Kidd's smile was like the cresting dawn. Chrona felt his chest tighten at the wonder of it, of this rare sight, and wondered for a moment if he was the cause. No, he thought, someone like him couldn't make someone like Kidd smile. But it was true, and the blushing, nervous, blissfully happy pinkette dropped onto the reaper's chest, nuzzling his face into the boy's throat, hiding his bashful expression in the warmth that always emanated from his body. Kidd chuckled, deep and low and rumbling in the smaller boys ears, thrumming through their connected chests as his arms tightened around Chrona's lithe frame. They were as close as two people could be with clothes on, and this pleased them both to their cores.
Their hearts slowed in tandem as they settled and stilled, their breath easing until it was shallow and regular. Chrona had drifted to sleep on top of the reaper, secure for the first of many nights to come. Kidd had no inclination to make this night a rarity. Despite his desire for the boy, young Death had no intention of pushing Chrona at any pace. Things would progress naturally, and in the mean time he was content to spend his nights curled around the smaller boy's frame.
He wondered idly what kind of lover Chrona would be in his glory, when he was solid and secure. Would he be as timid as he was in his daily life? A delicate bloom to be handled with care? Or would the iron that the pinkette showed in righteous battle, the iron he showed in surviving years of neglect and abuse, come through in the bedroom? A young warrior, matching Kidd step for step? Would he be adventurous? Curious? Scarred? Perhaps all of these, in turns and cycles as a waxing and waning moon, as the tides of the ocean. Kidd doubted that any of these could make Chrona less than his match and mate. Reapers do not love like humans do. More intense, more rare, more enduring.
Perhaps it was these thoughts that lulled the reaper into such a relaxed state that he didn't sense what was amiss. Perhaps he was simply tired, or attentively focused on the pinkette. Whatever the reason, he did not sense the man peering in the high window - a man with an x-shaped scar marring his features.
Ragnorak was not pleased.
...
"Kidd and Chro-na sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n- OUCH!" Maka cracked Blackstar soundly atop the head, stopping his impudent song midway. Chrona, flushed and embarrassed, scootched a little closed to the reaper on the bench they were sharing, and Kidd placed a protective arm over his shoulders. Anyone other than Blackstar would have dropped dead from such a look from such a man, but the obnoxious meister simply went on howling, yelling at Maka as he ignored Tsubaki's mixture of nagging and fretting. The classroom was in its typical uproar, just as it should be. Professor Stein slid into the classroom on his rolling desk chair, and education began as it usually did at the DWMA. Everything seem right in the world.
Better than right. While they hadn't truly announced anything, no one missed Kidd and Chrona's interwoven hands as they entered the classroom, the reaper looking as serious as usual. The pinkette had been flushed and stammering, but a timid smile graced his lips, even as Maka made a fuss and Soul gave Kidd a thumbs up. "Very cool, guys." But Blackstar had always been a bit much for Chrona, and while he was a little slow on the uptake by comparison to his friends, he was by far the loudest and most uncouth when he did catch on. Chrona didn't know how to handle being teased by Blackstar.
Inside his mirror room, Lord Death smiled at his son, checking in on him from one of his portals. It was good to see the boy doing what young men should. He had a fondness for all his students, the demon swordmeister included, and his approval ran deep. But the tone of his thoughts changed as he sighed, switching from his son's class to the lists on his desk. So much to be done. Even with the Kishin dead, evil managed to rear it's head in many places. It was time to take his daily reports from the death scythes positioned throughout the world, as well as his broader range of contacts in each sector to retrieve complaints of malign activity. From these reports he would create missions, classed based on their perceived difficulty. As he scanned the lists, his found his gaze returning over and over to one entry, circled in red ink. Ragnorak. He had not told his son everything, only enough that he might make an informed decision. It was important to limit the factors that would lead the boy to a biased decision. A Reaper must be without leaning, a center of morality and righteous judgement, able to remove himself from attachment. Had he known that Ragnorak appeared to be working his way towards the DWMA, that would have been even less possible.
This was not an easy issue. What did the weapon want? The options seemed limitless. Perhaps revenge on the DWMA, or on Chrona himself? Would he attempt to attack the school, or its students? While a bit optimistic, it was possible he had come for amicable reasons - to reunite with his swordsmeister, or seek asylum and rehabilitation. Perhaps he had no intention of coming into Death City at all. The trail of reports traveling across the globe did not suggest as much. They started deep in South America and began winding their way straight towards them, the severity of the incidents increasing with ever hit.
There was a utilitarian coldness to all of the attacks thus far, leaving no doubt that they all originated from a single perpetrator. The victims were killed quickly, efficiently, and with seemingly no warning - no signs of struggle, no shouts, not even an expression of fear on the faces of the dead. There was no cruelty in it, only the routine accessing of a food source. Perhaps it was that attitude which rendered Ragnorak apparently immune to the symptoms of kishin conversion. Death could only hoped it stayed that way.
The Shinigami drew himself out of the deep well of his thoughts, surfacing to return to the matters on paper before him. There was nothing to be done in any direction until his son came to his decision. He prayed that the attacks would be limited until that time.
...
That day had been a perfect one, and it pained Kidd to bring that joy to a - hopefully temporary - close, but the matter of Ragnorak and his obligation to his father could not be pushed away any longer. A more than a full day had passed since his conversation with the current Lord Death, and he would not have the deaths of more innocent humans on his hands for the price of his own contentment. For a conversation like this, Kidd brought Chrona to the one place he thought the boy felt truly secure.
Seated on the cool stone of the pavilion, the reaper took the boys hands in his own larger ones, steeling himself to be cool yet compassionate. The sides of himself - reaper and lover - were at war in this. How could they ever been united again, or before? Chrona was visibly anxious. "Kidd-kun, I d-don't know how to handle you acting like th-this," he murmured, shifting a little in his spot. His hands tightened on the darker haired boy's, which caged his own like a frightened bird's nest. What could this possibly be about? Did Kidd realize, already, how worthless he was? Was he leaving now? Kidd's thumb stroked the top of Chrona's hand.
"Shh, pet. I have to be a reaper now, and what I'm about to say might upset you, but I promise you, I will be beside you in everything." Unsure, confused, Chrona nodded, looking Kidd in the eyes a steadily as he could. "There having been attacks... and sightings of Ragnorak."
The blood drained from Chrona's face in a single instant, leaving him grey skinned and wide eyed. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight as a bow with shock. "Ragnorak..." His voice cracked a little and tears came to his eyes. The concern emanating from Kidd was palpable, but he continued.
"My father has asked me to take a mission against him. Such a mission would either end in life imprisonment... or death." He swallowed, steeling himself. "But he gave me the option to pass this mission to another, knowing that I care for you." Chrona's somewhat unfocused eyes met Kidd's. "I do not want to be the one to cause you pain, Chrona," he murmured, drawing the boy to his chest. He was shivering. His smaller hands clutched at the fabric of the reaper's jacket. Kidd spoke into the pinkette's hair, attempting to calm him with his body as he destroyed him with his words. "Chrona, I will not take this mission if you do not want it. I will send another. But it is a reaper's place to take it. He is killing innocents, Chrona. Killing humans for their souls." He paused. "It is my place to guard this world."
There was silence between them. Chrona hid, deep in himself and deep in Kidd's arms, struggling to grasp at reality. How, and why? Ragnorak, his beloved and his tormentor, had become that? Ragnorak, who had left him broken and alone? My blood is black, you know?
No. It had been black.
But not anymore.
Chrona lifted his head, meeting Kidd's eyes, dark gold with anxiety. "Take me with you. Take me with you to find him." His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, strange and solid and strong. Kidd's eyes grew wide, and then his expression strengthened, smoothed - the face of a reaper. He nodded, acknowledging Chrona's decision. Together, then.
"I'll tell my father."
...
Reaction were mixed when they broke the news of Ragnorak's sightings and the related mission to their friends. For a moment, everyone was silent as their eyes shifted to Chrona, taking in his stance and expression. Maka was the first to move, coming forward to hug her friend. "You know we're here for you, Chrona." He nodded, his eyes hard. Soul only laid a hand on Kidd's shoulder, nodding in Chrona's direction and speaking in low tones. The private conversation was short, and the two men met each others eyes, grasping forearms before Soul returned to his meister. Blackstar was yelling in the background as always, talking about taking on the demon sword, furious the Lord Death didn't select him, and he showed no signs of quieting down any time soon. Patti was laughing and clapping her hands, ditzy as usual, but Liz looked hard and concerned. They had been defeated by the demon sword before. This was no cake walk mission.
Kidd had suggested they tell their friends before talking to his father. His gut said that they would be leaving immediately after, and Maka wouldn't take kindly to any sudden and potentially prolonged disappearance on Chrona's part. Her maternal instincts could easily lead to injury of anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity of her nearest textbook. Chrona was being unusually quiet, answering largely in nods or single words; he had shifted into the steel that he only showed when fighting for something he believed was greater than himself, something righteous. So Kidd did the talking, explaining the minimum of what had happened and what they were being sent to do. Whenever he stole glances at his pinkette, the boy's eyes were far away and hard.
And when all but Liz and Patti had left, he remained that way, fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously at his sides. No matter. Kidd ordered the twins into their weapons forms and stepped atop Beelzebub, extending his hand to Chrona. "To my father, then." Chrona nodded, taking the reaper's hand in his own. Of his own accord, he stepped into the circle of kids arms, their bodies pressed to each other to balance on the flying board, and in the midst of everything, amidst the stress and fear of the coming battle, Kidd softened a little when he felt the swordmeister's arms wrap around his neck, his warm breath soft against his throat. Amidst war, he had found his haven. Checking the holstering on Liz and Patti, he tightened his grip on the smaller boy and looked on to the DWMA.
...
The meeting was a brief one, and they had set out on Beelzebub just as the laughing sun fell exhausted into the horizon. The desert wind was cool on their bodies, their thoughts busy, their mouths silent. Kidd was conscious of the new and cold weight on Chrona's back, the feel of metal beneath his fingers as he held the meister to him.
"You cannot go into battle defenseless, Chrona," Death had said, pulling from the folds of his black cloak a long blade. "This is Ember. It is a close to a magic tool as you will hold in your life." The sword was thin and keen, the deepest matte black imaginable, so that it seemed to eat light rather than reflect it. "I worked this sword from a meteor when I was a boy. It will serve you well, though not as well or in the same manner a Weapon would. Such things cannot be helped." Death laid the sword on the flat palms of Chrona's upraised hands, dismissing the boys with a bow. "Godspeed, students."
They had been flying for hours since that dismissal, and Kidd could feel the pinkette's body begin to fatigue from hours of standing. The moon was high in the somewhat cloudy sky, leaving the night darker than usual. The reaper sighed internally, unused to the lower endurance of a partner. Regardless, they would have to make camp. Chrona resisted, insisting in sleepy tones that they move forward. Kidd said nothing, only meticulously and efficiently making a small fire in the shadow of a large dune, laying out his cloak. Sitting, the reaper patted the larger section of cloth next to him, and with some hesitation the frowning meister obeyed, laying the sword reverently at his side before nestling into Kidd's arms. The reaper kissed his forehead, winding his body around the boy's to ward of the night's chill. "We will begin our hunt in the morning, my heart. We will find him."
And from the darkness a deep voice resonated. "Too late."
Ragnorak had found them.
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A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews! I'll try to get these chapters out a little faster from now on. My fiancee just deployed to Afghanistan and I'm prepping for a new job, so things have been a bit crazy, but no more! Much love, roadspavedwithgold.