Where the hell was all her vaunted courage now, when it came to this thing, this normal, mundane thing they were about to do? She felt silly and sick

She heard a man's voice, about to ask the first post horror movie question, and swiveled her eyes in his direction.

"I'm wondering how Maka and Soul plan to fight monsters once they have a baby in the house?"

Maka shook her head, looking to the instructor for help, who seemed about to interrupt before another voice cut her off.

"Don't see how that's any of your damned business," Soul said with a bored shrug.

"Are you still fighting monsters?" a woman gasped out, eyes round with horror.

"N…N…I…" Maka stammered, because why had this become about them again? How could anyone even think about the two of them after watching thatimpending doom?

"Also none of your damned business." This time her death scythe husband snapped, flashing his sharp and pearly whites, and the poor woman cowered.

Suddenly, the instructor seemed ready to do her job again, because she cleared her throat.

"Does anyone have any questions about the film?" she looked around, her eyes scanning the room. A hand went up, the brunette with the short bob looking excited.

"Yes, Dana?"

"Well, when the baby comes out, like the video showed—what happens if that baby is a weapon? Couldn't there be sharp edges and wouldn't that injure the mother?" The brunette glanced from Soul and Maka to the instructor and back again.

The instructor looked decidedly uncomfortable, clearly not knowing how to answer this particular question—people outside of Shibusen just didn't know that much about human weapons.

Soul seemed about to snap at this woman, too, but Maka answered instead. Maybe if they sated some basic curiosity about them the class could return to some sort of normalcy. "Weapons don't typically manifest transformation until late adolescence. Sometimes, they manifest earlier, but never at birth," Maka spoke it to her toes, still feeling sick over the video.

"So you think you'll have a weapon child, then?" A woman's voice asked. Maka looked up, because she had thought about this. A lot, actually.

"I thought I told you people—" Soul began to growl out, but Maka grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"It's alright, Soul. Really." She smiled over to him, hoped it was reassuring even if she still felt like she was about to retch in the nearest garbage receptacle.

"Passing on weapon traits is more complicated than most genetic traits because of the magic involved, but because I carry the weapon gene from my father, and because Soul is a weapon, there is a high probability that we will have weapon children. Very likely, scythe type." She could feel her normally calm weapon seething next to her, and she squeezed his hand again. If they didn't just suck it up and answer the questions, they wouldn't learn anything from the class. They would never get the chance.

"How do you even—pass on your traits or whatever?" A big brute of a blonde man asked from across the room. "I mean," he gestured disgustedly at Soul. "It's not like he's human. Do you, what, play with his handle or—" The spike in her husband's soul had her gripping his hand even more tightly to keep him in his place. Suddenly, her nerves vanished, anger replacing sick anticipation.

"Are you asking if we have sex?" she turned her frigid gaze on the man across from them. "Or is it that you don't understand how sex works? I would think you'd know by now given our shared situation, but perhaps—"

"So you're sayin' you fucked the freak. You people disgust me. He's no better than the monsters you claim to fight, and now you're bringin' little freaks into the world—" She could see the angry spittle flying from the man's mouth, could feel his fear and loathing. Doing this in Vegas had clearly been a mistake, a horrible mistake. Soul felt about to spring next to her and she wanted to deck the man herself for spewing such ignorant hate. Having been born and raised in Death City, it was easy to forget the hate weapons could face in the world, the hate her father, her husband, and probably now her children would continue to face.

"That's enough!" The instructor interrupted. "Mr. Vitri, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Now. Maka, Soul, I am terribly sorry. We will all move on to discuss—"

Maka stood up, pulling Soul with her. The instructor was well intentioned, really she was, but she could feel the souls in the room, all full of fear or hate or awe or admiration, but none ready to move on from their fascination with the two of them. "No, it's okay. We're going. Coming to this class was a mistake, and I'm really sorry our being here was such a—a disruption." She pulled Soul with her, who bared his teeth menacingly at "Mr. Vitri" as they passed. She whirled them both around at the doorway. The instructor was sputtering apologies and protests, but Maka would not, could not stay; she could face the hate, but she would not allow Soul to face anymore of that nonsense.

"No, it's alright. Thank you," she looked at the poor, beleaguered instructor. "One other thing, though. There are many paths to becoming a kishin—a monster as you would call it. One of them is prejudice and hate," her gaze swept the room and settled on the big blonde man. "If you don't want us to have to take your soul someday, I'd be very careful to keep away from that path."

With that, she pulled her husband out of the room, and without a word between them, they got in the little sedan they had purchased when they found out she was pregnant, and drove home. Her fear of giving birth had vanished, replaced by a new and more lasting one; she found herself longing for the bike, wanting to wrap her arms around her weapon and hold him tight, to soothe them both, but had to settle for keeping his hand in hers.

They drove in silence for a while before Maka finally ventured to speak, guilt washing through her. She hated that he'd had to hear that.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He seemed truly baffled. "What for? So some douche acted like an asshole. Won't be the last time. Just sorry you had to put up with that shit."

"But, if I hadn't insisted we go—"

"Maka," he said patiently. "I wanted to go. This is my baby, too. I'm just sorry that my being—well—you know, that it ruined shit."

"There is nothing wrong with you. You hear me?" Her grip on his hand tightened, and she longed for the bike again.

He sighed. "I know. People are fucking stupid—nothing new there. Don't worry about it, Maka. We can sign up for another class or somethin', promise."

"We are not doing that again," she said firmly. She knew her introverted weapon hated that sort of scrutiny. It just wasn't worth it. "There's a video class online I found the other day. You can even ask questions in special live sessions. We'll do that, okay?"

He breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Yeah, cool." He squeezed her hand, and they continued on home to Death City.

Later that week, they started video birthing class—and if the whole message/relaxation session degenerated into a make out/love making session in the privacy of their living room, well, there were worse things. Maka had to admit she preferred this particular brand of class and couldn't find it in her to be unhappy to have missed out on the live version.