Sorry for the long gap between updates. I was also trying to figure out where to go with this. I really hope you like it! Here~
He can't imagine anyone taking longer to walk around a town. She's stopping every two minutes to carefully examine each damned moss-covered rock on the ground, each closed shop by the side of the road and she won't turn back to look at him, not even once, not even when he's doing his very best to get her to pay attention to him, just for one second. He's ruining the image of stoic he's been building up all these years of puberty and occasional drunkenness and maybe exasperation at whose boobs his face wakes up into. But, she prefers to keep her eyes wide open, taking in everything new and she won't bat an eyelash at his horrendous shuffling, which she usually feels the need to point out and forbid.
She's prancing around as if she wasn't ever worried in her whole life. That semi-permanent unidentifiable gas above the top of her head that usually forms letters that read 'ultra-violent', or 'back the fuck off, boy', or 'hot-headed', or 'daddy issues' has vanished into the humid air of Edinburgh and given its place to maybe her brain, which is much more likely floating above her skull than inside of it.
But, wait, no. Ah, behold the first hidden, old, hole of a bookstore in the corner of two streets he forgets the name of, two seconds after having checked what they're called. Her brain goes back to its place and he can almost hear the gears in her head turning in the speed of the plane that brought them here. Will they have books that she hasn't seen before? And, oh, do the pages of an old European book smell differently from all the dusty tomes in the Shibusen library? Will cracking the spine of an unopened hardback sound new to her?
Her pigtails would defy gravity and dance around, were the air a bit drier.
She turns her head around and looks at him. She's not asking for his opinion, she's just making sure that he is being adequately obedient and following her without second thought. He shoves his hands into his jeans' pockets, finding this quite insufficient in terms of drowning his need to ask her why the hell she changes moods every time she blinks, and trails behind her inside the shop. They both have to bend a little to enter through the arch of the door.
"Hello!" Maka says to the old man behind a, uh, desk, he guesses. The stacks of books on the surface nearly hide the hunched figure and he stands up to greet them.
"Good day, lass! What can I help you with?" the old man gingerly asks.
"Do you happen to have any books on Scottish folklore?" she asks, smiling.
The old man looks in their general direction for a few moments, then triumphantly raises a finger into the air and disappears through a half-opened door to another room in the back.
Soul eyes Maka and he swears she's fidgeting. "Scottish folklore?" he asks.
"We're here now, so it's a chance to learn something I'd never happened to think about before," she says to her boots, which are looking especially shiny.
He'd pass this off as regular Maka being the regular Maka but she isn't. Not really. But she still is Maka, usual or not, and she's not gonna share what's on her labyrinthine mind unless she feels like it. She only does things when she wants to. She's more of a cat than Blair, in that way.
He wanders towards the darker end of the room. The bookcases are crammed with old leather-bound books. He supposes he's found the antique section. Most of them are poems or maps in single copies.
This guy has a huge selection of really old and rare-looking books. And he's talking to Maka. This might take long and Soul might prefer the outdoors this time.
Maka accompanies her meal with one of the heavy books she just bought. Her arm is sprawled on the table, she's holding the book the furthest from the food she can. And she's reading it.
He's eyeing her and then he's not because she's not reciprocating at all. He looks to a table where three girls are seated and eyeing him. He raises a brow and expects Maka to grit teeth at them and sigh exasperatedly at him, but her book's all that's happening right now.
They walk home after the definitely-not-lunch-but-not-dinner-either. He thinks the only reason she isn't reading is because her boots are not magical and she has to watch her step to not slip and fall on her face.
It's not raining, but the roads still are wet and he can't get it out of his mind how impossibly good a ride on his newly acquired bike rental sounds. He gets a pass for today's mothering from Maka. She isn't gonna worry about the humidity and raised accident probability. He has a feeling she's gonna be preoccupied and he's doing his best to keep the sarcasm at a minimum.
When they're at the hotel, Tsubaki calls. Maka is enthusiastic and slightly interrogatory on the phone. He takes his shoes off and rubs his feet, realising that he's not used to walking this much. He hears her telling Tsubaki to shut Black*Star up for a minute, because there very literally is an ocean between them and she can't hear her very clearly. She doesn't raise her own voice, though, and he likes that.
She peeks into the bathroom to tell him everything sounds fine in Death City and that Tsubaki says that nothing shady is going on. He says 'okay' but he doubts she can hear him over the shower. She leaves, but he still checks for her before getting out and grabbing the towel.
She unceremoniously watches him as he rummages his suitcase for a shirt. He looks up at her crossed legs.
"Going out?" she asks.
"Thinking of going for a drive."
She looks at the page she's on, places a palm over it and uses her other hand to brush her hair back. "I'm staying," she says, with a slight questionmark at the end.
"You want to read, don't you?" He raises the collar of his leather jacket and zips it all the way up.
"Wear your helmet, road's slippery."
"You wanna come keep an eye on me?"
"Soul-"
"Yeah, okay, be back soon."
He knows she needs to read all the material on her newest obsession before she can communicate with Earth again. He kinda wanted her to come, though. It's such a clear night. It's a shame. They won't get any like this one again here.
The road is wet and he needs to try hard to keep the bike from skidding. He's not wearing his helmet, but the humidity has nothing on him. The bike is unfamiliar and that's making him more careful than usual.
His brother liked to tell him he's too stubborn and he stubbornly ignored him. He can think of a few people who'd like to say 'they told him so', were something to happen now, here, without a helmet on his head and his hand throttling his way into muddy paths. He feels luck is on his side and the air feels new and alien in his face and that's a good thing because he's not exactly into routine Nevada aerified sand.
He almost knows Maka's made herself tea and is entirely content reading her myths and legends, so he's wondering why he even bothers to wonder about what she's up to.
She's sleeping with the window open when he comes back, curled up on the bed and with her knees nearly touching her chin. He touches her shoulder to get to wake up a little, so that he can manoeuver her under the covers. She groans as he straightens her legs and lifts them to pull the blanket from under them.
He's tucking her in, for fuck's sake, and then he's standing there looking at her just because she can't get all defensive and questioning now. She's sleeping and her tank top is too loose and it's her own fault, so he can stare all he wants.
He's brought back an acorn that's so unripe, it's green. Leaves it next to her in the bed. He kind of may want her to wake up in the middle of the night and think 'what the hell?'. He's glad she's left her book on the floor near the bed and is not sleeping while hugging it.
He takes off his shirt and pants and sits on his bed. Why are they in the same room? He's not gonna worry about the finances of Shibusen. He is gonna worry about her nonchalant reaction when finding out they were to be sharing a room.
He wills himself to fall asleep. He's used to thoughts like this, it's not the first time he's heard her breathe in her sleep and it's not the last, probably. He'll fall asleep, wake up, learn what this mission is, get done with it and everyone will be happy.
In his dream, the window is huge and open. Maka is trying to close it but, uh, she isn't really. The generic desk of the room turns red and gradually to Oni. He forces himself to wake up. Realises he hasn't been breathing and his breath hitches in his throat.
He looks to his left and the bed is empty. He waits a few moments and tries to listen for Maka in the bathroom. She's not here.
He gets up and walks to the window. It's closed. It's the window he remembers. He opens it and checks outside for the bike. It's there. Well. Yeah. She can't drive it anyway, can she, genius?
Her books are stacked on the desk and the table lamp is on. He sighs and puts his clothes on. She's not stupid and she can take care of herself, but it's late and she has trouble understanding this damn Scottish accent people 'round here have. He doesn't need to look for her to find her. He knows he will.
He takes two of his jackets with him. One of them he slips into and the other one he holds on to. The engine of the bike is loud in the silence of the wee hours of the morning and he finds the low rumble reassuring. The air has seen no sun for quite a few hours, so it feels like pins in his face.
He drives along the train tracks, towards the forest with the little lake. He spots her easily. Light is reflecting off of her. He doesn't know what the source of the light is and he doesn't really want to think about it because he's stopped next to her and she's shivering and is her hair longer? Or is it just pin straight wet? But it's not raining.
He blankets his second warmer jacket over her shoulders and she thankfully shrugs into it and smiles up at him.
"Thanks," she says, noncommittally- she was expecting him.
"Yeah," he replies and holds his 'what in the fuck are you doing' back.
Her eyes are slightly teary. Maybe it's from the cold. He's compelled, really, to kiss them and let her fit into a hug he hadn't realised he was offering.
"What were you doing?" he asks the air over her shoulder.
"Cross-checking."
"What?"
"Folklore," she replies, voice muffled.
"Checking for elves and sprites?"
"Mhmm."
"And?"
"Found 'em."
A/N: Thanks for reading, as always! Please tell me what you thought. Your words are always desired and welcome!
