Author's Note: Not much to say here other than enjoy! There should be more action forthwith!


"I don't like this Panacea," Vera said, her voice muffled as she chewed on her thumb nail. "It doesn't make any sense. You said it was supposed to cure diseases? But you found skeletons; how is killing people curing anything?"

"No one liked it," Soul answered, resting his hand on her knee. "I'm glad you didn't see it. It was horrible. It had him pinned to the wall and it was… I don't know what it was doing. But it killed Ragnarok and disabled the Black Blood somehow. And Crona was so sick afterwards, not just his body, but in his head."

"Who wouldn't be? I mean, I didn't like Ragnarok, I don't think anyone did, but he's always been a part of Crona. Not just that, but it turns out the thing that was supposed to save you is just another monster… That could bring anybody to their knees."

"Yeah, well, it did. None of us thought it was a good idea but we let him do it anyway, like always, and look where we ended up."

"It's not your fault Soul," Vera comforted, reaching out and placing her hand over his. "Crona's one stubborn son of a bitch, once he sets his mind to something there's no changing it."

"I knew it was wrong," Soul insisted, not looking at her. "I knew something was wrong but I pretended everything was okay. Magic is unpredictable, and he was so… maybe he found some way to do this to himself."

"While strapped to a bed in here? No materials? No evidence? Fuck that, something did this to him."

"Just what are you saying? The city's anti-magic wards are in place, we burned every bit of the Panacea, even that rock in Crona's lab, even Crona's blood work showed no signs of interference; what could possibly have done this if it wasn't Crona himself?"

Vera looked at him, then down at their hands, then slowly extracted herself, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Well, trying too, but her breasts were too big for her to be particularly successful. Soul stared back at her, crimson eyes narrow in a frown, but she didn't want to meet his stare. She took her time with her words, chewing on her lower lip.

"Did you… see something," he asked tentatively, respecting her space.

"I saw a lot of things, but I can't remember them and the ones I do remember make no sense," she sighed, propping her chin on her knees. "It wasn't like normal, with the fog. There was… a desert, and the moon…"

"You came to see me, you know," said Soul, grinning just a little. "Twice."

"Really?" She looked up and smiled back at him. "I hope I had pants on."

"Yes, you had pants, but even if you didn't, cool guys don't peek."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say."

"It was weird. I mean it was you, but you were… confused. You just seemed so-"

"Lost? That I do remember. And the fact that there was no time. There were moments where I felt lucid, but most of the time, well, I was arguing with the moon or staring at my body. I only got back because… Fuck! I wish I could remember! It was really important and it had something to do with Crona and the Black Blood and-"

"It'll come back," soothed Soul, shifting his weight on the hospital bed. "You just woke up a couple hours ago. Hell, you're not even strong enough to stand yet. Give yourself a minute; it's not cool to rush these things."

"I just don't think we have a minute," she sighed, shaking her head. "Something terrible happened to Crona, more than what you've told me, I know that much. Something did this to him."

"If he's alright with it, I can tell you what Professor Stein finds in his blood work, if you think that'd be helpful."

"I'd like to know, at any rate. I never wanted to be his friend, but now I think I have to be. He needs all the friends he can get."

They sat for a moment in a silence that was bordering on uncomfortable. Vera kept her knees up and stared at the wall while Soul stared at her. How much of what she'd seen was true and how much was just an artifact of magic? Her own subconscious projected into a fantasy all around her? Or an actual, parallel plane of existence where the rules were different? At first it had been such a struggle to get her to astral project at all, then she couldn't control it but at least she wound up in places based in reality. Now… Soul didn't like the implications of her revelation. If something had done this to Crona, it meant they'd missed something and they had been so thorough. Where could that something be hiding and how could it have left no trace of its existence? Crona's bloodwork had been clean, just a high white blood cell count consistent with an infection. The wards had been pristine. Maka had sensed not so much a one human soul out of place.

Still, deep down, he was afraid Vera was right and this was just another in a long line of gambits for Crona's soul.

"It's nine o'clock," he said, looking at the hands on the wall and rounding to the nearest quarter. "I should let you get some rest. You'll probably need it if you want to survive Naigus's rehab protocols."

"That woman is brutal," Vera said with a shutter and a smile. "But I like it. I've spent enough time in this bed."

"No doubt. Anyway I'll see you tomorrow."

"Soul," Vera called, holding out her hand for his. He hesitated for a moment, feeling an old trepidation fester in his stomach, but eventually he yielded. She didn't look at him; rather, she focused her gaze on their intwined fingers. "I do remember one thing: you stayed with me. All that time you spent with me… I'm grateful. You didn't have to."

He hesitated for a moment, then, tentatively, reached out to her with his other hand. Pressed his fingers under her chin, lifted her face. Their eyes locked, crimson with amber and a sheen of magic dancing between them. She flushed but didn't pull away and he held the contact with a calm and commanding air. For a second that seemed to last for an eternity they just stared at each other, each knowing where this was going and neither willing to commit. Finally, Soul said what he needed to say, confessed what needed confessing:

"Yes I did."


"You're home late," commented Maka's tired voice from over on the couch, causing Soul to start just a little as he came through the door. "Did you have a good time?"

"Okay, first," Soul answered, taking off his shoes. "Since when is 9:30 late? And second, what kind of good time could I possibly have had?"

"It's just a question," she shot back, but the intended venom in her voice was dulled by fatigue.

"Fine, then yes: we had a good time. As far as times like these go. I caught her up on what's been happening and she- well, she's pretty convinced that what we have is really Crona. She thinks she saw something on the astral plane, but isn't sure."

"Well that's helpful. As usual."

"What's with you," snapped Soul, folding his arms and staring at her balled form. "She just woke up from a Black Blood-induced coma; can't you catch her a break! What's Vera gonna have to do for you to forgive her?"

"She can't do anything," Maka bit back, finally turning to look at him. "All these people who hurt Crona, I won't forgive any of them. That's all."

"Things were more complicated with Vera and you know it."

"Keep your voice down," she hissed, scowling at him and pressing a finger to her lips.

Soul scowled right back for a moment, then he let out a soft and mirthless laugh, slouching. He bent down and put his shoes on the rack and moved quietly to the counter, pulling one of the still open containers towards himself and giving it a sniff. Maka watched him intently, keeping still on the couch and blinking only when she had to. Settling on something to eat, Soul poured the contents into a bowl and put it in the microwave.

"He's here, isn't he."

"In Crona's room," she whispered, hugging her knees more tightly to her chest.

"I thought they'd change their minds, have you take him to the dungeons or back to the infirmary. Some place more secure."

"Lord Death agrees with Vera, that this is Crona and we need to help him remember. So he needs familiar surroundings. Familiar faces…"

"So we're on lookout duty again, huh?" Soul pulled the food from the microwave before it could beep and began slurping the noodles. "Not cool."

"That's not Crona, Soul," Maka said suddenly, speaking to the black glass of the TV. "I don't care what Lord Death or Vera or anyone says, it's not Crona."

"You've told me that his soul can be distorted by Madness," offered Soul, speaking with his mouth full. "Could that be this? Or could it be a spell?"

"If it were Madness I'd sense it and if it was a spell, well, we should find magical proteins in his blood."

"But you don't think we'll find any."

"No… yes in the sample after he grabbed that scalpel, but I don't think they'll be Crona's, and none in the first. This isn't how he was with Pendra or even Medusa; nothing's controlling him. He's just…"

Soul put down how bowel and came over to the couch, sitting on the coffee table and taking Maka's hands. She inhaled deeply through her nose and bit her lip. She'd been very controlled since they'd gotten the call at 5:00 that morning, very professional. She'd even kept her emotions in check when they'd found Crona, when he'd moved past her unrecognizing. Now though… she'd been up with Crona almost every night since the Panacea as he tried to expel whatever sickness it had left inside him. She'd endured his retreat away from her into an unhealthy solitude as he grieved. She'd kept his secrets even from Soul. And now it was just too much.

"He doesn't know me Soul," Maka let out a sudden sob. "And I don't know him. Sometimes it's like I do, like a flash of my Crona in something he says or does, but then he looks at me and everything's gone. Even his soul is different and I just can't accept that this- this person is Crona. I don't know what could've happened to him to make him this way. But I can't find anyone else who could be Crona; there's no soul in the whole world that is Crona. And that means-"

"Listen, nothing's ever been easy with Crona," Soul said, gripping her folded hands in his. "And no one's saying something isn't wrong. We all know something's wrong. Now maybe you're right and this isn't Crona, maybe it's some kind of clone or something. But this all started with the Panacea and we know practically nothing about what it does. We destroyed every bit of it after what it did to Crona, but do you remember how sick he was? And now there's none of that, overnight the swelling in his lymph nodes has disappeared. So isn't it equally as likely that this is Crona? And he's just sick in a way we don't understand yet? Either way, that person in Crona's room, we need to take care of him until we can figure out what's going on."

"I know," she sniffed. "I noticed that too."

"Figures," he said with a little grin. "But you should let the cool guys take credit every now and then."

"Why? Your ego doesn't need feeding," she let out a little giggle, pulling one of her hands free of Soul's so she could wipe her eyes. The other rotated so it could grip him tightly. "Soul, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure thing?"

"Could you help me look for Crona again tomorrow morning?"

"Sure thing."

"Oh, and Soul?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you put away the leftovers when you're done? I think I need to go to bed."

"Yeah, alright. I'll put them back when I'm finished."

Maka smiled at him a little and got up. Stumbling just a little from having sat for so long, she made her way back to the hall where she found herself hesitating. She pressed a hand to the corner joint where the drywall sheets met and ran it down the edge.

"Hey Soul," she called, not looking back.

"It's not cool to keep asking for favors."

"No, no more favors. Just… thank you."


Dark was the wrong word to describe Crona's surroundings; at least, it had the wrong sound to it. One cannot see in darkness, only feel the oppressive atmosphere pressing in all around, and though Crona felt plenty oppressed, he could see. He could see the blackness stretching infinitely before him like the sky. An expanse of black that terminated in more black. He couldn't fathom how he'd gotten here, wherever here was. He'd gone into the other Crona's room, had felt something strange, then gone to bed. Simple. Only now it didn't seem so simple, it seemed like something had transpired between those events. An adhesive in time that was now coming apart and he'd gotten caught in the middle.

Something crunched in the black and he turned sharply. But there was only more black, closing in, tingling in the hair on his arms. It was a wet sort of crunch, muffled and squelching, like rocks grinding against one another in a bag of water. Or bones inside a body. Or something else… It came again and again Crona twisted only to find blackness. He strained his eyes looking, staring into the void, without success. There was only black.

"Hello," he tried, acutely aware of the timid and wavering tenor in his voice. "Is someone there?"

Silence.

"Anyone?"

Suddenly the air was rended with a horrible, piercing scream. The sound warbled through the air, oscillating before crescendoing into a high-pitched whine. Crona found he couldn't scream in response, his throat was stuck and the only thing capable of movement was his hammering heart. His ribs tightened inside his chest and his muscles constricted in place. He couldn't breath-couldn't move. Someone else could, though; someone else was breathing. There was a crunch, then a pop, louder this time and accompanied by a sort of whimpering. His eyes were wide and searching, straining even though he was too afraid to turn his head. To look behind him… where the breathing was getting louder.

"Hey," whispered a voice that sounded horribly like his own. He could feel hot breath on the side of his face, see an arc of pink hair over his shoulder. "Did you know… my blood is black."

With a sharp gasp Crona bolted into wakefulness. He sat up, looking around wildly. But he was no longer where he had been. There was little black here, just in the shadows cast by the early morning light. This was the other Crona's room, small, with a bed in one corner and a desk in the other, across from the door. There was a modest dresser at the foot of the bed, its silver fastenings glittering. Letting out a long breath, Crona pushed himself off the mattress, setting his feet carefully on the ground, and padded over to it, opening the drawers inquisitively. Black robes and then more black robes, all with long sleeves and high, white collars.

He pursed his lips and kept looking. This black robe was what Crona wore, that much he'd figured out. But he was not Crona- more than that, he didn't want to be Crona. Something in the back of his mind told him that would be bad; if he was Crona, that it would mean something bad. This was an intuition he'd woken up with, one of three things he knew: What he was experiencing was normal, he shouldn't question any of it, and he was not Crona. Hence, he didn't want to wear what Crona wore. When he'd first woken up these truths had been self-evident. Now, with all these people insisting he was Crona, the situation felt stickier. Now that he knew his blood was black too, it seemed almost doubtful that he could be anyone but Crona.

But that was ridiculous; something had brought him into this world and that something had no reason to lie about such things. Digging in the back corner of the bottom drawer, he retrieved a single lime green shirt, short sleeved with a white collar, and some white pants. Absently, he reached down to his thigh and rubbed the black fabric of the robe between his fingers, almost longingly. Then he made up his mind. He knew so little; he needed to hold fast to this truth that he wasn't Crona. He slunk across the hall and changed, leaving the black robe from the day before in a heap on the ground in the bathroom. He fingered the crystal containing Maka's blood, ultimately deciding to leave it where it rested around his neck and then went into the kitchen.

"Good, you're awake," greeted a voice he recognized. Tilting his head, he tried to remember.

"Soul, right?"

"Correct," he flashed a pointed grin at Crona. "Cool guys like me are hard to forget. So, did you sleep well?"

"I-" Crona hesitated, breaking eye-contact to consult his bare feet. My blood is black you know… "I slept fine. And you?"

"Like a rock."

Crona got the sense that he was lying right back at him but didn't press. These were Crona's friends after all, not his. He had a feeling that he shouldn't let them close, especially this person Soul. Which reminded him:

"Maka says you have Black Blood, like me."

Soul gave him a hard look, setting down his bowl of cereal and getting up from the table. Crona blinked back at him, wondering why it was such a sore subject. After a long moment Soul scoffed and broke eye contact, leaning against the chair.

"Yeah," he answered, rubbing his chest. "But not all the time like you. I only have Black Blood in crisis, when the Madness has taken over."

"That's been mentioned before, Madness that is. Maka said the Black Blood was made to create a world consumed by Madness. A world where nothing lines up…"

"Pretty much. Why the interest? Unless you've decided you are Crona."

"No, I'm not Crona," he said with a head shake. Their eyes met before he looked away, moving to the other side of the table and sitting down. "I'm interested in the Black Blood because I need to be. I can't be Crona."

"Would it be so bad," Soul asked with a heavy sigh, settling back before his bowl and attacking his cereal. "You don't know anything about him. How can you know if you're Crona or not? And if you are, why is that so terrible?"

Crona looked across the table at him and let out a sigh of his own. He interlaced his long fingers and put them on the surface, staring at them and frowning.

"You were Crona's friend," he surmised.

"Yeah we were pretty close. He was going through some pretty rough times-"

"I don't care," Crona cut him off, still looking at his hands. "I don't want to hear about it. I may look like him, have Black Blood like him, but I'm not Crona and I'm not your friend. I woke up yesterday and beyond that the only thing I know for certain is that I'm not him. It's the only sense of self I have; it must be true."

"Why Crona then," Soul shot back, poking a spoon full of cereal into his mouth and speaking around it. "What if I told you you were Black Star or someone else?"

"I…" Crona looked up into those hard crimson eyes and faltered, rolling his lips together and sliding his hands into his lap. He didn't have the same visceral reaction to being called Black Star, but he didn't want to admit it. Soul knew anyway and pressed.

"That's different, isn't it. You're so insistent that you're not Crona and that you don't care, but the truth is you're as fixated on him as the rest of us. Otherwise why the interest in Crona's lab? Why stay here?"

"I'm here because Lord Death said I had to be," Crona sniped back, tightening his fingers under the table. "And I'm going to the lab to learn about the Black Blood, which is inside me. That's all."

"It's not cool to lie like that."

"What would you know?!"

"I'm back."

Maka's voice cut between the two as she opened the front door, accompanied by the rustle of grocery bags. She had on her usual black trench coat and plaid miniskirt. Crona's heart fluttered in his chest and he felt heat rush into his face at the sight of her. That hadn't happened with anyone else; he hadn't responded to them. But with this girl… an ache in his head told him to look away, to pretend she was just another stranger. Yet an ache in his chest wanted to be close to her. Their eyes met, grey and green, and he quickly looked away, focusing very hard on the grains in the wooden table. Soul took it all in with a keen interest.

"Do you need help carrying anything," Soul offered, still watching Crona.

"No," Maka busied herself with the door and didn't notice the exchange. "I just got some stuff for tonight. We'll have to go back later. It was surprisingly busy for this early in the morning."

She came into the kitchen without greeting Crona explicitly and started putting food into the cabinets and refrigerator. Every bang sent an anxious shiver down Crona's spine and he tried to avoid looking at her. Which was hard because he found he wanted to look at her quite badly, to watch her move and see how her pigtails slid back and forth across her shoulders. He knew he didn't know any of these people, that this was Crona's world into which he'd been thrust. He was comfortable with that knowledge, he wanted to believe it. So why was this girl so… interesting. A can slipped from her hand as she lifting it towards one of the cabinets and he caught it with his mind before it could hit the counter. She turned to look at him, but he kept his eyes focused on the can and he face blank. Sighing through her nose, she curled her fingers around it and took its weight back.

"Thank you," Maka said, turning her back on Crona again. "But you're not supposed to be using unnecessary magic."

"I'm a witch," he responded curtly, a little incensed by her lack of gratitude. "It's unrealistic to expect me to never use magic. Besides, as you've explained it, the pendant with blood restrains unsafe magic, so clearly my magic does not trigger this Madness you're all so concerned about."

"If you remembered experiencing it you'd be concerned too," grumbled Soul. "Crona- you, invented that pendant because he was so afraid of losing himself to Madness; it's not cool to blow it off."

"I was only trying to help."

"Why don't we go up to the top of the DWMA when I'm done putting these away," proposed Maka, keeping her back turned and speaking to the cabinets. "Unless anyone's hungry."

"I'm almost finished," reported Soul, returning his attention to the cereal.

"I'm not hungry," said Crona, watching her. "When will we go to Crona's lab?"

"We can go as soon as Soul and I are finished. It shouldn't take too long."


The errand itself might not take long, but the hike to the top of the DWMA certainly did. Death City was built on an artificial hill with manufacturing at the base, then shops and residential buildings, and then the massive school at the peak. It took time to traverse the cobblestone to the hundreds of steps leading up to the DWMA, then more time to climb those steps. Then into the school through winding halls and coiling staircases. Crona thought back to the woman who'd found him and her pure frustration at being lost and felt a new sympathy for her. When they'd first brought him up everything had been so new and strange it had blurred together; now, just a day later, he felt sharp and well adjusted. He could say with clarity that the layout was indeed confusing, but there were patterns to it. Bemused as he was by the seemingly endless passages and stairs, he had a sense that if he had to he could find his way out again. When finally they reached the highest balcony the view was breathtaking.

"What do you think," prodded Soul, noticing Crona's expression light up. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Crona walked past him to the edge and placed his hands on the high railing. A little flush colored his cheeks and the breeze caught in his hair, pushing it gently. Maka felt something reach into her chest and squeeze her heart painfully; this was how he looked the first time she'd brought him up here. So innocent and so amazed, it was hard to believe that just months before she'd all but witnessed him kill 60-some people in cold blood. And now, his wide eyes, his parted lips, the way he rested his fingertips so lightly on the stone, he looked just like Crona. But he wasn't.

"We can admire the view later," she chastised. "Now we have work to do. Soul."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he answered with a hand wave, pulling his hands from his yellow jacket and adjusting his white headband.

Then in a swirl of white light he transformed into a scythe. Crona felt the tingle of almost-magic and turned around to watch, frowning. The blade was black and red, the colors separated by a jagged line, and the length was exactly perfect for Maka's height. She spun the blade experimentally then planted it on the ground vertically. Power was building between them, like magic but a little different, and as it built both Maka and Soul let out a roar of effort. A pale blue sphere shimmered in her chest, then expanded outward, doming around them. Maka's pigtails whipped in an ethereal wind that only existed inside the sphere and Crona… Crona felt suddenly very exposed.

Maka didn't start off looking at him though. She cast her gaze wide, outwards to the whole world, seeking that one soul that was unlike any other. Not blue like a human and not purple like a witch, but a gentle pink in between, soft and unassuming, and scarred with trauma. Tinged red with a Madness that wouldn't go away. She didn't see it- she didn't see it anywhere. Even now, with her soul resonance at its maximum and Soul working with her in perfect harmony, Crona's pure soul was nowhere to be found. Instead she found one equally unique, still that in between pink, still soft, and yet off. It was like looking in a fun house mirror; the soul was recognizable but the proportions were wrong. Crona, and yet not Crona. There was something else too, a shadow wrapped around it- what was that? She looked at Crona with wild eyes and he flinched away, the shadow in his soul coiling tighter, branching out into a consuming network. Almost fungal.

"Stop it," Crona shouted, backing up to the balcony and pressing against it. His skin was crawling. This girl, she was seeing things she wasn't supposed to see; something bad would happen if she kept this up. "Stop it! Don't look at me like that!"

When she didn't stop he fought back, releasing a telekinetic pulse that shook the walls and loosened small pebbles from the stone joints. Maka and Soul were pushed back and, surprised by the outburst, their focus was broken.

"You okay," asked Soul, his face flashing in the scythe's blade. The stitched scar on his chest stood out vividly. Maka opened her mouth to assure him of her wellbeing but was cut off.

"What gives you the right," demanded Crona. His voice was strong and angry but his body was still pressed to the balcony railing. "How dare you look at me like that. I never gave you permission. I never- agh!"

Crona bent over, pressing his hands into his skull. A stab of worry tore into Maka's chest and she approached him, but he held her back with a fierce look and an angry snarl. As if she'd invaded his privacy somehow. Which didn't make any sense because Soul Perception was a noninvasive, passive ability. It couldn't do any damage, so why was he reacting this way?

"Crona, are you alright," barked Soul, slipping from her hands and transforming back into his human from. Bolder than Maka, he approached the witch and placed a hand on his shoulder.

He grunted and shuddered in pain, then suddenly relaxed. Dropping his hands back to his sides, he straightened, opening eyes that were dull gray and giving them a controlled look.

"Are you finished," he asked coolly, brushing Soul from his shoulder with the back of his hand.

"For now," answered Maka, equally cool, giving Soul a meaningful look. He hadn't seen what she saw, but they were going to need to talk about it with Lord Death and Professor Stein.

"Good. Then I would like to go to Crona's lab now. I need to learn about the Black Blood."

Crona didn't speak to them on the long walk down to the lab. At first he seemed entirely detached, as if speaking was simply beneath him, but as the moved down the hill that faded, replaced with a huffy attitude. Like they'd offended him. Soul had no idea what had triggered this latest round of indignant silence, but Maka had seen something in his soul, something that wasn't supposed to be there, and she sensed that Crona knew. Perhaps not exactly what she'd seen, but definitely that she'd looked into a place he couldn't hide. She'd never thought of it that way, but Soul Perception was rather intimate, a glimpse into someone's essence. The information of what she'd seen burned in her throat, yet she couldn't speak with Soul. Crona was right on their heels, eager to get to the lab and commence his research. Just like always…

"This is it," he deigned to ask when they finally arrived at the sand swept hut.

"It's been abandoned for weeks now, since Crona stopped coming down," said Soul a little defensively, adding a shrug to make it look like he didn't care.

"No one maintained it?" Accusatory, as if he wasn't the one who'd left it to fend for itself.

"Professor Stein has been keeping the instruments running if that's what you mean." Maka didn't even try to hide her agitation. "It's small, but well-constructed, Crona designed it himself."

Crona didn't dignify that with a reply; instead he kicked sand from the doorway and entered. Inside it was chilled, as always, dim and humming with electrical equipment. One wall was dedicated to a desk and bookshelf filled with notebooks, scraps of paper, jars, and all manner of scientific-looking equipment. Another housed the long wavelength spectrometer and its various cylinders of gases. There was a wall length mirror for communication and the final wall was dedicated to Medusa's journals. They whispered with magic when he entered and Crona paused next to them, his lips parting as the hairs along his spine stood on end.

"What are these," he asked, brushing one with the tips of his fingers and feeling a spark of electricity run up his arm.

"Stay away from those," Maka snapped, folding her arms as an old disdain churned in her stomach. "Only Crona can read them anyway, so they're useless to you."

Crona narrowed his eyes at her, looking over his shoulder. Catch-22: Pretend he felt nothing from these journals because he wasn't Crona or admit to the attraction and the possibility that he was Crona. Fortunately, the mirror began to ripple at that instant, distracting Maka and Soul. Crona grabbed the journal at his fingertips and brought it over to the desk, starting a pile to bring back with him to the apartment. Maka and Soul moved over to the mirror to answer the call.

"Howdy! How ya doin'?" Lord Death and Professor Stein appeared as Maka pressed her hand to the glass. They made an odd contrast, one jagged and dark, inhuman in many respects but somehow inviting and the other cut to pieces and then stitched back together, human in form and yet somehow off.

"We're… fine," said Maka cautiously, looking over her shoulder at Crona, who'd busied himself with the manuscripts left out on the desk. "We're at Crona's lab."

"I see, I see." Lord Death bobbed his head. "And how is Crona?"

"Still insisting he's not Crona," answered Soul, giving the pair a mirthless smile. "He's kind of an ass, actually."

"Soul," Maka scolded, giving him a reprimanding tap above the elbow while keeping her gaze on Crona. If he heard the insult he didn't respond. Soul rubbed the spot where she'd struck and shook his head.

"I suppose in some ways it's nice to see Crona so out of his shell," said Lord Death, a little smile in his tone. "Even if he doesn't know it."

"Are the test results back," inquired Maka, returning her attention to the glass. "He is Crona?"

"In every biologically meaningful way," answered Stein, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Even if it weren't for the Black Blood, the DNA came back positive: this is Crona…"

"But," Soul said into the silence, frowning. Maka grabbed his arm in anticipation, her fingernails white from the force in her grip. "What about the magic tests? The proteins in his blood?"

"That's a different story," Stein returned in a flat but acutely interested tone. "The first sample was clean, there is no magical manipulation in play. The second sample did have magical proteins, as expected, but they were not Crona's wavelength or anywhere close to it. The wavelength I found was severely redshifted."

"Redshifted…" Maka frowned deeply, wondering where she'd heard that term before. Then, gasping, she exclaimed "The Panacea! Crona said it could redshift a magical wavelength!"

Soul placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze, jerking his chin meaningfully over his shoulder. Crona had looked up and was staring at them inquisitively. However, after a few moments of staring each other down, he seemed to lose interest and returned to his work. They breathed a sigh of relief and continued in hushed tones.

"Do you think this could be an artifact of his encounter with the Panacea?"

"It's possible, though we have no indication either way," Stein said, the words muffled by the cigarette he had between his lips. "We know it did something to him, as evidenced by his illness, but what goal could the Panacea have in erasing his memories and changing his magical wavelength?"

"That's not all," Maka pressed, urgently. "This morning, just now, Soul and I used Soup Perception to look for Crona- the real Crona. When I looked at this person, it was almost like looking at Crona but not quite. More than that, there's something… else, in his soul."

"Describe it. What did it look like?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I first encountered Crona, I could see that Ragnarok's soul was dominant and that around both of them there was a snake. In retrospect this was Medusa's magical manipulation, a spell in Crona's mind that was still in effect."

"It wasn't a snake…" Maka trailed off, risking a glance at Crona. He was absorbed in one of many little black journals and paid them no mind. "But it was wrapped around the soul. Like… tendrils. I don't know, I didn't get a good look. He freaked out when I used my Soul Perception, like he knew what I was doing. I've never seen anyone react like that before; he's almost hypersensitive."

"Interesting. Very interesting," Lord Death mused, twisting a little to also look at Crona. "What a mystery indeed. Have you seen any indications that he's dangerous?"

"Dangerous," repeated Soul with a little laugh. "He's insistent that he should use magic whenever he wants, but he hasn't done anything dangerous. He can't control the Black Blood either and Maka's blood doesn't react to anything he does."

"I'm still not convinced that he's Crona," Maka inserted, rolling her lips and frowning. "But no, he doesn't seem dangerous."

"Still not convinced," sneered Stein. "Does the DNA evidence not count for you?"

"Maybe he's a clone," Maka shot back, flushing in shame and frustration.

"Either way," inserted Soul, giving Maka's hand another squeeze. "He's the Crona we have."

"Yes, I agree with Soul," said Lord Death as if the rest of the room hadn't gone tense. "For all intents and purposes this is Crona, though we should not dismiss Maka's Soul Perception or this redshifting business. This is a Crona that has been altered by the Panacea. The Panacea has been destroyed, but I am interested to know what lingering effects it might be having. Maka, Soul, I'd like you to continue as you are with him. No need to push but keep a close eye. It's good that he's here, and that he's interested, but we mustn't indulge him too much, if you see what I mean."

"Yeah," Soul shrugged Maka off and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, we hear you."

"Excellent! Then I look forward to hearing from you!"