Because I'm in love with this pairing, darnit.
So I'm planning to make this a series of one-shot collections, featuring Maka and Soul.
Leave a prompt in a review and I'll write something about that.
Disclaimer? Last I checked, don't own.
Prompt: Doctor.
Twenty-nine.
Maka clutched her number card angrily with one hand and drummed her fingers on the metal chair she was sitting on. Around her, dozens of other people were slouched in similar fashions in the waiting room. A white-haired boy was sitting on her left, playing with his iPod.
Twenty-freaking-nine.
The doctor had just opened his clinic fifteen minutes ago and here she was — the twenty-ninth patient in line.
She glared murderously at the front desk, then at the nurse who seemed to be half-asleep. A small rectangular monitor sitting on the desk proudly showed a digitalized number — thirteen.
Patient number thirteen was inside the doctor's room.
We've got a long way to go, she thought glumly.
She dug around her small schoolbag, hoping to find something to entertain her during the long wait. No luck, however, because now she remembered that Patti had drawn all over her newest book with a set of red crayons.
Sighing dejectedly, Maka slumped down on her seat and resigned herself to waiting.
Patience was never Maka's forte, however, and this was emphasized by the fact that she kept glancing over to the monitor every ten seconds.
Fidgeting.
Playing with hair.
More fidgeting.
Looking at the monitor.
Fidgeting.
Looking again.
Ten minutes later, the number had stubbornly remained at thirteen.
Growling dangerously in her throat, Maka leaned over and tapped the white-haired boy on the shoulder.
"How long has patient thirteen been in there?"
He shrugged noncommittally, raising striking red eyes to meet her green ones. "Eh. Dunno. Maybe half an hour."
Trying her best to ignore those startling eyes, Maka promptly bashed her head against her metal chair. Beside her, she could clearly feel the boy's amusement.
"Why is this doctor so popular anyway?" Maka asked.
"He's a medical genius, people say. Can handle anything from nose, throat, ears, teeth, surgery . . . I heard he specializes in dissection though."
". . .Oh."
"You came all the way here and you didn't know what he can do?"
"Nope. A friend of mine told me to go here, so I figured I should."
"What're you here for?"
Maka raised her head from the chair. "Teeth. Got cavities."
The boy nodded. "I'm getting my teeth checked too."
"What's wrong with yours?"
And that was when he grinned at her, showing off his shark-like, serrated teeth.
"What the hell!" Maka shrieked. "What did he do to your teeth?"
The boy looked offended. "He didn't do anything. They're genetics."
"Gene — whoa. Really?"
"Yep."
There was a comfortable silence, then the monitor chimed, and patient thirteen came out. The next patient quickly got up and went inside the doctor's room, the monitor's number changing to fourteen.
Maka snuck a peek at the boy's number. Fifteen.
"Good for you," she grumbled.
"What did you get?"
"Twenty-nine."
"You have such crappy luck."
"Shut up. It's not my luck's fault."
"You're right. It's not. I'm just way cooler than you," he grinned.
"If I had a book right now, you'd take that back!"
"So what if you got a book?"
"I'd kill your brain cells."
"Lie. You can't do something as cool as that."
"Oh, wait. You're right. I can't. You don't even have any brain cells to start with."
He mumbled something incoherent and sank into his chair.
"Win!" Maka chirped.
"Because I let you," he shot back.
"As if!"
"I did."
"You're just a sore loser."
"No cool guy is a sore loser. And I am a cool guy, so I'm not a sore loser."
"Your logic doesn't make sense. It just reinforces my theory that you're an idiot."
"And you're a flat as a board."
"Why you little — excuse me, Miss, can I borrow that? MAKA CHOP!"
"The hell!" The boy cried, as a book sailed into his head with a solid thump. "You said you didn't have a book!"
"I didn't. I borrowed it," Maka pointed out. "Here you go, miss. Thanks," she handed the book back to a bewildered-looking lady.
"You're such a violent —"
"What was that?"
". . .Nothing."
Silence fell once again.
"You're really weird, you know," he said.
She grabbed a vase that was conveniently standing close by and hefted it experimentally up and down.
"Wait, no! I meant — in a good way!" He blurted out quickly.
"How?"
"Most people run when they see my teeth," he said, touching them absentmindedly. "And my eyes."
"Well excuse me for trying to be nice," she huffed.
"That's cool. You're excused."
"Jerk."
The monitor chimed again, and patient fourteen came out.
"That's yours," Maka said, pointing to the door. They were still quite a few patients away from her turn, and even though she wouldn't admit it, the boy had been good company.
He stood up and made his way over to the monitor at the front desk, flipping it over so that the digital numbers read 51 instead of 15.
Walking casually back to his chair, he turned to Maka and said, "The dentist can wait, yeah?"
Despite herself, she beamed happily.
Review, pretty please. They make me happy.
- TheAliensDidIt