Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction so please, review and let me know what you think. Also, I do plan on finishing this story to completion, as there is nothing more disheartening than finding a fanfic you enjoy, only to see it's been abandoned. Breaks my heart! There may be some slight OOC, and I'm not sure of the story-line after the defeat of the Kishin, so everything in my story may not be perfectly canon. I do apologize if this upsets anyone. I hope you enjoy, and again, please do let me know what you think!


Soul aimlessly wandered the lonely halls, hands shoved in his pockets. The sky was painted a sickly orange and the sun sat low on the horizon, heavy with the end of the day. Long shadows stretched greedily across the floor. Death University was quiet, most of the students had gone home hours ago. Only a few hung around, waiting for an evening class or taking advantage of the quiet to cram for a test. A much different place than it had been this morning; people rushing to get to class, waiting in line at the coffee shop, being shushed in the library.

The business often annoyed Soul. Other students were always bumping into him, accidentally or otherwise. Sometimes he'd be sitting in the food court at lunch and some pretty brunette would smile in his direction too obviously for too long. At first, the extra attention didn't bother him so much. It was an adjustment, but a cool one. People paid attention to him. They sat up straight when he came in the room, they waved at him from across campus. A Deathscythe. The youngest ever. Impressive at the least, downright heartthrob worthy at the best. But it'd been over a year since he'd become the next Death weapon, and he just wanted things to be normal again. So it was a certain level of comfortable to walk around his college campus completely uninterrupted, even if the thoughts he was walking with were anything but.

Why didn't anyone ever tell me? What will I do? What will she do? I can't do this.

Soul had called, texted and called again but Maka still hadn't responded, so he'd taken to looking for her on foot. She wasn't home, she wasn't in the library. BlackStar hadn't heard from her, and neither had Tsubaki. A thought flashed through Soul's mind and he adjusted course.

Spirit.

He stalled at the bottom of a wide staircase before heaving a sigh and trudging slowly to the top. A right past the first water fountain and another right a few steps later brought him to the classroom where Mr. Albarn taught an evening history class. Spirit was leaning on the edge of a table, arms crossed at his chest, staring out at the blushing skyline.

Soul tapped a quick knock on the open door with his knuckles. "Seen Maka?" His voice was thick, almost as if he'd been crying.

Spirit nodded. "Gym."

"Did you tell her?"

"Yeah."

Soul turned to leave then called over his shoulder. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Quiet.

"You're such an asshole."

"There was never a doubt, Soul."

Looking into the tired sun, Spirit wiped what must have been dust from his eyes.


The gym was a newer addition to the campus than any of the other buildings. The people of Death City had donated a lot of money after the defeat of the kishin six years ago, and Lord Death let the students choose to build a place where they could practice and exercise. It was large and modern with lots of tinted glass windows. There were practice rooms specifically made for every type of meister and weapon, and some of the rooms on the top floor had holographic training programs. Maka and Soul had spent a lot of time here; when her books held no comfort for her, or he'd had a particularly...popular day. The two had worked out a routine blending close-quarters combat with rhythmic movements that allowed them to train to music against one of the holographic enemy programs. The compatibility of their soul wavelengths made it possible to learn just about any type of move for human or scythe form, given enough time and practice.

As the elevator chimed his arrival to the top floor, Soul recognized the song he'd put together for their routine. A fusion of violin, piano and electronic rhythms filled the halls. Maka had loved their song (as Soul had since come to see it) from the moment she'd walked in on him composing it. Sad, but beautiful and strong was how she'd described it.

Perfect.

Soul stretched in the locker room and drank some water from the sink before leaning in the doorway to watch his meister. Her cheeks were flushed with effort and sweat had darkened her shirt. No doubt she'd been here for hours, hiding from the world. Soul mentally slapped himself for skipping this place in his search for her.

She slipped when he missed his cue and landed on one knee, catching her breath.

"Need some help?"

He felt her smile and jogged in, grabbed her hand and tugged her off the floor.

Time always slowed down when they were here together. There was the music and their souls and nothing else mattered. Soul knew where to wait to catch her, when to lean back, and lean forward. Maka knew when to grab for her scythe's handle and when to grab for her partner's hand. No doubt this training method had made them stronger, and there was a huge bonus for how intimate it felt. It was one of the few times she'd let Soul touch her outside of battle. Wavelengths perfectly in sync, they could share their emotions with words no longer in the way.

Maka's movements tonight were urgent, greedy. She pulled at Soul hungrily, unable to get close enough to his reassuring heartbeat. He felt the conflict within her, but she kept it just out of reach, tucked in the back of her mind. It had not been a good day, and here she had the chance to pretend like everything was going to be okay.

One after another, the pair eliminated projected targets until the program had run out of enemies to throw at them. The moon replaced the sun in the sky and the city was quiet. Maka was exhausted. Soul was exhausted. As the fluorescent lights blinked on and the music faded, they stood catching their breath, his forehead resting on hers, not saying a word.


Maka showered then went silently into her room and closed the door. There was no light coming out from underneath the door but Soul knew she was awake, worrying. He showered in lukewarm water then went to the kitchen in search of a late dinner. There was leftover spaghetti from the night before that he heated in the microwave before dishing up two plates and pouring two glasses of milk. Soul carried a plate and a glass to Maka's door and, after situating the milk in the crook of his arm, gave a light knock.

"Maka, dinner."

"No thanks, I'm not hungry."

"You gotta eat.

No response.

Soul sighed. "Maka, don't shut me out right now, of all fucking times. You need to eat and I need to eat so let's sit and eat together, okay?"

He felt a response from the other side of the door and paused a beat before pressing again. "Don't make me take care of you like a little kid, it's not cool." A smirk lifted one side of his mouth as he heard movement and her door ripped open.

"If anyone takes care of anyone in this house, it's me who takes care of you." Maka punched Soul's arm, sending milk sloshing onto his sleeve.

"Whatever you say." He shrugged as he dropped her meal off next to his on the table then ducked into his room to change his shirt. Maka had finished her milk by the time he sat down and they both tore fervently through their spaghetti in a few quiet minutes.

Soul gave a quick sideways glance to his partner's empty plate. Not hungry my ass.

After the dishes were done, they settled onto the couch and put in a movie. There was a hero, some explosions and a kissing scene, but it all went unnoticed. Soul was looking around the apartment, appreciating all the things he normally overlooked. All the things that made it home. The sliding glass doors that led to the balcony had little paint spatters on the bottom, the result of some argument he and Maka had had when repainting the living room. There was a fist-sized dent in the refrigerator door from when BlackStar had drunkenly insisted one night he could beat Soul in a wrestling match, and Soul had just as drunkenly taken up the challenge. A pockmark in the linoleum kitchen floor from the last time he had tried to surprise Maka with dinner; he had dropped a steak knife after burning his hand on some boiling water. And finally, but most importantly, this place was his home because of the girl sleeping next to him. Maka Albarn. His meister, partner, and friend for the last decade of his life. She'd been his family when his own had turned away from him. She'd worked hard, harder than anyone else he'd ever known, and in so doing, helped him achieve his life goal of becoming a Death Scythe. Beautiful, intelligent and fierce, Maka found worth in him when he couldn't find it in himself. She was everything, and he had no idea how to do this without her.


Earlier That Day

Maka sat alone at a square table in the corner of Death City Cafe. She was lost in the pages of a new book, waiting for her father. He had texted her before breakfast, saying something about urgent news, and in the interest of bettering their relationship, she had agreed to meet him for lunch. Spirit was running late, but Maka didn't notice. She'd never know about the sleepless night he'd had, preparing to tell his daughter the one thing he knew could hurt her irrevocably.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Soul and Maka beamed as she typed a reply then turned the page of the novel resting in her fingers.

A shaky hand attached to an equally shaky man set a white ceramic mug clanking onto the table as Spirit took a seat across from his daughter.

"Thanks, Papa."

"You're welcome." There were dark circles under Spirit's eyes and he cleared his throat nervously before taking a sip from his steaming cup of coffee.

An overworked waitress appeared at the table only to be waved off by Spirit who had no intention of eating ever again.

Maka marked her page and set the book down to meet her father's eyes. "So, what's up?"

"Well, I want to thank you for meeting me. I appreciate you making time to meet your old man, despite everything." He gulped down more coffee.

Maka grinned before sipping her tea.

Spirit offered a pained smile then took a deep breath.

"How are you and Soul doing?"

"Good. Really good."

"How does he like being a Deathscythe?"

"He loves it-Papa, where is this going?" The hair on the back of Maka's neck stood up as she became uneasy.

He clasped his hands around his daughter's, startling her with the unfamiliar gesture and began to explain slowly. "Soul has been a Deathscythe for a just about a year now, so he should be all settled into his newfound power level and abilities. That means it's time for him to start training with Lord Death."

Maka swallowed as she looked down at the table. She never realized how big her father's hands were compared to her own. She'd spent so much time being angry with him that it was easy to overlook how powerful he really was. A strong man and a deadly weapon, he'd been reaping at Lord Death's side since before she was born. She suddenly felt very helpless.

Spirit continued. "There is quite a difference between matching wavelengths with a meister and matching with Lord Death himself. It can be...overwhelming. They have to start slow, with no distractions, and build from there. If done improperly, it can lead to painful complications for the weapon."

Maka's eyes widened, she'd never heard any of this before.

"Soul must learn how to connect with a Shinigami, and it takes time."

"Okay." Maka considered her father's words before asking the question he'd been bitterly waiting for. "But I'll still be his meister, right?"

Spirit hesitated for a moment too long, prompting her to pull her hands away and fold them in her lap. "Tell me Soul will still be my weapon." Her voice was low but defiant.

"He will be, but it will be different. After a successful connection with Lord Death, Soul will have to...um…" He struggled to find the words "...remember...how to connect with you."

Maka snapped her head up, her eyes suddenly fierce, hurt. "So...I'm losing him."

"No, Maka, it's not like that."

"What if he can't find me again, what if he changes too much?"

"He will, he will find you again. I did it, every surviving Death Weapon has done it."

"Every surviving Death Weapon?"

"There is a chance that Soul and Lord Death will be...incompatible. It's rare, but it does happen."

"So what if they're incompatible?"

Spirit swallowed. "There is a small mortality rate, among new Death Weapons."

His words hung in the air between them before he added "But I wouldn't worry about that with Soul. He'll do fine."

"No one's ever told me any of this. And it wasn't in any of the books I've studied. Papa, where is this coming from?"

Spirit spoke delicately. "It's not in any books, Maka. Lord Death thinks that it would be distracting to training pairs. If they know their hard work will eventually separate them, they may not be as motivated train so quickly."

"Then, he lied. You lied, every Death Weapon ever has lied." She spit the words at her father who just let them settle on his skin. There was nothing he could say. Even if it was just by omission, he had lied.

"How long will it take?" Maka sighed.

"Well, I don't know how long they'll be gone, it just depends on how quickly he's able to adjust-"

"What do you mean 'how long they'll be gone'? Where are they going?"

"There's a place where Death trains his new weapons, it's a pretty place with lots of trees and-"

"Where is it?" Maka's voice was climbing, her neck was hot and her racing heart threw adrenaline tingling to her fingertips.

"Maka, please-please calm down and let me finish. Death and his new weapon have to be alone. No other meisters or weapons to cloud wavelengths, it has to be this way, it's always been this way."

"You didn't leave." Spirit flinched at her words as he remembered the first time he had failed his ex-wife, Maka's mother.

"I did. I left right after your mom and I got married. She said she supported me, of course, but I missed a lot. We grew apart before we really even had a chance at being a real couple. I was gone for four years. Even though we still loved each other, things were never the same after I got home. The price of such a prestigious position, I suppose." His shoulders heaved.

Maka turned to look out the window as a single tear slipped down her cheek before she could catch it. "Four years."

"I was a quick learner." he bit out.

There was a heavy silence at the table as the world continued to move on around them. A young couple came in the door, causing the welcome bell to cry out for a moment before the door unceremoniously sucked shut.

Maka opened her mouth to speak several times, but her throat was dry and no sound came out. She blinked and turned to her father to try again.

"When do they leave?" Her voice was raspy and quivered under the threat of breaking.

Spirit inhaled sharply through his nose before letting out a long breath. "Next week. Soul is meeting with Lord Death right now. They're having a similar conversation."

"Next week? NEXT WEEK?!" Maka jumped from her chair, bumping the table and knocking over her tea as well as the rest of Spirit's coffee. She bolted for the door and people from all over the shop craned their necks to watch the scene unfolding before them. Spirit left cash on the table, mumbling an apology to the waitress as he chased after his frantic daughter. She was around the corner by the time he caught up to her.

Spirit spun her around and pulled her into him. He stroked her hair as she fought the sob growing in her throat, her sorrow seeping into his soul.

"Maka, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Spirit quieted to right himself as his breath hitched in his throat. This was unfamiliar territory, she'd never allowed him this close before, her soul was open, raw. He didn't know what to do now that she needed him the most; just another way he could let her down.

Maka mumbled something and he leaned back to look into her face.

"Why didn't you tell me? How could you? Papa, you know that I…" Another sob erupted from within her, choking back the words she'd conditioned herself to keep inside.

I love him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She repeated.

After they'd been standing there for what seemed an excruciating eternity, Spirit gathered himself and tried to answer her as honestly as he could.

"I couldn't tell you. You're my daughter, my little girl. I just want you to be happy. All you wanted, since you were four years old, was to become a Senior Meister. To train up your own Death Scythe. I didn't think of it, of telling you. I didn't think it was a big deal until I realized too late how much you cared for Soul. By then, I was too much of a coward to tell you that the one thing you'd spent your life working for was the thing that would take him away from you. I wanted to tell him, I thought he should know. But every time I tried, damn me, Maka, I couldn't do it. I'm so sorry."

Maka shoved away from her father. "You're such an asshole."

Straightening herself out, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd. Spirit stood alone. "I'm sorry."


BlackStar sucked the last of his drink through an abused bendy-straw, filling the room with loud slurping noises. Soul launched the t.v. remote at his friend, earning a groan when plastic hit cranium.

"Dude, what the hell!" BlackStar rubbed his forehead.

"That was annoying." Soul crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

"You don't have to be so pissy, for Death's sake. It's not my fault you never told Maka how you feel."

Soul softened at the mention of his meister. "I just...I always thought there'd be more time. It never seemed right, ya know? But now…"

BlackStar was rummaging through the refrigerator and came out with two fists full of food. He kicked the door closed and set about making lunch. "So tell her now."

"How can I tell her now? 'Oh hey Maka, I love you, but I've gotta go to the other side of the damn world now and I may never come back, so see ya later!' Yeah, great idea, BlackStar."

BlackStar emerged from the kitchen carrying a double decker sandwich and a bag of chips. "It's not like she doesn't already know. Even the blind can see the way you two look at each other." He tore off a bite of sandwich.

Soul opened his eyes with a sigh but said nothing.

After an uneasy silence, BlackStar tried again. There was an uncustomary amount of concern in his voice that floundered when he spoke. "Look, Soul, I don't want you to leave either, but it's not like you'll never come back, right? Just kiss her and get it over with. The two of you have been dancing around it for so long, it's like you don't even know how to be straightforward with each other." He shoved a handful of chips in his mouth, sending a spray of crumbs cascading down the front of his shirt. "I could give you some pointers if that's what you're waiting for. I'm kind of a big star when it comes to the ladies."

An involuntary chuckle escaped Soul's throat as he looked over at his friend. The brother that Wes had never been, BlackStar had always been there for him. Since they were kids, they'd had each other's backs and Soul had gotten into more than his share of trouble due to Star's charismatic peculiarities. And now, faced with leaving him behind, Soul just wanted to sink into the couch and play video games with his best friend for hours on end. So that's what they did.