Author's Note: Summer time is lovely! I'm going to try and make some progress before school picks up again in August, and then it will be my second year, which they say is less bad than your first. Anyway, the pacing may be a little odd as I try to balance realistic event timing with wanting to progress the plot. Bear with me and, as always, let me know what you think!
It was an odd house, patch-worked, like it had been haphazardly stitched together. Crona looked at it passively as the professor stared into his ear. It occurred to him that the professor was very similar in his aesthetic, stitched together. Perhaps he'd made the house in his own image, or maybe the house drove the man. It struck Crona as irregular to be so strangely assembled, to have so many scars and a screw right through one's cranium, but he had no reason to think this. His experience consisted of only a handful of people thus far and, to him, these were the only people in the world. Until he met more. The world was unfolding around him and he found he didn't care. He wasn't Crona, so all these matters that concerned Crona were only a passing curiosity to him. These people were Crona's friends, not his, and so long as they came to a mutually beneficial arrangement he was content to leave it there.
"I need your arm," the professor said, not waiting for consent before grabbing it. The hospital gown was short sleaved, allowing him easy access.
"Why all these tests? I could tell you that I'm fine," Crona sighed, watching the professor slide a needle into his veins. He narrowed his eyes at the usually blue network.
"You've told us that before," Stein answered without looking up from his task. "It wasn't true then and it's not true now. Something has happened to distort your soul and I intend to determine what that is."
"Or you could just believe me when I tell you that I'm not Crona."
Blood gushed from his arm into a plastic vial with a purple cap, filling it within seconds. Professor Stein pulled out the needle and held a piece of gauze over the wound, then grabbed Crona's other hand and placed it over the gauze instead. He capped the vial and then held it to the light, frowning deeply. There was a gasp from the wall to his left, over by the door, and Crona diverted his attention to the three people standing there. One was the woman who had found him; she was the one who had gasped. One golden eye peered out at him, shining with tears, while the other was covered by a black eye patch. Her honey hair framed her face, making her blanched expression look out of place. There was also a boy with white hair and crimson eyes, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. His body language was casual but the way he was staring at Crona made him uncomfortable, like he could see through him even though Crona knew there was nothing there. And finally the girl from before who had seemed… like a memory he knew he didn't have. She looked disapproving, like he'd offended her in a serious way, arms crossed.
"That can't be," the girl said flatly, looking from the blood, to Crona, and back. "Professor how can that be?"
Crona blinked, looking up at the vial of substance that just came out of his body. It was black, but exactly the way you'd expect blood to be in every other facet. He knew that this was blood, he knew what its biological function was, and he wondered if the color was irregular. They were all reacting to it, so he gathered something was off.
"What," he interjected. "It's blood isn't it? Is something wrong?"
"No," stated the professor definitively, getting up and taking the blood to a lab bench. "Assuming you're Crona, there's nothing wrong."
"But I'm not Crona,"
"So you keep saying."
"What are you looking for," rather than continue to argue, Crona went back to his original line of inquiry. It wasn't much, but he felt interested.
"Evidence of magical tampering," the professor said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and attending to subsampling the blood.
"But Franken," the woman who found him protested, drawing all attention to her. She stepped forward and advancing on Crona. He blinked at her, but she refused to meet his storm cloud grey eyes. "If there was magic, this should've stopped it."
She held up the pendant around Crona's neck delicately between her thumb and pointer. Crona, who hadn't really paid attention to it before, looked curiously. It was small, made of clear quartz in an oblong shape. Flawless except for a large cavity in the center, which was vibrantly red. He knew instantly this was not natural and, now that he was looking at it, sensed there was something special about the red.
"Mrs. Marie's right," said the girl, keeping her distance. "The Anti-Magic Wavelength is still strong; the blood hasn't denatured at all."
"What is that," Crona interjected, reaching up a hand to hold the pendant. The woman- Mrs. Marie, placed it in his palm. It felt cool and heavy.
"That is one of Crona's inventions," answered the professor, slipping the sample he'd been working on into the centrifuge and starting it. His hand lingered over the stop button until it came up to speed. "It's designed to radiate an Anti-Magic Wavelength and prevent the use of any magic or Madness."
"It prevents magic? You mean it prevents me from doing magic?"
"Or being influenced by magic."
Crona tilted his head and frowned. Then he looked across the room and found one of the professor's dissection trays. It was pristine, a silver dish filled with forceps and pins and all manner of wicked instrument. He pictured the scalpel that had to be in there and lifted it with his mind. It obeyed, catching the light and causing everyone in the room to jump. Then Crona brought it closer with his mind, causing Mrs. Marie to back away from him. He held it suspended and looked back to the professor.
"It doesn't work," Crona said flatly.
Stein removed his hand from the centrifuge, took four very long steps, and settled back on the stool in front of Crona. He reached up and gripped the scalpel and tugged on it. Crona held it in place, blinking those huge, empty eyes. Marie put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, trying to comfort herself as much as her husband,
"Stop it Crona," she admonished. He looked up at her and blinked again. The force holding the scalpel suspended released and Stein pulled it from the air, holding in front of his face without comment.
"Did I upset you," Crona asked Marie, looking up at her. "I just wanted to see if Crona's invention worked."
"It should've worked," interjected Soul, pushing off from the wall and coming to join the crowd. He frowned at the blood filled pendant, but didn't reach for it. "The Anti-Magic Wavelength purges all magic from the target."
"It purges all evil magic," Maka corrected, though she kept her distance. She could feel what was happening just fine from here, her Anti-Magic Wavelength emitting strongly but not actively attacking anything. "Magic that generates the Pull, Madness, things that lead to destruction."
"There's no such thing as magic without the Pull," Soul snapped.
"What else can you do," the professor asked, cutting off their bickering.
"Not a lot," answered Crona, unfazed by the conversation. "I can move things, I can perform spells, and I can heal."
"Show me," the professor said in a tone that suggested he was either entirely unimpressed or keeping his cards close to his chest. "Make a cut and then put the scalpel by the autoclave- the large grey box that looks like an oven with a white handle."
"Franken," chastised Marie, giving his shoulder a reprimanding squeeze, but he ignored her.
Stein wrapped his fingers around the pendant, making a fist, and stared straight into Crona's wide grey eyes. The pink-haired witch, for his part, didn't seem to mind. He took the scalpel from the professor delicately, his long fingers wrapping securely around the handle before he lifted it. Slowly, he extended his other palm, and then equally slowly he pulled the blade across his flesh. Black Blood ballooned to the surface, shining in the artificial light of the lab, but that was the extent of it; it didn't run across his skin and spill onto the floor. Never breaking eye contact whit Stein, he released the scalpel and sent it lethargically over to the autoclave. He set it on the counter with a soft clink, shining stainless steel coated in a devouring black. Stein grabbed another pad of gauze and ran it over Crona's palm, wiping away the blood and leaving a smear, but it was enough to see that the skin underneath was… moving. The edges reached for one another and as they watched the wound pulled itself back together.
"Well," Maka asked, maintaining her distance. She didn't want to see, didn't want there to be a way this Crona had overcome the Pull merely by existing while hers had worked so hard to fight against it.
"I need more blood," Stein said, releasing the pendant and getting up to retrieve a fresh needle and vial.
"And the pendant," pressed Marie, not daring to reach out and touch it herself.
"Not even warm. The Anti-Magic Wavelength does not recognize what just happened as magic."
"But that's not possible!" Soul's voice cracked and Crona looked up at him inquisitively.
"I won't experience the Pull of magic," he said simply. "If your invention only prevents magic associated with the Pull, then it might still be working. You should've been more specific."
"What do we do," Maka murmured, shaking her head. "What should we do?"
"Crona, you will keep that pendant on at all times. And you will not preform unnecessary magic, not until we understand what has happened."
"Why not? It's not hurting anyone."
"That doesn't matter. This is a condition for you to stay in this city."
"… Alright."
"Maka, Soul, we need to operate under the hypothesis that this is Crona. There are too many consistencies to suggest otherwise. Keep him close."
"I was going to go see Vera," Soul interjected, suddenly looking for feedback on this plan. Normally it wouldn't have been a big deal, but with Crona the way he was…
"Take Crona with you," Stein advised, focusing on pulling a second vial of Black Blood from his vein. "Take him to meet all your friends."
"I wouldn't call her a friend," Maka muttered to the wall, tightening her arms across her chest.
"It is our objective to get Crona to remember. In so doing we can hopefully discover what has transpired to cause this… variance. But be watchful; there may be a witch or something else at work."
"Do I get any input on all this? I've already told you I'm not Crona, I've shown you I'm not susceptible to the Pull, what else do you want from me?"
"Crona left some cloths here for when he worked overnight," Stein said evasively, removing the needle from his arm and not bothering with the gauze this time. "You should change out of that hospital gown. Marie, would you mind?"
She nodded but waited for her husband to recede to his work bench. Then she came around to face Crona fully, bending over to look into his eyes. He looked back, perplexed, and she smiled. Then she wrapped her arms around Crona and pulled him to her chest again, softly this time. He tensed but did not fight her off like before in the dungeons. For a moment she just held him, smiling sadly into his hair.
"I'm sorry this is happening to you," she whispered just to him. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you."
Marie broke contact and smiled at him, though all he could do was frown back at her, confused. She looked so sad and he didn't understand why that was the case. What he had done to make her and all these other people so upset. She tilted her head a little, tucked a stray hair behind his ear, and then left to go get his cloths. The girl by the wall was watching him for a response; he could feel her eyes like a ray of heat. However, he could produce no reaction for her. He was, after all, not Crona.
Vera wasn't sure if she preferred the silence to the bustle of tests or the other way around. On the one hand, when Naigus was poking and prodding her all the pain culminated in some form of progress, which was gratifying. She could feel her body getting stronger just in the few hours since the weapon-nurse had started working with her. On the other, the pain-free silence was unnerving. There were no other patients in the ward, not since Crona had left, and everyone who would come to see her was busy with Crona's return. If he'd ever really been lost in the first place. Naigus had said they found him, but he didn't remember anything. She'd said they'd spoken with Lord Death and were going to Professor Stein's for some tests. Vera felt relieved that his little disappearing act had been short lived, but couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on. She'd woken up in such a frenzy, with such a powerful sense of purpose, that mere amnesia seemed anticlimactic. Thus the tests she supposed; still, it was hard to be alone with these thoughts and the knowledge that she was forgetting something.
Footsteps echoed into the infirmary, two or more people walking out of synch and out of a fleeting sense of hope Vera craned her head to see who these people were. This wasn't the first time it had happened and the sound, based on available data, had a 100% probability of being a pair of students. They wandered by the door with relative frequency, on their way to this or that engagement. That was not the case this time. Nor was it Soul or Crona or any of the people she was hoping to see. There were only two of them and they stopped in the doorway. One was middle aged and had some unfortunately stern features he was trying desperately to keep pleasant. The other was someone she'd known in another life. He was completely forgettable in appearance with sandy blond hair sticking out over his ears and a pronounced slouch. There was a lanyard hanging around his neck that said "Death City Psychiatric Hospital Day Pass" and his grey-blue eyes were wide.
"Vera," he called, his face breaking out into a smile and his arms coming up as if he intended to hug her.
"Ethan," she called back, frowning at him. He advanced and she held out her hands to signal he should keep his distance. "The hell are you doing here? The last time I saw you you were kidnapping my friend."
"Yeah…" he sighed, stopping awkwardly at the foot of her bed and rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, um, I guess I owe you an explanation."
"An explanation about why you kidnapped and tortured my friend or about how you have the balls to speak to me at all?"
"Both," he barked a short laugh, dropped his hands to his sides, and gave her a soft smile. "It's really good to see you awake. If I'd known I would've brought flowers or something."
"Flowers, are you kidding me? They just die and make a mess."
"You're right! You've been right about a lot of things."
"What's this about Ethan? Why are you here?"
"I- I've been coming to visit you. Ever since I found out you were in a coma I've been using my free days to come see you."
She looked at him for a moment and he tried to look back, but found he couldn't hold her amber gaze with its distinctive sheen. Ethan turned his attention to the foot of the bed and flushed, like he'd known she wouldn't approve and done it anyway. Vera crossed her legs under the sheets and smiled a sadistic sort of smile at his discomfort.
"Guilty?"
"Like you have any room to talk," he snapped. His head jerked up and he leaned forward, gripping the metal arch at the foot of her bed. "I don't know what you did but you didn't get Black Blood by chance. I know you Vera; you wouldn't gone to make friends with these people unless something terrible had happened. You hated Crona with the best of us and you can't tell me that hatred just- poof!- evaporated. If things had been just a little different you would've been right there with us."
There was a moment of silence wound to the breaking point like a wire. Vera glowered at him, both indignant that her reformation was not being appreciated and angry at being caught. The DWMA was a very forgiving place; repent and one could find a home. And she had repented, she'd learned her lesson. It had been such a long time since anyone had confronted her with her own crimes. She'd grown comfortable passing judgment on others but in this case…
"Maybe we should let the lady rest-" the other man tried to cut the tension, but Vera plowed over him, her amber eyes fixed on Ethan.
"You're right," she admitted. "I did something awful to get this Black Blood. And if it hadn't happened the way it did I would've stood with you, I would've helped torture Crona. I didn't understand the position he was in that night, or his role in all of it. When he did what he did he was under Medusa's control. It wasn't his choice, but I didn't know that."
"Neither did we." Ethan's voice was hard, his knuckles white in the bedframe.
"That doesn't absolve you. Things are different now Ethan: Crona's become my friend, as much as I hate to admit it. I won't just forgive you."
"Is that why you think I'm here? Come on Vera, we know each other too well for that. I don't know how Crona earned your forgiveness, but I don't expect it."
"So then why are you here? Why come to see me?"
"Look, when you disappeared, I figured you didn't want to be found and I respected that. When I heard rumors you were hanging around the DWMA I didn't want to believe them. I didn't want to believe you of all people had gotten mixed up with Crona and his witch-blood. It just didn't seem possible; I couldn't imagine what you'd been through to end up here. Then it happened to me."
Another tense silence as Vera evaluated him dangerously. She'd been controlled by a witch to the point of near death and he'd tortured one of her friends. The similarities in their circumstances escaped her and she had half a mind to throw him out for comparing them. Tucking her chin, she snarled:
"Then what happened? Just what is it you think we have in common?"
Ethan released the bedframe and pushed up the sleeve of his hoodie to expose his forearm. It had seemed odd to her to wear something so warm when it was so hot outside, but the reason became apparent when she saw his flesh. There was a scar coiling up the skin and that scar was pitted with specks of pitch black. She recognized the scars left by Crona's vines as well as the entry points for the Black Blood. So, it had taken the opportunity to spread like an infection, but it couldn't have been very strong. Vera couldn't sense it before she saw it and even now there was just a certainty that this was Black Blood. No Madness, no magic, just certainty.
"Well," he asked after a moment. "Aren't you going to say something?"
"Like what," she shot back. "I asked for Black Blood, I let it in so I could save Crona from a mess I'd created. I don't know how this happened to you."
"We just wanted him to kill us," Ethan scoffed, pulling his sleeve back down and crossing his arms. "Did you know that? Eric had some grand idea that if we died the same way our friends and families died, were murdered by the same person, we'd be reunited with them in death. It sounded nice, but I mostly wanted revenge; what better way to punish a reformed killer than by making them kill again? And I think Crona was going to kill us before you stopped him, or something worse. But before that he wanted us to understand his feelings. Well, now we do. All of us. And I for one can't separate what he felt from what I feel. I don't know if he's insane or if I am."
"Have you talked to Professor Stein about this?"
"He says the Black Blood is dormant and that we're not a threat. And we talk about it every day in therapy…" Ethan trailed off, dropping both his gaze and his hands. "I thought you knew but weren't coming to see me because you couldn't forgive me, and I didn't blame you. Then I heard you were in a coma, because of what I did- or at least, what I helped to do. The thought of you alone in here, paying for my mistakes, I don't know I just couldn't take it. So I've been visiting you on my free days."
"And now that I'm awake? Is you guilt absolved?"
"No," he laughed, shaking his head. "Crona says there's nothing I can do, that I'll just have to learn to live with it. I guess he would know, wouldn't he."
"Crona carries guilt for things that aren't his fault," Vera chastised, though she was starting to smile now. "You and me, we knew what we were doing and we did it anyway."
"So we deserve the guilt, is that what you're saying?"
She didn't respond, at least not verbally. Vera ran her fingers through her coal black hair and inspected the dandruff under her nails. He sighed through his nose and changed tack.
"Can I…" Ethan rolled his lips and looked back at his keeper. The middle-aged man checked his watch and met his eye meaningfully. "Can I come see you again? The others they, well, they're still processing. And the doctors… it's nice not to be patronized for a change."
"You're leaving," Vera asked, eyes flicking from Ethan to his keeper. "But you've only just got here."
"I wasn't expecting you to be awake and may've spent a little extra time at the Deathbucks."
"And you didn't bring me a cup?"
She said it playfully, but the glint in her eyes told Ethan she was assessing him. Offering an olive branch in her own way, for the sake to the albeit toxic friendship they'd shared before. And the Black Blood they shared now.
"Like I said," he laughed. "I wasn't expecting you to be awake."
"If you bring me a black, blonde roast, then you can come back. The coffee here is for shit."
Ethan opened his mouth to release some smart retort or another when another sound intruded. More footsteps, one set rushed and the others lagging behind. They both turned their attention to the door and maybe a second later another figure came into view. He had wild, white hair that was held out of his crimson eyes by a black headband. His sharp teeth were visible through parted lips and his gaze was so intensely focused it was completely blind to everything else. He hesitated at the door for just a moment before all but running to the bed and wrapping his arms around Vera. She let out a heavy sigh and melted against him, pressing her hands into his back and her face into the crook of his neck. For a moment all the source-less anxiety she'd been carrying evaporated and she felt warm and safe. For a moment, everything was alright again.
"Ahem," someone else cleared their throat and broke Vera's magical moment. She pushed away from Soul and brought her amber eyes to an emerald pair that couldn't help but disapprove. "Would you like us to leave you alone?"
"Yes," Vera snapped back, unashamed that she would rather be in Soul's arms than just about anywhere else. She'd beaten the odds and made it back from the astral plane to boast about it; she deserved a hug or two. "As a matter of fact we- Crona?"
Vera's gaze slid over Maka's shoulder to a lean figure with pink hair standing behind her. He was looking passively at the glass cabinet over by one of the other beds and didn't respond when she called to him. Vera had been told he'd forgotten everything, but did that really mean everything? Soul leaned away from her, keeping a hand on her waist, and shook his head. Maka bit her lip and looked down. Vera placed her hands on Soul's shoulders and tried again.
"Crona, is that you?"
Crona blinked and moved his gaze lethargically to Vera. His features looked tired and mildly agitated, but not anxious as was usual. He was wearing his usual high-necked robe and black shoes, but he didn't look comfortable it them. He wasn't holding his arm across his chest like normal either. It was Crona, but not Crona at the same time. Her insides made a knot and her hackles went up. The terrified desperation from when she'd woken up danced in her chest. There was something… standing behind him. Something made of a yellow-white light. Then she blinked and it was just not-Crona.
"If you say so," Crona sighed, returning his attention to the cabinet. "I suppose you're another one of Crona's friends?"
"Would it matter if I was?" She kept her voice steady in spite of the irrational fear and anger that hammered in her chest. Her fingers curled into fists in Soul's shirt.
"Not really. I'm not Crona, but you can call me that if you want."
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"
"Vera," Soul said sharply. "He can't help it; he doesn't even think he is Crona."
"He can help being rude," she snipped back.
"Rude," Crona asked, returning his attention to Vera. "Is that what I'm being?"
"She would know," snorted Maka, crossing her arms.
"Fuck you."
"You're right," commented Crona. "She is rude."
"Rude or not," she sneered, frustrated with his characteristic but unbridled obstinance and personally offended by his apparent amnesia. "I know who you are. I'm here because of you- because I tried to save you. You see this guy here-"
She gestured to Ethan, who held up his hands and raised his eyebrows defensively.
"Whoa, Vera," he said in an uneasy tone. "I don't think-"
"This guy," she cut him off, staring down Crona as if she could will the memories back into him. "And his friends, they kidnapped you, tortured you, and you lost control. It took everything I had to hold you back until Maka got there."
"That wasn't me. I only woke up a little while ago."
"Vera, can we not do this right now."
"I followed you from the astral plane, I know you were looking for ways to never lose control again. I know… you found something."
Vera gasped as all the heart hammering caught up to her. Blood drained from her head and the world tilted to the right. At first a little, then more, until Vera found herself clinging to Soul for more than emotional support as the world spun. And at the center of the spinning there was a truth she needed to remember. Pressing her face into Soul's chest and closing her eyes, she reached for it.
"It did something to you…" she breathed.
"Alright that's enough," said the middle-aged man, stepping forward. "We are here on the condition that we not upset the young lady and she is obviously upset. Now these are clearly important conversations about which goodness knows I know nothing. I suggest you have them when everyone is a little more calm."
"I'm calm," said Crona placidly. Vera gave him a scalding half look, but was focusing too intently on remaining upright to say anything.
"I'll bring you flowers next time," Etahn called as he hurriedly followed his keeper to the door, relieved to be out of the tense situation.
"We'll go too; I'll take Crona home now," suggested Maka watching the departing figures and craning her head as she spoke. "Soul, maybe we'll just have leftovers tonight? You can come home whenever you're finished?"
"Yeah, yeah, sounds good," Soul said, waving her off with one hand and wrapping the other around Vera.
"I'll be fine here, thanks," Vera intended to say, but the words got garbled and she had to close her eyes for a minute to slow the spinning down.
Maka grabbed Crona at the elbow and steered him towards the door. He hesitated for a moment, staring at Vera like she'd done something particularly strange. Like he'd just noticed the opalescent sheen in her eyes and wondered about it. Or maybe it was something deeper. Regardless it only lasted a moment before he yielded to the pressure and allowed Maka to direct him.
"I'm sorry about that," Maka's voice whispered from the hall. "Like I told you, Vera's abrasive, and she just woke up from a coma this morning. Last time she saw you- Crona, well, don't let anything she said bother you."
"It didn't. I'm not Crona, so none of it applies to me. I'm not bothered at all."
"He's so weird," commented Soul, shaking his head.
"Soul," Vera mumbled into his chest, giving the doorway an aggressively confused stare. "That is Crona, whatever he claims, but- damn it I wish I could remember! I knew a moment ago…"
"It's okay," he soothed, bringing a hand to her head and running his fingers through her black hair absently. "You only just woke up. It isn't cool not to cut yourself any slack."
"I was asleep for a long time. And I missed you," she mused. Then, reaching a decision, she pushed herself away from Soul and looked him dead in the eye. "But something terrible happened while I was gone. Tell me."
"You can have the couch or Crona's room, it's the first door on the right," Maka said without looking at him, digging sheets and towels out of their hall closet. "If you're uncomfortable in Crona's room that's fine, we'll just need to coordinate around evenings and mornings."
"Crona's room is fine with me," he said absently from behind her, inspecting the walls and corners with mild interest. "Assuming you don't think he'd mind. It would be easier as long as I'm staying with you."
"No," it was little more than a sigh and she faltered in her task. "No, I don't think he would mind, so long as you don't touch anything."
"I have no reason to go through Crona's things. When do you think he'll be back?"
"Who?"
"Crona. I know he went missing last night. I've figured that much out."
"Yes," Maka confirmed, picking her words carefully. "Vera called us at 5:00 this morning, but he wasn't in the city when we searched."
"You stopped looking because of me," Crona said matter-of-factly. Maka turned and held out the pile of white cloth, giving him a disapproving glare. He frowned back at her passively. "Because I showed up in the dungeons."
"Here," she held out the sheets and towels to him. "Do you need help making the bed?"
"Everyone thinks I am Crona," he continued, staring into her emerald eyes with a gaze that was both piercing and vacant. He reached out for the pile and placed his hands over hers. Maka shivered and told herself it was because they were cold. "Everyone except you. Why is that?"
"It doesn't matter what I think," she protested, slipping her hands out from under Crona's and returning her attention to the closet door. "Lord Death thinks you're Crona, so that's how we're going to treat you."
"I see," he said, keeping his eyes on her. "And my opinion is of no consequence?"
"In this city, Lord Death makes all the rules. You should get used to that."
"And if I wanted to leave?"
"You can't. If nothing else your blood is black, that makes you a threat. Like it or not, you're stuck here with us."
"Why's that?"
"Look," said Maka, turning to face him again. "I can explain these things to you now, or we can go to Crona's lab in the morning and you can look over his research notes. Either way, it's been a long day and I know I at least need to get to bed."
"The other one… Soul, he's not back yet."
"No, I expect he'll spend more time with Vera."
"Explain Black Blood to me until he gets back," Crona offered, shifting the pile of cloth in his arms. "I'll get the bed ready and then you can tell me what it means to have Black Blood. I'll need context if I'm going to read research materials anyway."
"I don't think-"
"Then just for 30 min." He stared at her, eyes wide and storm cloud grey and… just a little afraid. She turned her back on him and went into the kitchen, acutely aware of her heart beating in her chest.
Don't let him fool you she told herself. Don't let your guard down.
"Please," he called after her, though he stayed in the hall. "I haven't asked for anything yet, but I'm asking for this. If I'm a prisoner here I deserve to know why. I deserve to know what it means to have Black Blood."
"Alright," Maka conceded, keeping her back to him so she couldn't see that plaintive stare that looked so much like Crona. "Go get the bed ready, then I'll tell you what I know."
There was a shuffling noise as he complied and for the first time today she was alone with her thoughts. Maka moved to the couch and sat down, crossing her legs and arms. For a second she was still, then she brought a thumb up to her mouth and ran her tongue over the nail. It was a little sharp, sending pain into her nerves, so she bit down on it. Hard. It wasn't that she didn't have faith in Lord Death that this was Crona, not exactly. He looked like Crona, he sounded like Crona, and sometimes, for brief moments, he moved like Crona. A Crona unburdened by Medusa's training, direct and shameless. But in so many ways this was not her Crona. He didn't know why they were upset and he didn't care. Where Crona had always been deeply concerned with the feelings of others this person was entirely selfish, like he didn't even know consideration was an option. Where Crona had worried about everything this person had a profound apathy. Where Crona had looked at her with wonder and affection this person didn't even know her- didn't seem to want to know her. The Black Blood was damning but Maka couldn't shake the sense that this was not Crona. His soul was distorted and wrong, like looking at someone you've known for a long time only today, they had the wrong eye color. It was disturbing to be with him and Maka resented that he had to stay here. She resented that they'd called off the search for Crona in favor of this… imposter, in favor of hoping he would learn to be Crona instead.
"I'm done."
Maka jumped, pulling her nail from her teeth and cursing herself for getting distracted. Crona tilted his head just a little and stared at her, waiting. She looked back, then sighed and patted the seat next to her.
"Sit down," she offered.
He looked at her, then at the couch, and then settled without comment. His hands rested limply on the cushion to either side and he stared into the black glass of the TV straight ahead. For a moment they sat in a silence that buzzed like static.
"The professor wasn't surprised that my blood is black," Crona commented, turning just enough to look at her. "Neither were you, even though you don't think I'm Crona."
"It's more complicated than that," she replied, directing her words to the TV set rather than meeting his gaze.
"Is it uncommon to have Black Blood?"
"Very. Crona was the source of the Black Blood and there are only a few others who've been infected. Soul, Vera…"
"Infected's an odd word. Did they not have Black Blood before?"
"No, the only one who's always had Black Blood is Crona. The others contracted it from him; it spreads like a disease."
"Is that what happened to me?"
"From what I know about the Black Blood that's unlikely. Only Crona's blood is black all the time the way yours is."
"And I'm wearing Crona's one-of-a-kind anti-magic pendant, even though it doesn't work. I can see why everyone thinks I'm Crona…"
"It's not just a belief," Maka bit suddenly, turning to face him fully. "There's no way for this to be coincidence. You can't not be Crona!"
"Why is the Black Blood dangerous," he pressed as if to ignore her, though he did intentionally turn away and ask the window. "Why can't I leave?"
"The Black Blood is a source of intense Madness," Maka sighed, shaking her head and leaning back into the couch. "It's able to conduct energy and harden like armor, but as a consequence it releases overwhelming Madness."
"And that's bad?"
"Yes it's bad! The purpose of the Black Blood is to create a world where nothing lines up, to completely destroy the order we depend on to exist. Releasing the Black Blood would be catastrophic."
"I've felt nothing," Crona said, dropping his gaze. "Even when I used magic in the professor's lab I felt no Madness."
"Maybe you did and didn't know it," suggested Maka. "How would you know? You don't remember anything."
"How can we activate the Black Blood? I'd like to try."
"Not here," Maka chastised. "And not today. Black Blood isn't a toy; if you're going to work with it you need to be much more prepared than you are."
"If you don't help me I'll just go do it on my own."
"First off, that would be stupid. If you don't care about the hundreds of people in the city that you would endanger, care about your own wellbeing. Madness isn't something you can turn on and off; it consumes you. Once you're trapped in the Madness it takes tremendous will power, and more than a little help, to get out. Secondly, not even Crona could get the Black Blood to work right now and he's the expert. I don't believe someone like you could generate the energy needed to power the Black Blood, let alone control it."
"Why couldn't Crona make it work," he dodged the implied insult and pressed on with the questions. Maka sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes. "You said he's the expert; why didn't it work for him?"
"I don't want to talk about that right now," Maka said coolly. "If you're not Crona then it's not your business."
"Will you talk about it later?"
"I'll take you to read Crona's notes tomorrow, but I'm not going to share details of Crona's personal life with a stranger no matter who he looks like."
"A stranger," Crona repeated, thinking out loud. He folded his hands in his lap and frowned. "Yes, that's right, I'm a stranger here. I don't know anyone and you don't know me…"
He got up suddenly and went into the kitchen, keeping his back to her and hunching over. Maka frowned and turned towards him, but she didn't follow. For a long moment they were frozen like that, waiting for the gears in Crona's brain to produce the desired result.
"You don't," Maka started tentatively, cutting his time short and shaking her head. "Find any of this strange? Nothing about today has upset you?"
"No, not at all," he answered, keeping his back to her and speaking to the backsplash. "I haven't expected anything so I haven't been surprised. I'm not afraid at all but- but I should be."
"No," she sighed, getting up and moving to his side. She reached out to touch him and then thought better of it, keeping her hands folded in front of her. "Unless you hurt Crona in some way, then no, you don't need to be afraid. We'll find out what happened."
He looked over at her, tilting his head the minimum amount to make eye contact, but it was enough. There was Crona, just for a moment. The resigned eyes with that little furrow of anxiety between them, the slight downturn of his lips. Even the positioning of his head, hung low like he was expecting something terrible, was Crona's. Maka's lips parted and she felt relief crash over her before she could reason it away. Then he seemed to decide that he believed her and the spell was broken. Crona straightened and turned fully to face her, resting long fingers on the stove.
"I see. So as long as I obey the rules of this city I am safe?"
"In so much as we can guarantee safety," she answered, looking back at the TV. "Crona was under Lord Death's protection; I would assume the same deal extends to you."
"And I am free to pursue study of the Black Blood?"
"Within reason."
There was a long silence after that filled with more questions they both wanted to ask. Maka brought a hand up to cover her eyes, crossing the other arm across her chest and Crona tilted his head, blinking.
"You're tired," he observed. "You don't want to answer my questions right now."
"No," she admitted, keeping her face covered.
"I see. Then I will let you go to bed. I should do the same, there is much to be done tomorrow. Thank you… for all your help."
He didn't wait for a reply, merely brushing past her down the hall. She didn't follow him, at least not physically. But her eyes watched him retreat, narrowing as she reached out with her soul perception. It was the same result: Crona's soul viewed through a distorting lens. Crona, but not Crona, not quite. Sighing through her nose, she looked at the leftovers strewn across the kitchen counter, then moved over to the couch. She settled in the middle and pulled her knees up to her chest, staring into the blank TV. It wasn't a lie to say she was tired, and yet sleeping right now, with this person who was so close to Crona but wasn't in her home, seemed outlandish. Maka told herself she would wait for Soul and then go to bed, knowing that that, too, was a half-truth.
Down the hall and behind a closed door, Crona was having trouble breathing. He ran his hands over his face and down his neck, closing his eyes. There was something like… a burning, in his groin and throat and armpits. In the lymph where no one had checked. Then he gasped as the burning went into his blood, into his whole body. Ragged gasps clawed their way from his chest and eyes that had taken on a bright yellow-white glow cracked. He felt a pressure inside his skull and then everything… it was difficult to describe, everything had a haze to it as he looked through eyes that were no longer his own. Something told him this was normal, that he should submit to this take over, the same something that insisted he wasn't Crona and assured him he had nothing to fear here. Genetic knowledge that had been imbedded into his brain, thoughts he had no reason to fight.
Processing, a voice inside his skull said, flat and emotionless. No signs of Madness or of the Pull, despite the use of magic. Results as expected. Further testing is required on the Black Blood; you will seek out more information on this topic. Focus your efforts on activating the Black Blood, magical conductivity, and how to spread it effectively. You must also select a subject for the first experiment, someone with Black Blood who can adapt to the magical proteins. This will be necessary for the transition from human to witch. You are well positioned to follow these directives and you must remain so; do not let the Death god or any of his followers know your true purpose. They will try to stop you and that cannot be allowed to happen. Our purpose is to eliminate the Pull, nothing can interfere.
Crona could not move his body or use his voice, but he thought an affirmation. The presence confirmed.
Sleep now. Your body and mind require it.
The other presence receded into his lymph nodes and Crona stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the desk. He looked around, blinking in bemusement. He had felt something strange a moment ago, but now it was gone, replaced by a sudden, source-less clarity. His Black Blood was important and he needed to learn everything about it, especially how if conducted energy and how it spreads. He also wanted to know who else had Black Blood, because surely there were more than three people including himself. And… he was overwhelmingly tired. These all seemed like rational impulses to Crona, ideas fully generated by his own mind, and without even changing out of the black robe he lay down on the bed and went quite immediately to sleep.
