Needed a (slightly) more light-hearted break from my outstanding longfic. You have my apologies for the math-y name
Maka's current position is draped over the couch in her silken PJs, her cellphone pressed to her ear as she sips at a cup of tea she's been balancing on the couch arm and chatters excitedly away to her mysterious mother on the other end.
Soul's position is cross-legged on the floor of their living room, his eyes glued to the TV screen and hands glued to the controller as he tries desperately to focus on his game and not eavesdrop on the conversation that Maka's having right next to him. Unfortunately, he's losing this battle and finds himself caught up in his own curious speculations of the things that estranged mothers and daughters talked about over the phone.
They were good at this; coexistence. At first, moving in had been a painful and awkward experience for the both of them. Imagine it! Forced to cohabit at the tender age of 13, with a person of the opposite sex you barely knew but were suddenly hurled into your life. Puberty was awkward enough when you had to go through it in the comfort of your parents' home, let alone in this inhospitable environment.
Soul's had been the first and most candid experience. All those impromptu nosebleeds at Blair's behest, and he hadn't exactly been adept at hiding it. By fourteen Maka had (mostly) learned to keep her cool when it happened, and not to blame him for his sudden bouts of blood-loss whenever that damn cat entered his line of vision. By fifteen she had pretty much learned to knock before she went in his room. By sixteen… well, by sixteen it was her turn for a little embarrassment.
Having to navigate the world of periods and training bras was mortifying enough, but her sudden overwhelming capacity to blush any time Soul came remotely near her made things exponentially worse. Ugh, and those days when he decided (for no good reason) to step out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel slung innocently across his hips had been especially… testing.
His amusement at the tables turning onto her was only somewhat tempered by how helpful and laid-back he had been during that period. Buying tampons and chocolate once a month had become something of a ritual; but always, always handed to her with a sly grin and a sarcastically uttered 'I live to serve you, meister'.
Maka thinks he's a bastard, sometimes. And he's prone to thinking that she's a gigantic loser. But he's her bastard. And she's his loser.
And it hadn't half taken the idiots long enough to figure that out.
Of course, it was obvious to anyone who might have been watching them interact the past couple years. Hell, it should have been obvious to them. It had taken Maka an entire year to realize that the hot-and-flustered feeling she always seemed to get when he paraded round the apartment in just his jeans was attraction, plain and simple. And Soul wasn't any better. It took him a whole four years to realize that his instinct to die for her on the battlefield was more than a twisted sense of duty. It was his complete and utter devotion to her that kept him jumping off buildings after her and throwing himself in the way of endless explosions and attacks.
After that realization had been made, living together had become a relative breeze. Their relationship had quickly evolved to being weapon partners by the day and something else entirely in the evenings, when they were alone. Regular visits to each other's bedrooms had become a treasured thing, and the two of them could oft be spotted holding hands subtly in the corridors between classes.
Being a relatively new and undefined couple, they still had their limits.
Which is why Soul is not most keen to let Maka know that he's secretly listening to her chatter to her mom on the phone. Even though she's chosen to come in here for her phone call, the act still manages to make him feel like a creep.
"Canada! Wow, it sounds amazing!" she gushes, pausing for around ten seconds or so. "Yeah, I know! Isn't it neat?"
He wonders idly what exactly is neat as he flicks his thumbs and shoots a zombie on his screen in the head with a crash.
"No mama, that noise is just Soul playing Xbox." Maka glances at her weapon on the floor for a second before she frowns at something on the other end. "No, mama." She scowls, blushing. "It's not… it's not like that." She stands up and walks swiftly out the door and Soul's overcome with curiosity, now. Wasn't like what?! "Not every guy is like papa," he manages to overhear Maka hiss in hushed tones before her bedroom door clicks shut.
Soul watches his character on the screen die a bloody and preventable death as his hands freeze and he glances at the door with a raised eyebrow, wondering why exactly he was being compared to that creep, Spirit. It certainly invited questions, and not the good kind.
In the safety of her own bedroom, she continues her conversation with her inquisitive mother.
"I know that, sweetie." Kami sighs. "Still, in my experience, it's not a good idea to get involved with your weapon partner. It happens all too often, and breakups can be messy."
"How can you say that?! You and papa were married for years before he… before the divorce." She self-censors, defensively crossing her arms.
"Maka, you know how I feel about your father. That isn't to say that we didn't have some good times, me and Spirit. And we had you, our precious daughter." Kami pauses for emphasis and Maka fiddles with her nails. "But it did complicate things. From what it sounds, you and Soul are well matched as partners. Be careful." Kami says, her tone shrouded in an aura of mystery.
"Well, it doesn't matter! It's not like that between us!" she splutters. She can practically hear her mother's knowing smile through the phone line.
"Okay, Maka, darling." She says warmly, accepting her daughter's sentiments, if not quite believing them. "Well, I'm certainly excited to meet him, and your other friends. How does September sound…?"
Maka gasps. "Mama! You're coming back?!" she doesn't manage to capture the excitement in her voice as it tumbles out of her. "How come?"
"I won't have any work assignments out here for a week or so. It'll be sometime in late September, hopefully. I'll keep you posted, darling. I'm expecting you to show me all around Death City, okay?"
"Mama, you know this city better than I do!" Maka laughs.
"I'm sure it's changed so much…" she answers a little wistfully. "It'll be nice to get out of the snow for a little while and back to the desert heat, anyway. Canada is so beautiful, but so very cold. I wish that you could come and visit me here. You'd love it."
Maka beams wildly. "I can't believe you're coming to visit!" she flaps her arms wildly around, just wishing that she didn't have to wait three months to see her #1 favorite parent. It had been around two years since she'd last seen her elusive mother, and those visits were always a particular highlight of hers. It was sure to be great, Maka thought. "I miss you, Mama."
"I've missed you too, sweetie. Can't wait to catch up. I'm sure you have so much to tell me!" her mother reciprocates. "I'm sorry, Maka, darling. I've got to run- I've got so much work to do."
"O-oh," Maka's smile falters. "So soon?"
"I'm sorry, Maka. I'm just so busy these days. Please, though, let's stay in touch! I love hearing about what you get up to, you know that." Her mother says, but she can hear that there's other voices surrounding her now. "I love you, Maka."
"Love you too, Ma. Speak to you soon. I can't wait for September!"
Her mother utters a few words in reciprocation and a final emotional goodbye, before the call is disconnected and Maka's suddenly alone in her bedroom again. Her sadness over the call being over is mitigated by a sense of glee over the fact that in just three months, her mother's going to be here, in Death City.
She must scream loudly into her pillow pretty loudly, because Soul appears to hear her from the midst of his game and knocks on her door.
"Uh, everything okay?" he asks tentatively from outside.
"Yes!" Maka squeals. "Sorry." She laughs deliriously, placing a calming hand on her own cheek. "I'm good."
Sometime around mid-July, he gets a phone call from his brother. It buzzes in his pocket sometime after class, on a warm summer evening.
He stares at the number for a few seconds, his eyebrows pulling together in a twinged frown. He briefly considers hanging up and shoving the phone back in his pocket, but Maka's standing next to him and leaning over in interest.
"Wes…?" she asks. "Isn't that your brother?"
Soul blinks. "Yes." He answers, dumbly.
"Aren't you going to answer him?" she asks, her voice dripping with innocence and her round olive orbs coming up to meet his, earnestly.
"Uh." He replies, eloquently as ever. "Yes." He holds the thing up to his ear and clears his throat. "Wes,"
"…hello, brother." The voice greets him on the other end, cold and clinical. Soul hides the shiver that runs through his spine and Maka watches his shoulders stiffen with growing curiosity. "How have you been?"
"Uh, fine." He says bluntly. Maka sends him a look, and he reluctantly adds: "… you?"
"Good! I'm good, thank you. It's been a while, hasn't it?" Wes asks a little redundantly to a dumbstruck Soul. "I'd love to catch up. But unfortunately, this isn't a social call. I've got some bad news."
He's unsurprised that Wes isn't calling for a chat. Neither Wes nor Soul had ever exactly been the 'phone for a chat' type. But bad news? "Oh?" Soul responds, his tone questioning.
"I thought it was best that I tell you, considering that you aren't on speaking terms with mother or father." Wes explains. Was Soul just imagining the patronizing tone present there? "It's Grandma. She passed away, last night. In her sleep." Wes delivers the news, a hint of sadness creeping in. "Sorry, to be the bearer of bad news. You know how she had been sick for a little while."
Soul stops in his tracks and freezes, his expression indeterminable.
"Okay," he replies, a little unsure. "Mother okay?" he mutters, watching Maka's eyes widen next to him. She's new to the very concept of Soul even having a mother, let alone talking about her openly.
"Oh… you know how she is." Wes says vaguely. "She's coping, I believe. Copious wine seems to be helping, thus far."
Soul grimaces. No changes there, then.
"Right." He enunciates. "Thanks for telling me, Wes." He grits out his longest sentence so far, about to hang up the call- but Wes stops him.
"Soul! Soul. Before you go- look, I know it's a long shot. But… mother wanted me to invite you to the funeral." Wes tells him.
"Wes, if you think I'm driving to Sacramento-" Soul starts, being cut off.
"Please, at least consider it. For my sake, at least. God knows it would be nice to have some company- you know how these family events tend to be…"
Soul snorts. "Thought you relished them."
"Hmph." Wes hums in rebuttal. "Anyway, it's going to be at the church near their mansion. Next Sunday, around afternoon- if you do decide to come." He adds. "Feel free to bring the girl. She's invited, too. Mother insisted." He sighs. "Who knows why."
"Alright. Wes," Soul drawls in his familiar disinterested fashion. "Bye." He clicks the phone shut and shoves it back in his pocket.
Maka raises her eyebrows as if she's expecting him to be forthcoming, but when he doesn't say anything, she probes him.
"What was that about?" she wonders aloud.
"My grandmother died. She's having a funeral next week, I guess." Soul tells her dispassionately. Maka's mouth falls open in shock and surprise.
"Soul, I'm so sorry!" she touches his arm instinctively. "Are you okay?"
He shrugs. "Weren't that close. She wasn't a big fan of me, when she was alive." He answers, truthfully. "Still. She was an okay lady, sometimes. I doubt I'll go." He admits, and Maka draws away from him, horrified.
"You aren't going to go?" she says, incredulous. "Why not?"
"It's a long drive." He reasons, keeping the real reasons from her. "Lot of effort, for one day and what promises to be a frankly depressing event." He yawns into his hand. "Look, I'm tired. Can we talk about this another time?" he drags his feet.
"Soul!" she scolds him. "You have to go." She shakes her head, as if she's decided that she's not budging on the topic. "I mean it!"
He rolls his eyes. "No offence, but you don't know my family."
"I don't care! She's your grandmother, and she's died. You owe it to her to honor her!" Maka insists. "Soul! Are you listening to me?"
"Hm." He hums, shrugging. "My mother invited you." He mentions. He isn't quite sure why he brings that up, but he feels the need to share the bizarre-ness with somebody. Maka, however, takes it as an acceptance and clasps her hands together in decision-making mode.
"That's settled then. We're going to go. I'm free next week." Maka arm drops down and she grabs hold of his hand; squeezes it once in solidarity. "Soul, it's going to be okay. It can't be that bad," she offers a warm smile and a peck on the lips, which admittedly does cheer him up a little.
He kisses her back, longer and lingering. More lingering, though, is the thought that rattles around in the back of his head. The thought that for once, she was wrong. It most definitely could and would be that bad.