AN: This will stand for the whole series, so I don't have to do it chapter by chapter: I do not own Soul Eater, its characters, world, etc. They are the sole property of their rightful and wonderful owner. Any mentions of other copy-righted people, places, things, or concepts is either coincidental or is done with no profit or claim of ownership.

Chapters are rated individually but are T or higher, mostly for language and progression; you'll be warned in an AN at the chapter's beginning.

This chapter is T (very soft side of T, at that).

Intermezzo: A short movement or interlude connecting the main parts of the composition.

Growing Into It

There is a deep-set empathy between strong souls. It beats with a virile and primal unending note that other levels of empathy pale in comparison to. It undulates without ending, changes without distorting, expresses without confusing. When two souls that are compatible meet, they know. There's a sense, a tug, a nudge, a pull; that vague "you should go over there" sensation that most people have felt at some point in life, about something, no matter how trivial. Or how life-altering. Maka Albarn had never considered herself illiterate in anything. Ever.

Until she met Soul Eater.

Even among her Death City norm he stood out. More because he didn't. He fit in without being a Death Child, he was an outsider lost to their world but now was found. He was not the first non-native Weapon to come to the DWMA, but he was the only one from whom she felt a tinkling tug of accord. There was something to him, his stance, his baleful stare, the watchful nervousness beneath it. His very presence emanated a nervous shark pup, suddenly surrounded by full grown members of its own, dangerous kind. Under the layers, she could tell he was not one to be second-guessed, or over-looked. So she pounced the moment she found out he was a scythe. Under Maka's firm hand, and having practically grown up in Shibusen, things moved steadily forward from there.

Maka learned early and quickly that living with Soul Eater was both the easiest, and most frustrating part of her Meister career. Her Papa was beside himself when he learned she'd found a scythe (just like him!) to partner with; then he was beside himself for a whole other reason when he learned said scythe was a Boy - just like him. This was Soul's initial meeting with the Death Scythe, and what would start their discordant mutual dislike of each other, like rubato sways of Maka's daily life. But that wasn't even the half of it. She hardly had to deal with her Papa on a daily basis; Soul was another story. He pushed buttons she didn't even know she had, toeing lines with belligerent respect, while simultaneously scoping out weaknesses purely for the sole purpose of protecting them from outside threats.

His instincts were phenomenal, when he didn't force them under his ridiculous boy Cool Code. It was her job to help break him of this habit, to ease him into their partnership and being able to trust each other wholly and unconditionally. She tried to relate to him, though he wasn't nearly as into reading and books as she could've hoped. So he tried to share his music, but he found that she had such shit taste in the subject, she was an absolute lost cause. Maka never quite got over his disdain for her favorite groups, and it was back to the drawing board. As they pushed ever forward, she would learn the limits of him, the soundness of his mind, his body and his soul. The amplifications would build, and so would the bond, until eventually a friendship would bloom between herself and the scythe she had previously not looked at much deeper than a talented Weapon with an incredible spiritual passion and affinity for music.

Soul Eater was her Weapon, he was her responsibility; he was snarky, crass, impressionable, a little apathetic and probably as psychopathic as any Shibusen student should be. He was a testament to his Weapon blood, loyal to a fault, incisive, intelligent and talented, swaying his power through his soul and into hers with a beat and a rhythm she didn't need a working knowledge of classical music to understand. It moved her, and it moved them both, ever forward. He was her Weapon, and he was her friend - he was a pillar she could support herself with when needed, and when wanted. She was terrified of this, and terrified to let go. It was somewhere in this contradiction, of Boy and friend and Weapon, that Maka placed her soul with the utmost confidence.

"My name is Maka Albarn. My Mama is the best scythe Technician in history, and my Papa is Lord Death's current Death Scythe.

And you're going to replace him."

Soul learned early and quickly that living with and being partnered to the Legacy that was Maka Albarn meant there was no room for any bullshit between them. She would ask no questions, since he was stalwart not to answer, but he would tell her no lies, either. He could carry his Cool Guy act with anyone else he wanted, anytime, anywhere, but where she was concerned: no, nuh-uh, not gonna happen. Open, honest, straight-forward, spit it out or shut up, use it or lose it, was the only way Maka Albarn operated with the Demon Weapon she was aiming to make into the next Death Scythe. Because, quite frankly, under Lord Death's guidance, with the abilities they wielded and the forces they were up against, there just wasn't time. Both of them felt it, knew it soul-deep, even if Soul hadn't been born to the same world she had.

That was ok, though, because as they talked that first day of meeting, and as he walked her down to the record store he'd found with the piano to play his soul for her, they both realized this pace was ok. She could feel his soul, and liked what he could do - after so many years of only hearing this from his brother, whom he was convinced was supposed to say those things, being his older sibling and all, it was pretty cool to hear it from someone unrelated. Someone who wasn't weirded out, grossed out, superficially curious about his shark's teeth, stark hair and the chronic-insomnia that lined his red irises. She had no obligation to be nice, to accept him. But she did, fully and almost unconditionally. They could work with this, and they would.

He'd adjust to this fast-paced, dangerous new existence, because he was cool like that, and Maka would lead him, because she was a Meister with a legend to live up to. And, as he'd learned, being raised to Death Scythe status was the single most coolest level any Demon Weapon like him could accomplish. It was almost a little overwhelming for him, at first. The training was immediate, and as hard-core as she could possibly make it without breaking him. He had a lot of catching up to do, after all. She'd been swinging around practice weapons for as long as he'd been sitting on his tiny bottom at the ivories, barely-older-than-toddler fingers too small on the big black and white keys. No recitals, concert halls or over-bearing parents and instructors could've prepared him for the insane capabilities and expectations of his new Technician.

No wonder she was skinny as a rail and flat as a board, she had nothing in her that wasn't burned to fuel the mighty soul and lithe muscle that could take down a full-grown man, much less half wild Kishin Eggs, wielding him as if he weighed as much as a toothpick - not just because his soul allowed it, either, but because she was insanely determined. But she wasn't heartless about it, most of the time. His soul practically sang and reached out for hers more and more each time she pushed him through hours of repetitive drills. She used the full name he'd chosen (he believed Eater to be pretty cool, and he privately enjoyed the irony of naming himself his literal function) for every praise or command she gave, letting him know when it was time for business or when something he'd done had mattered. Without saying it aloud, Soul had quickly become pretty attached to these tones of voice, and the way his chosen name rang from her throat to his soul.

None of it was a particularly easy adjustment - training (they still couldn't get Resonance down) or otherwise. He liked that he and Maka would share their own place, because he liked his privacy and it helped them bond. It helped that Soul was so new to everything in Death City, because he soaked up those first months of classes pretty eagerly. Not that anyone but Maka could tell, since he slumped forward or backward in his seat most of the time in the auditorium, often to reinforce his Cool Guy image - but mostly just because of how friggin' exhausted he usually was. It'd taken a few Maka-chops and some heavy scrutinizing before Maka could learn to tell the difference but eventually she did, and the chops were reserved for when he legitimately tried to sleep through a lecture or weasel out of class.

Especially after he met Black*Star, and Maka had to deal with a different kind of fallout from that blooming bromance. Thankfully, she was already used to her uncanny friend and his boisterous antics, so adding Soul to the mix wasn't an undue burden. More of an extra challenge. And Maka Albarn was nothing if not enthusiastic about any challenge. It wasn't unusual when Soul and Black*Star had to hide from her pranks.

But through the rare breaks to be a teenager and the lessons Soul discretely soaked up, he took ever more seriously his job to defend and protect and guard his Meister. Her life mattered; mattered more than his. Without her, he would not be, he would go back to being a no-name, no-class, useless everyday human, trapped in his old life of inferior-brother complexes, over-taxed musical expectations, and pretentious society clubs. No Meister, no status, no amazing world of supernatural evils to protect humanity from. No world-renowned Death Scythe status to live up to. No freedom to be himself, to find himself. His blood ran cold at just the thought.

As the lessons were drilled deeper and deeper into his subconscious, he vaguely began to realize that it wasn't even just the status that he was protecting. Maka wasn't just a Meister, wasn't even just his Meister. She was a warrior-protector, a human being, another innocent soul, a life that deserved to be lived. She was driven, she was inspiration, she was open-hearted love for those who needed her, she was unconditional acceptance and expectations he could meet, wanted to meet. Stubborn, head-strong, bossy and violently aggressive, she was a strange, precious gem amongst so many semi-precious stones he'd come across. Gingerly at first, because he'd never known a Girl like her before, or known one so closely, she was even his friend.

And above all else, all of that mattered the most.

"This is who I am."

Because, in the end, she didn't choose him, and he didn't choose her.

They chose each other.

"Let's be partners."

(FIN.)

Extra AN: These chapters are all loosely connected, but with no real original plot - they also may not even be in the correct sequence of events; they're just the possibility of occurrences that went on behind the scenes of Soul and Maka's partnership. There are always things that can be read between the lines, and so here are some of my "what ifs" that I happened to see. I'm not sure how many I'll do, or how interesting they'll be, but feedback is of course always welcome! If you give feedback that you were hoping for a response to, and I don't respond, just give me a poke with a sharper stick - sometimes it takes some prodding to get through them layers, y'know.