A/N: Wow, OK, here's my contribution to reverb 2015! I had a huge amount of fun writing this story and working with my wonderful partner makascythemeister. Huge thanks to reverb mods for organising the event and to everyone in the skype chat for listening to me moaning. Link to the wonderful art to accompany this fic is here

Full summary: A pocket watch from her father sends Maka to a large room that only contains a man without a face and a mannequin covered in clothes from times long past. The man gives her task which seems simple enough: go through time to find the other watch owner and she can go home. But there's a catch. She only has 48 hours in each time period, and no memory of her home or her quest. All she has is a broken pocket watch, a longing for something she can't quite name, and the faint whispering of a voice she does not recognise telling her that time is running out…

Enjoy!

Maka was jolted awake by the sensation of falling and blinked up at her ceiling blearily. Light peaked in through her curtains telling her it was at least morning, though she did not know what time it actually was. As her heart rate slowed, she let herself relax and sink back into her pillows. Her dream had been…strange, though she could not quite remember what it was about. Something to do with time and a man in a suit?

It slipped from her fingers before she could really think about it however, so she closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she could get a little more sleep before—

She was startled again by the ringing of her alarm and she sung out an arm to silence it. She stayed still for a moment, soaking up the warmth of her bed before forcing herself out of it, grimacing as she went. As she walked to her dresser to retrieve her clothes for the day she stretched and rubbed the sleep sand from her eyes.

Once she was dressed in her work suit, freshly washed and ironed for the new working week, she brushed her ash blonde hair, pinned it up at the back of her head, and applied a little bit of make-up. Then she grabbed her satchel, checked it had all she needed, and then before she left her room to secure breakfast, she returned to her bedside table to pick up her pocket watch.

And then stopped.

She did not own a pocket-watch. She did not need one for she had a perfectly working wrist-watch—a gift from her mother before she left to travel—and thought it was rather impractical to have to carry the thing.

And yet, there it was, lying in her palm, cool to the touch after having been out all night.

The watch was silver in colour, though dulled in some places, with the cover decorated in an intricate cursive design. With her thumb, Maka pressed the button at the top of the watch, opening it to reveal 'Lillian' inscribed on the cover's inside and a clock face in roman numerals.

However the watch was not working.

Distantly, as though from the opposite side of a house, she heard someone—a man—telling her that time was ticking.

But even as she tried to focus on the voice and the person who had spoken, it slipped from her mind like smoke through her fingers.

She blinked and looked down at her hand. Oh, yes, the watch. Something she had bought for herself in her first month in New York and with part of her first paycheque. Though the owner of the antique store she had bought it from told her it was broken (and probably beyond repair) she had taken it. It was pretty and old, and spoke to her in a way few material possessions did. It withstood the test of time, just as she was determined to do.

After slipping the watch into her bag she left her room to pursue food. Maybe her neighbour across the hall, Jackie, would be kind enough to share her porridge. She always made it toasty and hot.

On the platform, waiting for the train to come and take her to work, Maka took a rare moment to observe those around her instead of pulling out the book in her bag.

Most of the people on the platform were men in suits, though there were a few women dotted around, herself included. All the benches were taken up, mostly by people reading newspapers.

Maka stood beside one of those benches, satchel handle clasped tightly in her hands, rolling her eyes over the crowd. Her godfather back home, strange man though he was, had always told her she had a gift for reading people, like she could see their souls, and ever since he had told her that as young girl, she had taken to imagining what others' souls would actually look like.

Perhaps it was foolish of her to do so now, since she was all grown-up and a long way from home and the girl she used to be, but it wiled away the time.

The man who was sitting at the end of the bench next to her stood up suddenly, and with his briefcase in hand, walked off. Maka watched him with mild curiosity as to where he was going, before she turned her attention to the now empty space on the bench.

After hesitating briefly, Maka reached for the newspaper the man had left behind in his place, and moved to take the space. Before she did however, the manners her mother had taken a great deal of time to drill into her head came back to her.

"Excuse me," she said to the main sitting next to her prospective place.

He seemed startled to be called upon and jumped a little before turning away from his own paper to look up at her with wide eyes. With some degree of surprise herself, she noticed that he had eyes that looked almost red, with blonde hair light enough to look white underneath his hat.

Regaining her sense, she put a smile on her face and asked, "Can I have this seat?" while pointing at the space.

He raised an eyebrow, but smiled a little in return. "Sure," he said in a deep voice. "Be my guest." Then he returned to his paper.

She grinned and plopped down into her new seat, and unfolded the newspaper on her lap. "Thank you."

From the corner of her eyes she saw him hold back a surprised scoff and a small smile before he checked his watch and ruffled his paper for effect.

She bit back a giggle and turned to her own paper. After glancing at the top to check it was in date (12th September 1955) she scanned the front page for interesting articles. After finding such a one, she opened the paper to the right page and let the time pass.

Occasionally (though she really should have called it often) she stole glances at the oddly featured stranger sitting next to her. He created an over-whelming curiosity in her, not only about his looks but also about him as well. She felt like there was some sort of connection between them, a strange almost-familiarity she could not explain or truly describe.

After debating with herself for many minutes, she opened her mouth to actually talk to him—maybe aske his name and place of work—when her train pulled up to the platform. Surprised at having missed the announcement that it was approaching, she jumped to feet.

Without much thought, as she grabbed her satchel from her feet and moved away from the bench she called, "Have a nice day!" and waved to the white-haired man.

Just as her actions registered in her mind as something strange, but before the embarrassment could flush on her cheeks, the white-haired man waved back with a bemused smile on his face.

As she found herself a spot on the train, she felt her cheeks burn and little butterflies erupt in her stomach. However, she clenched her fists tight enough for her nails to dig into her palms and forced herself to stop.

She was not a school girl anymore and she would be damned before she got a crush on some stranger she had seen on a train platform and hardly spoken ten words too. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back.

She would force it down and ignore it. No matter how almost-familiar he was.

"Morning Maka!"

Maka smiled as put her satchel on top of her desk and began to empty it, standing behind her chair. "Morning Liz. How are you?"

Liz Thompson, blonde haired beauty and Maka's fellow secretary smiled and shrugged. "Not too bad, just sad the weekend's over. I met this really nice guy in a Jazz club; can't play an instrument but got a voice like nothing else."

Maka laughed a little as she pulled her chair out to put her now empty satchel under her desk. "Sound fun."

Liz hummed. "He's taking me out this Friday too." A sly smile curled on her red lips. "You know, I'm sure he knows lots of other nice guys you would get along with, why don't we try and make it a double date?"

Maka gave her a look and she sighed.

"Alright, alright," she said, waving her hand. "No need to glare, I'm just kidding with you. But seriously—."

Whatever else Liz was about to say was cut off by the entrance of their boss, Damien Mortimer Jr, or Kid as he was affectionately called by those who knew him outside of the office.

"Good morning Elizabeth, good morning Maka," he said as he walked to his office door which sat between his two secretaries' desks.

"Good morning Mr Mortimer," they called in unison as he passed them.

Maka pulled two files from her desk and followed him a step behind.

"You have a ten o'clock meeting with Excalibur industries," she began, handing him one file as he rounded his desk after hanging up his coat and hat. "And Starling Inc should be calling you at around noon to talk about their proposed partnership." She handed him the second file as he sat.

Kid smiled warmly from his ornate chair. "Thank you Maka. Is that all for today?"

She thought for a moment. "I think the board also wanted to talk to you sometime today about the governors meeting tomorrow. I'll find the memo for it before you meet with Excalibur."

Kid pulled a face at the mention of the company, and opened one of the files. "Thank you."

Maka returned to her desk and began rooting around for the memo she was sure she had seen before the weekend. Just as she found it, a mug appeared in front of her face, forcing her to jerk back a little so she was not going cross-eyed to see it.

Following the arm that offered the mug, she met Liz's blue eyes and amused expression.

"Coffee," Liz said simply.

Maka took the mug gratefully and took a long sip. "Thanks," she said.

Liz shrugged. "Don't mention it."

After a moment of silence, during with Liz sipped at her own mug o' joe, the other blonde raised an eyebrow and said, "That's new."

Maka blinked and then followed Liz's line of sight to the pocket watch she had set on her desk next to her 'out' tray.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, I've had it for a while but never brought it in."

"Huh," Liz said, leaning back a bit. "Never pegged you as a pocket watch owner."

She shrugged.

"Can I see it?"

She picked it up and handed it to the other woman silently, took another sip from her drink, and set about reorganising her desk.

"Oh, um, this doesn't work?" Liz said, holding the open pocket watch out, confused.

"I know," Maka said. "I just liked how it looked, considering how old it is." She stood up, memo in hand.

Liz looked at the watch for a moment longer, before closing it and handing it back to her. "It is pretty nice."

Maka grinned and set it back on her desk.

Despite her best efforts Maka could not get the man from the morning train station out of her head. Throughout the day he kept popping into her thoughts and distracting her from her work. Multiple times she zoned out only to be brought back to earth and a furiously curious Liz, who did not stop pestering her about it.

She wanted to know more about him, whether his features could even possible be natural, who he was, where he was from, what kind of man he was. Needless to say, by the end of the sad she felt very stupid for being hung up on someone she had barely spoken to and only ever seen that morning. But she was also very determined to settle the whole thing the next day by actually talking to him.

She was late, she was oh so very late! Her bedside clock had started to run down and she had not noticed, so she had slept in half an hour later than usual. Even with just two slices of bread for breakfast as she ran for the station, she still missed her train.

As she got there, a different train pulled away, leaving the platform significantly empty. Looking around, hoping that maybe there would be some sort of silver lining to her dark cloud of a morning, she could not find the strange, white-haired man. She felt a strange sense of over-whelming loss, which made absolutely no sense.

She sat down on an empty bench, jiggling her leg anxiously and trying to stamp down her disappointment. There would be tomorrow or the day after that or next week to talk to her strange man.

But part of her whispered that there would not be.

When the next train arrived, Maka got on it quickly, feeling her heart beat in her chest frantically. Had it been any other day she might have been alright with being a little tardy, but today was a big day, a day with a governor's meeting. She needed to be there, to give Kid all that he needed and to ensure that everything ran smoothly. She forced down the thought of the strange man and replaced with the hope that this was not going to get her fired.

When she did get to work, after practically running from the station to her building, she was incredibly apologetic.

"I'm so, so sorry I'm late Mr Mortimer," she said, coming up to where he was standing and talking to Liz at her desk. "I-I overslept and missed my train, and I'm really so very sorry—"

He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, smile comforting and friendly. "It's alright Maka," he said soothingly. "You've never been late before, so we can't hold this one time against you. Just try not to be late again."

When he went into his office to make sure his desk was organised, Liz called across to her, "It's no big deal Maka. I'm late all the time and he's never done anything to me yet."

After an encouraging thumbs up from the other woman, Maka took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.

She could handle it. She could talk to one of the matrons at her women-only boarding, get her clock fixed, and tomorrow she would talk to her man from the station.

A little voice murmured that it was too late, but she soon forgot she heard it before she could think too hard about it. She continued on with her work, distracting herself sufficiently for the morning.

Liz leaned over her desk with a large grin on her face. "Let's go get lunch, I know this great place over on the next street that does amazing food."

Maka blinked in surprise, looking up from the work she had been engrossed in to meet Liz's bright eyes. "Uh, sure?"

Within five minutes they were walking down the street.

"Hey, did I tell you my man from the weekend writes songs?" Liz asked, linking her arm with Maka's. When Maka shook her head she continued. "Yeah, with lyrics and everything. He's trying to get his own band together, which is pretty sweet if you ask me. Since he's pretty good, I'm sure he'll make quite a bit performing all over the city. Maybe he could even get me a place on stage, and I can finally leave this dull old job—no offense to you though," she added quickly. "Or Kid for that matter. You both make it pretty interesting sometimes. Could just do without all the paperwork."

Unintentionally, Maka began to zone out her co-worker, focusing on the low ringing in her ears, like a firework had gone off right beside her. She kept thinking of the man at the station, despite the good job she had done at blocking him out during the morning.

She had had a weird dream about him the previous night, which had been hard to rouse herself from. She could not quite remember what had happened in the dream, but she was sure he had been in it. But she had known his name, which was impossible. Frustratingly, she could not remember the name she gave him in her dream either.

She was yanked from her thoughts by Liz tugging on her arm, leaving her feeling disorientated.

"Oh my god, I think there's been an auto accident," Liz gasped, pointing down the street. "Shit, do you think someone's been hit?"

There was a commotion further down the street, and Maka could see several cars pulled up to the side walk with doors let wide open as people swarmed to the scene, which she could not quite see. It also sounded liked two people—women—were screaming. Distantly she heard someone yell for an ambulance to be called.

Liz tugged on her arm again. "Let's get a closer look!"

She started to pull her towards the accident, but Maka's head was beginning to spin. Her knees wobbled from under her and the ringing in her ears became a full out roar, blocking every other noise out. She grabbed onto Liz's arm and her knees gave out completely, sending her down.

Blackness began to encroach on her vision, and though she was sure Liz was leaning over her and calling her name, she could barely hear it.

With a sigh, she slipped into the blackness.

When Maka opened her eyes, she was standing. Dizziness washed over her for a moment and her vision darkened for a moment, like she had stood up too quickly after lying down, and she stumbled, reaching out a hand to tray and grab something to hold her up. It passed though, and she remained standing.

She shook her head and looked around blinking.

The room she was in was large and dusty, with a ceiling that sloped on both sides and no windows. The room was lit, but there was not definite light source. In the middle of the room stood two mannequins, one with clothes on and the other standing bare, next to a full-length mirror, and a folding room divider. And next to the mannequins, stood a man.

This man was strange though. He wore a block suit with a white shirt, looking like a butler from Victorian England, which both was absurd and rang a familiar bell. But he did not have a face.

Well, no, that was not quite right. He did have a face, but it was too hard to focus on what type of face he had, staring at it for too long made her ears buzz and her head hurt.

"Welcome back Miss Albarn," the man in the suit said, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was smooth and neutral, and it brought memories flooding back.

She was not from the 1950s where she had just been living, nor was she a secretary. She was from the twenty-first century and had been living a normal, if stressful, college life, juggling studying and a part-time job to keep herself fed.

Maka looked at her hand, which was suddenly holding the pocket watch from before—the pocket watch her father had given her to try and buy himself back into her good graces. It had taken her three days after receiving the present to open the gift and find the watch, which spoke for how much she cared for the man.

She remembered sitting on her couch and taking a closer look at the watch, turning it over in her hands and opening it—and then she was here, in this room for the first time. Being told what her mission was and why she was here.

Her mission, in short, was to find her soul mate, who would have the pocket watch that formed a pair with hers. But the test had been set up by a witch to test the devotion of two people who had scorned her, and so could not be easy.

She had to chase the other watch owner through time, as all the previous watch owners all the way back to the originals in the mid nineteenth century had to. But she only had forty-eight hours in each time period, and no memory of who—or where—she had been originally or what her quest was.

It was cruel and it was slowly driving her mad. She had already been in at least twenty different time periods and was no closer to going home than she had at the start.

"He was in that car accident, wasn't he?" she said as she walked towards the man in the suit and the mannequins. "And died? The other watch owner?"

The man in the suit nodded. "That is correct."

She sighed and moved the divider so the man in the suit could not see her change. The pocket watch disappeared from her hand as she began to undress. "We didn't get to speak this time," she said, though she knew it was unnecessary. The faceless man was in her head, he knew what had happened.

The man at the station had been the other watch owner. The white hair and red eyes gave him away, it was always present in every life she had lived. And as always, she had been drawn to him, pulled by a feeling in her soul that she had to talk to him, had to know him. But every time she had met him so far, she had not been able to really speak to him, to find a way to bring the pocket watch into their conversation.

Soul, she thought, almost longingly. The name he had borne in the times she had been able to speak to him. His face hovered in the back of her mind, and she tried to squash it down.

She did not need a soul mate, or a true love, or whatever it was this Soul was meant to be. She would find him, she would show him the watch, and she would go home and that would be the end of it.

Once she was naked and her clothes from the fifties were arranged on the first mannequin, she turned to the second and called out, "So, where am I going next?"

The ratty looking dress with multiple patches that sat before gave her a hint, but she hoped it was not what she was thinking. She could so do without it.

"You are going to the thirteenth century next, in southern France," the man in the suit answered.

Maka vaguely thought that at least it was going to be warm, but as she pulled on the brown coloured dress from the mannequin, she recoiled at the smell of manure, sweat, and probably preventable diseases.

"I don't think I'm going to enjoy this," she muttered, and observed herself in the full-length mirror. After a deep breath, she called, "I'm ready!"

"Remember," the man in the suit said, "You have forty-eight hours to find the other watch owner. If you find them and you can show each other your watches, you can return to your born time period. If not, we will reset and try again in a new time. Good luck."

The room vanished into smoke and she fell into black.