A/N: I don't even know, I'm sorry.
Maka leaned against the wall again. It was so pale and shook under her rib case that rattled with unsure breathe. The wall was so so pale. So dreary, so light, so small. It was bigger than her, so what did that make her? Nothing, she answered and dug her nails into the wall. Nothing, nothing could be done, she did nothing. She is nothing. She slammed her fist into the wall. The wall that separated the tortured and bleeding Soul and the nothing that was her. She dug her nails into her palm and didn't bother with the tears. They were an instinct of sadness and hatred and guilt. Sometimes the instinct when something cold gets in your eyes. Like last summer when her beloved friends and her played in the chipping heavens that fell onto Earth at such a low temperature. Where were they now? Where the hell were they all now? She grabbed her skirt and held it so tightly as she wept. The hallway was so bare. So dark, so small in her eyes that were glazed. So small compared to Soul and his condition. But even Soul and his condition was so small compared to the Earth. That would make her nothing. Yes, nothing. She slammed her hand into the wooden bench and it burned with the tightness of the first and the impact of the wood. Oh yes, it hurt. She felt nothing, she felt nothing except for such weakness. Oh yes, she felt weak, and small and like nothing.
"Maka!" She looked up at the black pupil hair that bobbed next to her. He sat and they were silent. He gave her a bottle of water, other than the crinkling of the cheap plastic, it was silent. The hall was so so silent. It made her tremble, yet she still didn't wipe her eyes. Death the Kid simply looked at his hands. His rings, his white pale hands. They were not shaking like hers, no they were steady. She envied this. "Maka," He whispered, he said it more to the hallway then her. He didn't look at her. "I am sorry." She nodded weakly again and he peered down at her. "I'm a sympathetic cryer." He handed her his embroidered handkerchief and she took it. She simply wrung it.
"I spoke with the do-" she gasped, "the, um, doctor."
"What did they say?"
"I didn't listen, Soul was bleeding." She thought about it and traced the D and K on the cloth. "Badly." She gave a weak smile and Kid sighed.
"I'm no good at comforting."
"Don't, comforting is some form of pity."
"It is a respect for the other person's sadness." He said and she shrugged. "Maka, letting me win a fight, this is bad."
"Told you." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Where are they?" She wiped her face and looked at him.
"I don't know, Maka, I'm sorry."
"Black-Star is Soul's best friend."
"I'm offended." He said. She huffed a weak small laugh. "Liz and Patty are finishing a job in the islands."
"You still take jobs? Even being the Lord of all Death?"
"You shouldn't inflate my ego with your formal titles for me."
"It is your title."
"Only one of them."
"You Have others?"
"Well yes, everyone does. Like you, yours are Maka, , Meister Maka the greatest Scythe-Master," he sighed and gave her hand one last squeeze, "ever."
"Oh, how you mock me Lord Death." She wiped her face again, much dryer and she looked at him. His face was skinnier and his amber eyes glowing like a small dying fire. He looked the same. He looked scarily different. A nurse came out of the room and nodded. She sprung to her feet and raced into the room. Kid walked slowly after her, she ran to the bed and looked at him. He was sleeping. Or Kid hoped so.
"Maka, I'll wait out here. I doubt it's a good luck that I, the symbol of death, is here." She nodded and smiled a little bit. She scanned his face and huffed as she sat.
"I'll tell you what happened. Later?"
"Later."