Lord Cynic: "I thought about it, then I figured: This aint over yet! Rather than extend the one-shot, I decided to be a little introspective. Well, on Chrono's side this time. It'll continue the (rather confused but finalised) storyline, but focus on Chrono's thoughts in this chapter. Other stories are still circulating, but "Dance with destiny" may be in danger after my brief ban. I just hope nothing else happens."

Lord Cynic: "I don't own Chrno Crusade. Sadder yet, the DVDs in my local games shop are gone! AHHHHH!"

Chapter 2: A human yet demonic driver

A tight grimace plastered on his face, soaking wet violet hair sticking out in different directions, Chrono gingerly clambered out of the river, and back inside the Ford vehicle, he had been abruptly ejected from. His blonde haired contractor's azure eyes narrowed with irritation, but almost immediately widened when Chrono ducked his head as she realised what he was about to do. Despite her protests, pleas and death threats, he obeyed his demon instincts and literally shook himself dry, transferring the hydrogen oxide from him to Rosette.

He was still groggy after the rude awakening, so Chrono took a while to register his current situation. However, reality instantly knocked him back to his senses, until he realised the sudden source of sharp pain came from a brisk chop across the back of his head from an enraged blonde exorcist. He barely had a chance to recover from his daze before being subjected to a venomous noogie assault. Oh, his poor, aching skull! But what did he do?

Upon eventual relief, his question was answered (rather unfortunately) when he stared at Rosette. Oh, there would definitely be hell to pay now, courtesy of a quick withdraw from the bank of pain from Sister Rosette.

The pair of them had been suited up in alternative attires for their mission, instead of their usual, unflattering clothes. Although, in Chrono's case, he needed considerable convincing, (i.e., several bumps on his noggin) to reluctantly agree to it. In any case, instead of her usual habit, Rosette was draped in an elegant satin dress that almost reached to the ground (maybe not such a good idea), in which she had spent several minutes admiring herself in her room until being dragged away kicking and screaming. On the other hand, Chrono felt like a pompous twat in a suit and tie from the Elder's 'special' wardrobe (rumours floated around that the suit hadn't seen light for several decades, but the Elder was too busy raiding laundry baskets to notice). The demon was reluctant to venture outside without his regular red coat, but after a noogie of near death, he eventually reconsidered. However, it didn't mean he had to like it.

When he let the sight before him register completely, a heavy nosebleed threatened to break through his defences. Dresses aren't as water resistant as habits, or rather, they're much thinner, which was an unfortunate fact for Chrono and Rosette, but in particular the former. The reason: When Chrono shook the water from himself to Rosette, it had caused her dress to become soaked. The result: A sight the Elder would've prayed ultimate gratitude to the Lord for, had he been present. However, all he'd receive was several 'heavenly' blows from one irate nun.

Speaking of the blonde exorcist, she was confused as to why Chrono was gawking at her, his face growing crimson at an alarming rate. However, when she followed his stunned gaze, several things transpired: she blushed decidedly harder than her companion; anger veins throbbed all over her forehead; and she thrashed the cursed Chrono to within an inch of his life. She'd never been so embarrassed in all her life, and she made the poor demon realise that.

Chrono was grateful he wasn't dead from the assault, although he did wish he could burrow back inside Magdalene's tomb and await an agonisingly slow death. Then again, Rosette would haul him back out by his pointy ears or long violet hair (or worse, both) quicker than she'd eat a meal fit enough for the entire Magdalene Order. No matter how irate she might be, she'd never let him dwell in his own pathetic misery again, not if she could help it. However, it was extremely difficult for Chrono to resist the urge to try anyway when he knew his contract was literally sucking the life out of her.

He sighed heavily, oblivious to the barrage of screeches from his contractor. In fact, he seemed to unconsciously cut himself off from the eternal world, lost in solemn thoughts. Rosette... no matter how much she assured him that her shortened life wasn't his fault, his guilt refused to budge. In fact, he was almost certain that she'd never really understand the excruciating pain he experienced whenever he heard the clock ticking slowly, or when he was forced to open the seal and assume his true form. He couldn't bear the thought of losing another person he'd become so close to. Why did he have to feel this way? Why couldn't he have pushed her away when they had first met, four years ago, rather than be coaxed out of his despair by her innocence and optimism?

He knew exactly why. Even as he became aware that he was staring unblinkingly at Rosette, who was having difficulty restarting the faulty Ford, he knew exactly why he felt the way he did. Even as Rosette cursed and nearly kicked the steering wheel off in frustration, Chrono couldn't deny the deeper feelings that he had subtly developed for the hyperactive girl. Her energy, her lust for life, and her "never say die" attitude had literally saved him from the otherwise inevitable death of his soul. Her perspective on life changed the way he envisioned things, and opened his mind to many beautiful wonders of the world. But most of all, she never judged him, never criticised him for being what he was. Even though fierce demon blood pulsed through his unholy veins, he was never a target for racial discrimination as long as Rosette was around. In fact, he knew that in her mind, he was more human than demon anyhow. Perhaps that's why he experienced the compulsive need to protect her from harm, no matter how small or ridiculous. However, it was therefore extremely ironic that her greatest danger, her greatest threat to her well-being.. was him.

A loud splutter and a hoarse purring of the engine retrieved Chrono from his thoughts, as did a triumphant "Oh, yeah!" from the driver. He shook his head like an etcher-sketcher to clear himself of his ponderings, and concentrated on the landscape ahead. However, since they were still on the roads of New York, it was difficult to marvel at dull, mundane greyness of tall city buildings. He just didn't want to glance at his side, though, in case Rosette's dress was still damp enough to be revealing. He really didn't want any repercussions from making his contractor think he was a pervert. Worse yet, although he respected the old man, he really didn't feel like becoming a demon version of the lecherous side of the Elder. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts!

Once again, he'd become sidetracked, and this time the consequences weren't kind this time around. The 'junker' (as already dubbed by Rosette) suddenly locked up in the front right wheel and spun on its own (for a change), crashing harmless into a brick wall. The force of the impact sent the preoccupied demon colliding into the windscreen as the nun cursed obscenely and finally chucked the dislodged steering wheel out of her window. Somewhere a bird fell heavily onto gravel, but neither of the stranded occupants of the stalled vehicle had time to worry about that as much as the fact that they were without a means of transport. It was as if they were being punished for something, which Chrono found downright unfair. It was Rosette whom had broken seven of the convent's windows with her screeching, not him!

"Whatever just happened," Rosette half-groaned, half-growled as she grappled with her stubborn door, "it's your fault."

Chrono opened his mouth to protest, but a frustrated grunt, followed by an obscene karate cry and kick, which was then concluded by the clang of a door on concrete prevented any chance to defend himself. Instead, he was resigned to easing his own door open and stepping out onto the sidewalk. He then prudently decided to keep his distance from Rosette, who was positively fuming at the wreck of a car. And yet, the way she looked, with her fists clenched and her face twisted in an exaggerated scowl, brought a serene smile to the demon's child-like face.

Yes, despite her predictable (and unrivalled) anger spats, her reckless and her eternal, obstinate will, she was the woman he cherished.

She was his Rosette.

Even if she did just go out of her way to beat him to a pulp for no reason.