CH 1

"MAKA!" Soul screamed, and suddenly they were falling.

Darkness swam through her vision as Maka tried to open up her eyes. She moaned. What happened, she wondered, trying to sit up. Rubbing her eyes, she found her view was riddled with black spots that danced before her. She shut them tightly, trying to wish the uncertainty away, then slowly opened her eyes again.

Her first thought was: Where the hell am I? She was lying down in bed facing a softly colored pink and purple room. A couple of windows line the walls, and a large bookshelf and desk faced opposite her. A large, shockingly pink wardrobe loomed slightly over her bed, and on the windowsill next her to was a small, unrecognizable stuffed animal. Books were scattered throughout the room; piles of them cluttering any empty surfaces. The floor was tiled and- like most of the room- pink, and on the wall were a thoroughly marked calendar and a small piece of paper with the words "Beat Ox!" printed somewhat hastily across it. Maka blinked. She still had no idea where she was, but an even more important question crossed her mind: How did I get here?

It all happened so fast. One second they were flying, testing out Maka's newfound Grigori soul abilities, and the next, Maka was falling out of the sky, nearly a thousand feet in the air. The reason was obvious; there had been a sudden break in the resonance. (Now how that happened, Soul could only guess.) He had screamed out when he felt the break- it was as if his soul shattered as well as the connection. Maka plummeted to the ground as Soul watched, unable to help, for he was falling himself. Luckily, Black*Star and Tsubaki were practicing in the approximate vicinity of them, and using a combination of skill and accuracy they were able to slow her fall, but not prevent a nearly fatal blow to the back of head. Soul, on the other hand, didn't fare so well. They were flying near a small mountain range, and while Maka fell the maximum distance, Soul landed on a small outcropping with a thud.

He blacked out soon after, and woke up a two days later in a hospital room. At first, he was confused, but the memory of Maka falling returned like a knife to the heart. Nurses gathered around when he woke up, but he pushed them all aside.

"Maka…." He whispered, tears prickling his eyes. He tried to sit up, but pain made him cry out and he lied back down, grimacing.

"Oh, dear, he's awake," a blonde nurse said. She smiled. "Lie down, sweetie, you're still incapacitated. You had quite a fall. Cracked ribs, a few bruised bones, and any odd number of lacerations and contusions."

"Lacer-whats?" Soul grumbled, his arm over his face.

"It's a fancy term for 'cuts and bruises,'" the nurse said, patting his head. "Now what were you saying about this Maka?"

Soul moaned in pain. "We- we fell and she fell and oh man-" his voice rising with panic.

"Shh…" The nurse comforted. "We've been informed of your situation. It's okay; your pretty little friend is still alive. She did get hurt something awful-"

Soul almost sat up again, shocked, but the nurse held him firmly down. "And while she has a concussion and is still comatose, her vitals are positive. She'll be fine."

"Thank goodness…." Soul sighed in relief. "Do you know when… when I can see her?" he mumbled, his face reddening.

"Soon, but now you need to rest and get better," she soothed.

Soul whispered something unintelligible before falling into a deep sleep.

The next time he woke up, he felt better. Sun streamed through and open window, and a small vase of flowers stood on the makeshift hospital nightstand. A card next to the flowers read "Get Well Soon!". Unfortunately, his entire midsection was bandaged, and his left arm was cradled in a sling. Soul's only thoughts consisted of Maka, and if she had woken up. He attempted to sit up, being careful of his arm and his fragile chest. His ribs ached painfully, but it was in dull comparison to the last time.

Soul looked around. No nurses were present at the moment, so he slid out of the bed, wincing as the pain surged. He limped to the door and opened it ever so slightly. Peeking out, he saw a door at the end of the hallway that was labeled "ICU-Nurses Only". Soul figured it was the best place to start, so the tiptoed to the door and let himself in.

He spotted Maka right away. She was lying on a hospital bed similar to his, but she was obviously in need of urgent care. Tubes streamed in and out of the covers, connecting to multiple machines that checked her heart rate, blood pressure, and who knows what else. Cards lined her bedside table, and wilting flowers shed petals on her pillow. Her head was bandaged, and her hair, usually in pigtails, was spread out behind her, a sweeping mess of ash blonde.

Soul's heart broke when he saw her face. She was sleeping, but he could still see sadness lighting up her features. Overall, she looked broken. Strong, brave, fierce, courageous, loyal, smart, Maka showed defeat.

He knelt down next to her. "Maka," Soul whispered, shedding his tough guy act. "Can you hear me? Please be okay, Maka, please." Tears streamed down his face.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming towards Maka's curtained area. He stood- a little too hastily- causing a stab of pain in his, well, everywhere. He wiped his eyes.

Soul glanced around, and then faced Maka again. "I'll come back and visit you, I promise," he said, taking one last look before he slipped out.

The next few days were grueling. Soul, still supposedly on bed rest, was only allowed to see Maka once a day. The ICU (for family only) allowed Soul in as an exception, but Spirit (her dad) was constantly by her bedside, talking to her and holding her hand. Every time Soul came to visit, Spirit would try to start a lighthearted conversation, but all attempts ultimately failed and Spirit went back to fussing over Maka (fluffing her pillows, stroking her hair, straightening her blankets, anything to slightly improve her comfort), while Soul just watched, a hard determination in his eyes.

After a week, he was told Maka woken up, and that they could return home on with strict parental guidance (provided by Maka's father, of course) and a nurse that would live with them until Maka was in a more stable condition. Soul, finally in good spirits because the release from the hospital, slept soundly for the first time since the fall.

How did I get here? Maka thought, with varying degrees of uncertainty. The room had an air of familiarity to it, which Maka couldn't quite place her finger on. She decided to investigate and see if she could figure out where she was, or, at least, who's room it was.

She sat up, and almost cried out. Her head throbbed and her abdomen ached. Her vision swam with tears as she silently screamed, trying to get a grip on whatever was threatening to plunge her back into blackness. Maka gingerly brushed her tears away, and, more slowly this time, shifted so her feet were touching the floor. With extreme caution and leisure, she stood up. Her head spun for minute and she had to place a hand on her bed to steady herself, but eventually her world reoriented itself and she set to work.

She tiptoed over the cool tiled floor to the desk. It was obviously used quite a bit. There was a stack of books on the left side (at least six high), and a row of books placed in alphabetical order on the windowsill just above it. Aside from the books, a yellow lamp sat on the left corner of the small table, and there was white a cup of assorted pencils and pens. Next to the writing utensils was a framed postcard; a picture of a Middle Eastern desert setting with a word written in what seemed to be Arabic. Maka removed it from the pale yellow frame and turned it over. On the back was a short message written in a ladylike scrawl.

Dearest Maka, it read. She nodded thoughtfully. So the room belongs to a girl named "Maka", she thought. She continued to read.

I hope you are doing well, darling. I am having a wonderful time myself, though not a day goes by when I don't think about you. It is for the better that I stay distant for the time being, but I'd like to see you again soon. I pray your father isn't giving you too much trouble! Love, Mom

She looked for more, but there was nothing more, not even a return address. What a jerk, she thought. This "Maka's" mom just up and left? She sighed, and then replaced the postcard in the frame. At least she knew whose room it was. She examined the calendar next.

It was well used; dates were crossed out and written on with messages like, "Practice today!" and "EAT Class Exam". She flipped back some pages, and more annotations popped out at her: "Soul's Birthday! J", "Kid's Party", and one particularly bold one "SUPER WRITTEN EXAM". Who are "Kid" and "Soul"? Maka wondered. Flipping back to the most recent (or so it seemed- she had no idea what date it was) page, she saw half of the dates were crossed out the same style they were in the rest of the calendar, and the others were marked out with a different pen, and with checks instead of x's. She shrugged. She was about to go back to bed when a large, floor-to-ceiling picture startled her. Upon further inspection, she realized it was a mirror. She assessed her reflection, frightened.

She had no idea who the person in the mirror was. A small, teenage girl stared at her from the. The girl had large, green eyes, a petite nose, and thin lips. Her ash blonde hair was brushed into two neat buns near the top of her head, covered by two white bun holders with red trimmings. She was in a soft yellow pajama shirt and matching pants. There was a small red ribbon on the right side of her top, and she was wearing white slippers with borders that matched her bun holders.

Maka stepped backwards, and the girl stepped back too. She almost screamed. She scampered back to the bed, as well as someone injured could scamper, and hid under the covers, tears falling down her face. A new question had presented itself and rooted itself deep in her mind.

Who was she?