Chapter 2: Soul Bonding
Soul didn't know what he was doing anymore. It's not that he had ever known, not exactly, but then, he had never really had to; Wes had always taken charge and Soul had let him. His brother was the only person he had ever really known, ever really wanted to know. The rest of the world could fuck off since it was a shithole anyway. Especially now that Wes was gone—he had to stifle the pain that threatened to double him over at the mere thought—dead, killed because they had chosen the wrong town. Now Soul was alone. Only, he wasn't, because here was this strange, pigtailed girl, this would-be meister, who kept talking his ear off and demanding his attention.
They'd been here for a week, "training" as she called it. Soul called it slow torture. Maka insisted on pushing herself to the limit and demanded the same of him. She had begun their training by having him transform into a full Scythe, over and over and over again. It was difficult, as it had always been difficult. He had to concentrate, to think about his flesh melting into steel as the meister had insisted her Papa once explained the process to her, and even then, it didn't always work. But the more he did it, the more she forced him and coaxed him and coerced him and sometimes almost begged him to do it, the easier it became. After hours and days of this, the Scythe had finally gotten to the point where the transformation was instantaneous, if not easy. He had made progress, he had to give that much to her. All of her incessant bitching and prodding had its uses, he supposed.
Of course, Soul could have practiced and figured things out on his own if he'd tried. He was cool, not some lame idiot. There just hadn't been any point with no one to wield him. Now he had her, at least for the time being. He still didn't know how he felt about that. Sometimes, when she smacked him on the head with her book—the same one she'd brained that guy in the alley with, he was pretty sure—Soul despised her. Maka was violent and bossy and he couldn't wait for the food to be depleted enough that he could leave with a clear conscience. But other times, when she encouraged him, or smiled at him, or when she was flipping and spinning as she wielded him, arcing him around with speed and precision that he found nothing short of amazing, he thought that maybe this could work, that without his brother it would be better with her than completely and totally alone. Then again, maybe that was the vertigo talking.
For as much as he had been born a weapon and had discovered what he was years ago, he had never had a meister, which meant he had never been wielded before. In truth, Soul knew very little about being a weapon, a deficit Maka was quickly rectifying. The worst part was that all that spinning and moving around was impossibly disorienting. To say it made him dizzy was a vast fucking understatement. When he was a weapon, he was still him, and being spun around like that, being entirely in the hands of someone else and at the complete mercy of her whims, well that took some getting used to, to say the least. So part of what he was learning was how to keep both his head and his lunch intact during and after Maka wielding him. He was getting better at that, too, which was good because getting motion sick as a weapon was seriously uncool. On the first day they'd trained, he had barfed twice, but at this point, he only got a little dizzy, and even then, it was only some of the time. He had to admit, as much of a drag as it was, the ridiculously long hours of training did have a pay off, and when they came out of this, when he left, he'd be better for it.
If he left. The Scythe wasn't sure what he wanted to do at this point. And while he'd never admit this to her, not if threatened with the thickest book she could find nor the very flames of hell itself, Soul enjoyed what Maka was teaching him. When they took breaks from training, she would talk about the things her father had taught her and about the things she'd read in the cache of books they collected. Things about weapons and meisters, about the old DWMA and the long dead Shinigami. About kishin eggs and witches and Asura himself. She told him so many things that contradicted everything he had ever heard before that the Scythe found himself unsure of what to believe. Yet, he was drawn to her words even as he feigned boredom. Soul was like a child compared to the meister, compared to what she knew of the world of Shibusen, and it pissed him off to feel so ignorant.
Yet, there were things Maka did not know of the old world, things that Soul knew that most their age would not. He had discovered her lack of knowledge when he referenced The Princess Bride—shooting her an expectant "as you wish" when she commanded he transform—only to get a blank stare from her in return. He'd tested it from there and he was pretty sure Maka had never seen a movie, though he hadn't asked, hadn't even informed her of her own ignorance . He sometimes forgot how few young people knew the things he knew of the old world, how other people his age had not had access to the things that had been at the center of his daily existence since birth; most could not have been so lucky as Soul and his brother were for much of his life, and it was only in the last few years that he had come to know the madness that their world had become. Before then, all he had known of the world outside their small cabin in the Maine wilderness he had learned through the movies their father left them, his last, greatest legacy. Someday, maybe Soul would share what he knew with Maka. Hell, maybe he could even show her. Maybe.
For now, she was talking again, trying to explain to him something she called "Soul Resonance." It sounded odd to him; he'd never even seen a soul before she had pointed out his brother's, that odd blue orb that seemed too faint and pale to belong to a man like Wes. Soul wasn't sure he would have believed such things existed if she had tried to tell him a few weeks ago. Now, though, he knew—but the idea of bonding souls with another person, no, with her, seemed strange and invasive. He really didn't want to try, but she was insistent.
"I was never able to do it well with Papa," she explained. "I could wield him because he was my father, so we were naturally compatible—"
"Then why couldn't Wes wield me?" he interrupted. He hadn't exactly meant to speak it aloud, but it was too late to take it back, and anyway, he was curious.
"Because," she was using her superior tone, the one that suggested she was patiently explaining that the sky was blue to an utter simpleton. It infuriated him and he clenched his fist to keep from snapping at her. "He wasn't a meister and you aren't a Deathscythe." Maka kept looking at Soul, as if daring him to question her further. When he just shrugged, she continued where she had left off.
"As I was saying, I could wield my father, but we couldn't build any kind of strong resonance because our compatibility was built solely around our kinship. But it's different with you, because we're naturally compatible—it's why I was able to wield you the first time we tried—but we're also pretty different, so we should be able to build a real resonance. Theoretically, anyway."
"Theoretically?" He knew his voice was thick with skepticism.
"Well, we won't know until we try, right?" Her smile was bright and it was hard to stay pissed under the force of her enthusiasm.
"I guess," he replied with a small shrug.
"Alright, then!" Maka said happily, getting up and dusting off her skirt. By a ridiculous stroke of fortune, she had discovered a cache of clothes upstairs that fit. Most of them Soul recognized as school uniforms. Maka seemed to like them and had gladly replaced her worn jeans and sweater with this newclaimed wardrobe. Today, she was wearing a plaid skirt and simple white shirt from among the things she had found. She looked down at him expectantly.
"What, now?"
"Of course!"
"But we just finished training—I'm still tired!" Soul knew he sounded whiny and couldn't make himself care. They'd been at this non-stop for a week and he really was tired.
"We just finished resting," she reminded him. "Come on! The sooner we try, the sooner we can eat dinner. I found puuuudddiiing~!" Maka sang out. She had discovered he had a sweet tooth and had already begun to exploit that weakness. The girl was devious, that was certain.
"Whatever," he shrugged as if it didn't matter, and pulled himself up from the grass with a light grunt. "Let's do this, then."
She held out her hand, as had become her habit, indicating she wanted him to transform, and he did. Maka was holding him again, and as it always did, it felt both strange and right. Soul couldn't parse the difference and wasn't sure he wanted to. While this was the point when she would usually start spinning him around and he would have to keep reminding himself that he was a weapon and that it was normal to keep his head from spinning, this time she just stood there.
"So, what now?" His impatience was evident, but he'd be damned if he was just going to stand here when he could be eating that promised pudding or taking a nap.
"Now, we focus," she snapped. Soul hadn't noticed before, but her eyes were closed in seeming concentration. "And try to reach each other's souls."
How the hell was he supposed to do that? Maka claimed she could see souls, sense them more like. According to her, they were safe here since she hadn't sensed anyone near the entire time they'd been at the house. He didn't know if she could really see souls like she claimed, but he did know that this place was as good as any, remote and stocked with food as it was, so he didn't bother trying to gainsay her. Now, though, the Scythe was being asked to do the impossible and he had no idea how. Telling him to focus wasn't really helping, but if he didn't appear to at least be trying, Maka would just bash him with a book and deny him the coveted pudding. She really was infuriating.
So Soul closed his eyes, which sounded odd since he was a weapon at the moment, but everything about being a weapon was really fucking odd, so this was pretty much par for the course. He tried to concentrate. Maybe if he thought about her and her soul? He knew what she was trying to achieve, but it sounded like some strange fairy tale to him, this idea they could link souls and use that link to make each other stronger.
Then he felt something, light and warm and intrusive. He couldn't explain it, exactly, but it wasn't...unwelcome so much as it was new. He tried to latch on to it, this odd warmth. Soul reached out for it with his… he wasn't really sure, with himself, really, his inside, his essence. He reached out and embraced it and it embraced him and he realized this warmth, this light, was her. He had found Maka's soul. Well, fuck. It was odd and frightening and absolutely wonderful, but he had no clue what to do next. She spoke, and though he could hear her, he also felt her words inside his mind, and the stereo effect was disconcerting.
"Now, keep drawing on my soul. I'll draw on yours. Back and forth, we will resonate."
"Umm… I don't know…that seems…"
"Don't worry, just follow my lead, okay?" His eyes were still closed but he could—it was difficult to describe, but he could feel her smile inside his mind and found it oddly reassuring.
"Okay," he agreed.
"Good. Now. SOUL RESONANCE!" she screamed and he felt her pull, tug even, at everything that was him, and almost instinctually, he tugged back. Soul didn't know what was happening, not precisely, but he could feel them building on one another, could feel what he could only describe as raw power surging through them both. He opened his eyes, almost involuntarily, and could see the light surrounding them. So this was Soul Resonance. It was… well, it was pretty fucking amazing was what it was. But it was more than just power. He was part of her soul, she was part of his. He suddenly felt and knew more about Maka than he had ever thought it was possible to know about anyone, and he knew that it was the same for her. He felt like he could reach out and touch her memories if he just grabbed on hard enough, and it was horrifying and enticing, weird and wonderful. But the thought that she could do the same scared the living shit out of him and Soul pushed himself away, suddenly, forcefully, from that contact. His memories, of Wes, of their life together, that was all he had left, and he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone take that from him. Fuck that. The resonance broke—it was sudden and almost painful—and he quickly flashed out of weapon form, crouching on the ground and panting. He looked up at Maka, his expression carefully neutral.
"I did what you asked. Now where's my fucking pudding?"
"What in the hell was that?" she was looking down at him, her green eyes flashing with fury.
"We resonated or whatever," he shrugged, straightening himself. "Just like you wanted. So now, I want my pudding, tiny tits." Soul had figured out in the first few days with her that the quickest way to piss the Scythe Meister off was to make any sort of disparaging remark about her body. As much as her rage was a frightening force of nature unto itself, as much as he loathed and dreaded it, it was also pretty useful in steering her unrelenting inquisitiveness away from whatever goal she had at the moment. It served as an instant distraction, and he used it that way now.
"UGH! You are such an ASS!" Her fury redirected, he stoically took the book to the head he knew he had earned. "MAKAAAA CHOP!"
At least, he thought as the blackness took him, when he woke up there would be pudding.
Sometimes, Soul wondered what pudding would taste like fresh. It's not that the long past its prime stuff was terrible, exactly, but he imagined it wasn't as good as it could be. As he spooned the gooey substance into his mouth enthusiastically, the Scythe found himself thinking of all those delicious fresh meals he'd seen people smiling or crying over on film, entirely taking for granted the bounty before them, and wanted to cry himself. For now, though, he had creamy, chocolaty goodness in his mouth, such as it was, and that was enough. Especially when he could tell that the girl across from him was seething and he was pretty sure he knew what she was seething about and just hoped (vainly, he knew) that she would let it be.
But of course, it was Maka, and if there was one thing he had discovered about Maka in the short time he had known her, it was that she was never, ever content to leave anything be.
They had downed some non-descript canned vegetables along with some Spam, and were now working on the pudding. Maka, however, was spending more time looking at Soul than actually eating. She was stirring her own pudding absentmindedly as she studied him, and he felt like she was trying to take him apart like some sort of project or puzzle, trying to figure out how the pieces fit. It was disconcerting, that intense gaze, that frown, and he kept looking anywhere but at her.
Finally, after a few more minutes of this silent, uncomfortable scrutiny, he decided to stop being a coward about it and face her head on. It was coming, so he may as well deal with it now, like ripping off a band-aid—the sooner done, the sooner they could get on with their lives.
"What?" Soul said, raising one eyebrow.
"Why?" she countered immediately.
"Why what? Why is the sky blue? Why do birds suddenly appear? What the hell are you asking?"
Maka huffed, clearly realizing that he knew exactly what she wanted.
"Why did you shove my soul away?" She looked angry again and almost hurt. He looked down, unable to meet her eyes.
"It was just… too much, okay?" he muttered down to his pudding. She let out another huff in response and then he heard a small clang, Maka's spoon rattling in her own can of pudding as she set it on the table. He dared to meet her gaze again, which had softened considerably.
"Look," she began, "I know this is all strange and new for you, but we'll both get used to it and—"
"It wasn't that it was bad, exactly," he cut off what he could tell was going to be a speech. She didn't understand him, not really, and it was probably better just to tell some version of the truth. Another thing he had figured out about the meister was that she had an uncanny ability to tell when he was lying. "It just felt like maybe you would be able to see into my head, you know? And there are things I'd rather keep to myself." Much as he wanted to look away, Soul kept his eyes carefully on hers, and as that hurt flashed there again, he almost wanted to take back his words. Almost.
Maka looked away and muttered, "oh," then they were both silent for a while, him finishing his pudding, her just staring out the window at nothing in particular. Then, finally, she spoke, quietly but firmly.
"I won't look at your memories, you know. Those are yours, just as mine are mine. Unless you actively think of them, I won't see them." How had she figured out the heart of his problem? Then it occurred to him that maybe she felt the same way, had the same reservations, but was more determined to make this work. If they both respected that boundary, then maybe it could work. It's not like he had much to lose at this point.
"Fine, whatever," he lifted his spoon, waving it in her direction. "We can try again tomorrow, okay?" When Soul saw her face brighten in response, the smile reaching her eyes and seeming to almost light up the quickly darkening room, he couldn't be sorry he'd agreed.
After another week passed, they were getting very good at the resonance thing, and, true to her word, Maka had left his memories alone. It was strange, how comfortable they were becoming together. These two weeks of intense training felt like two months sometimes to Soul, so focused had they become. When you spend that much time in someone's head, it's hard not to form a bond, and they had been in one another's heads constantly while trying to perfect resonance.
That bond was why, when the meister had casually mentioned over breakfast that she thought they should go seek some kishin, Soul wasn't exactly surprised, yet he still balked; he hardly thought two weeks of training together prepared them for monster hunting, and he told her as much. Maka had countered that she thought they might be able to achieve something she called "Witch Hunter" eventually, a kishin slaying technique that her mother had used, and she wanted to test it, but even more than that, she wanted to test their training. She wasn't a novice, she insisted, even if he was, and experience told her that they were ready. Plus, she had added, dangling that extra little carrot that she knew would send him to the other side of the fence, they could do a little hunting and gathering, maybe get some fresh food. He couldn't help but to drool at the thought. Apart from a few stray berries and the odd fish, Soul had never in his life had fresh food, and the very idea of it intrigued him. He was starting to feel a little like the family dog he'd seen in so many films, ruled so consistently by his stomach, but he had to admit the very idea of fresh anything was ridiculously fantastic.
So Soul finally, reluctantly, agreed—not only was there the prospect of food, but it was the only thing he could do to get her to shut the hell up. The woman was unrelenting when she set her mind to something.
Being held in Scythe form as his meister tramped through the woods took some getting used to, but it was easier than being spun about and, being so deep in the long since overgrown forest of the New England countryside reminded him of home. Maka had told him she would walk and keep her Soul Perception focused until she sensed a pre-kishin. They would not have to go far. Though the house they'd chosen was in a more remote area, heavily forested, kishin eggs were numerous enough in their decaying world that they could be found pretty much anywhere. Soul guessed that they had gone, perhaps, two or three miles, Maka frequently having to use his blade to cut through the thick underbrush (an experience he did not enjoy, but he kept reminding himself that he was a tool, a weapon, and thus meant for such tasks,) when she halted.
"Wha—"
"Shhh!" Maka hissed before he could say more. Her eyes were open but had gone almost glassy, as if she were looking somewhere very far away. After several moments, she blinked and her focus seemed to return.
"I found one," she said softly. "Perhaps a mile from here. Less, I'm pretty sure. It's too far away to read how strong it is, though. We should get closer."
"Lead on," Soul responded, as if he had a choice. She was the meister; he was in her hands unless he chose to actively protest and potentially risk both of their lives in the process. He found that both comforting and frightening, to be so reliant on her even as she was wholly reliant on wielding him to defend them both. He had only ever relied on Wes, and he was gone; the shift was both comforting and difficult. He wrenched his mind back to the here and now, focusing on the forest around them as she ran. Dwelling on things, on what had happened, on the past, on his brother, it was all too fresh, too raw. It hurt and he couldn't afford to hurt with what they were doing, even if he wanted to do so, and he certainly didn't. He shoved the feelings back down into the deepest recesses of his heart and mind—his soul he supposed. That was where they belonged, now.
Maka kept moving quickly for several more minutes before she stopped again. Realizing that she was probably pausing to reorient, Soul remained silent as her eyes again went glassy. When she finally blinked them into focus once more, he asked, "You still sense it?"
"Yeah. It's close now," her voice was calm and even, yet there was something else in it too, a sharpness, an edge as keen as his blade. Was it determination? Anticipation? Fear? Soul suspected it was all three and more. His own swirl of feelings threatened to overwhelm him again at the thought. They were going to fight a monster. What the fuck was he doing here?
Calm. He needed to be calm. He was a cool guy, right? Cool guys didn't panic. They didn't freak out. They were clutch. They kept it, well, cool. He could do this. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
"How close?" he finally managed. Good. His voice sounded disinterested. Well, that was better than frightened.
"Not far. Less than a quarter mile. And it's stopped moving. I think—maybe—it just ate an animal soul. I sensed one with it a few minutes ago and then it was just…gone." She shook her head. "Anyway, I think we can take it."
"It's weak then?" he found himself asking. He should probably just let her do what she did and not interfere; she was the meister, she was the one with experience, this was her show. Yet, this was his life, too, and he'd be damned if he was going to risk it needlessly.
"Weak enough," she responded after a moment. She was biting her bottom lip and, as he had discovered early on in their "training," that was never a good sign. It meant she was hiding something, that it was more difficult or tedious or lengthy than she was suggesting.
"That's not a real answer."
"It's…I don't know, Soul," she finally snapped, "it's not like there's a formula. It's not ridiculously strong, but it's not the weakest kishin egg I've ever sensed either. I think we can handle it. Anyway, it's coming."
And suddenly choice was taken out of the equation as they both heard a shriek and she shifted into a defensive stance in the small clearing between trees where they had stopped. As the thing came into view—it could only be described as a thing, it certainly had long since ceased being human—Soul might have fled or cowered if he had been in human form. But he was a weapon and his meister stood firm.
The creature stopped at the edge of the clearing, its bulging eyes swiveling towards them, and let out another shriek. It was black and thin, with four long, spindly limbs and a small head on a long neck, a head taken up mostly by a mouth full of impossibly of sharp teeth. Maka had been teaching the Scythe about different types of kishin and he knew that those that were so far from their original form were more corrupt, and therefore, more powerful. Shit, there was no way they were ready for this. He was about to scream at Maka to run when the thing charged, and she side stepped. It hardly mattered. Those long limbs could stretch, and one hooked Maka's ankle as it passed, pulling her to ground as the creature swung back towards them. Crap, this was bad. What should he do? Should he…?
He got no chance to complete the thought as Maka rolled, quickly and awkwardly away, then leapt to her feet to face the kishin. This time, she did not try to dodge. Instead, she used the creature's own momentum against it, swinging Soul's blade ahead of her in a wicked arc. The kishin managed to dodge to the side, but not soon enough, and Soul felt the squish and grind as his blade cut through flesh and bone. He suppressed a shudder—it was the first time he'd been used to cut through something living. As the thing careened past, only to spin a dozen feet away to face them again, Maka just grinned at it. It was a vicious grin, full of confidence and blood lust, and Soul realized suddenly and wholly that this girl was a warrior in every sense of the word. His meister might be temperamental and strange, bookish and kind, but she was also a seasoned killer.
"Kishin, I am here to take your soul!" she shouted. "Prepare to die!" The pre-kishin responded with another shriek and then, out of nowhere, thick green goo shot from its gaping maw, covering the meister in slime. Maka shrieked, but she didn't seem afraid. If anything, she was even more pissed off and, wanting to end this, she shot forward, charging in a cry of rage, Scythe arcing. This time, she managed to slice into the creature's side, but it wasn't a deep cut, and the thing scrambled back, eyeing them with menace. Maka was still covered in green goo and she seemed to be tiring fast.
"Soul, we need to resonate!" she screamed. Now? She wanted to try this now, of all times? Well fuck. "Ready?"
"Yeah…" he said, trying to keep the reluctance from his voice.
"Right," she said quickly. "Let's go Soul Resonance!"
And as they had been practicing for the past week, they each reached for the other's soul, grasping on and letting out a single, primal scream as their power, their very essence, merged and mingled, flowing back and forth to increase with every pass. The resonance renewed Maka's strength and she surprised him by saying.
"Remember that thing I told you about? I want to try it." Soul willed his image to appear within his blade, a trick he had learned only days ago, and shook his head at her.
"No, Maka. Just kill it, okay?" The creature screeched again, spewing more green slime that they barely avoided before charging once more.
"No time!" she cried, and then, he felt her focus, drawing on their combined power. Felt the intensity of it, felt his own blade begin to grow exponentially from the sheer force her will.
"Witch Hunter!" he heard her scream, felt the power release towards the kishin. It was more power than Maka could handle and she fell on her ass, the destructive force she'd unleashed flying wildly. Ironically, it was the blunder that saved them. The kishin went to dodge the direct blow, only to be hit by the raw destructive power that had gone awry as Maka fell. It shrieked in protest, a death cry filled with rage and terror, and then as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, replaced only with a single, glowing red orb.
Soul was not given time to marvel at it as he felt himself tossed suddenly, roughly aside and into the brush and heard Maka shrieking. The Scythe transformed, worried that there was another kishin near and she would need him. Blue flashed and Maka screamed.
"Close your eyes and don't move!" Soul could hear the sounds of rustling, heard her occasional groans.
"What's going on?" he finally ventured as he heard the rustling of her clothing cease.
"Take off your jacket and your shirt and throw them towards me. But DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES!"
"But…"
"Just do it, damnit Soul!" Confused, he still complied, stripping to his waist and throwing the discarded clothing in the direction of her voice. He heard more rustling, heard her groan several times, and then heard her say quietly,
"Okay, I'm done. We can go." When he looked, he finally understood. Maka's discarded clothing was in a pile nearby, covered in green goo. She stood only in his borrowed shirt, which was barely long enough to cover her, and she had scrubbed the green slime off of her with his jacket as well as she could. When he saw this, Soul thanked whatever gods might still exist that he had had the foresight to swap out his favorite leather for a military style coat he'd found in the house. The goo still coated her hair, but the tights and trench coat she had worn, along with a long pair of gloves she had found, had saved most of her skin, with only her face and neck looking raw and red, spattered with stray patches of green she had missed in her haste. From her continued grimace, he guessed it was painful, probably some type of acid or poison. Maka would need to do a better job getting it off soon, but it didn't appear to be fatal.
"Just…don't," she gritted out before he could comment. "You should eat that soul." Maka actually grinned at his visible surprise. "It's our first soul, you've earned it!"
"You really expect me to eat that?"
"Of course. You're a weapon—how else will you get stronger?"
"But—" The meister cut him off. She had a habit of doing that and it was starting to piss him off.
"Look, I know it seems strange, but trust me, you'll get used to it. You might even grow to like it—Papa said some weapons really do. Now, go on, bottoms up!" Her smile was reassuring and the last thing Soul wanted was for her to think he was some sort of wuss, so he forced himself to step up to the red orb, placing his hand under it gingerly. It didn't really feel like much, and he wondered at how it would taste.
"Now just put it in your mouth and eat it!" Her voice was cheerful, but he could hear the strain there, too. They didn't have time for him to mess about with this—Maka needed to clean up properly. That goo had clearly done her no favors.
Grasping it, he moved the orb to his mouth and—it was odd, but he sort of squished it in and it compacted to fit. The soul tasted…well, it didn't have much taste, but the texture was smooth and rich and wonderful. It was hard to believe this was the remains of a creature of pure evil he was ingesting; it felt more like ambrosia on his tongue and down his throat. He let out a satisfied "ahhhhh," then looked at Maka.
"Well?" she asked, voice expectant.
"It was good," he admitted.
"Good," she smiled. "Well, I guess this makes you a Soul Eater, then?" That smile widened at her bad little pun. He might have groaned, but he actually found the name pretty badass. He grinned back.
"Yeah, Soul Eater. Sounds good. When can we get more?"
"After I get the rest of this crap off of me," she half snapped. "Just keep your eyes ahead and don't look at me, okay? There's nothing else around—I'm pretty sure that thing ate every other threat within miles. I want to go to the stream we passed a bit ago, and then we should go home and get some rest."
"Sure thing," he offered lazily, the haze of satisfaction that had come with ingesting the soul almost intoxicating. He didn't even care that it seemed unlikely she would keep her promise of fresh food. Soul took a lazy look around the clearing, noting the line of destruction where her Witch Hunter had hit, before keeping his eyes ahead of him. "Lead on."
They started walking, Soul taking the lead this time at Maka's insistence (she didn't want him looking at her, it was indecent,) her instructing him on where to go as her sense of direction was almost uncanny and she remembered the way they had come. When they got to the stream they had crossed earlier, she made him turn his back. From the rustling sounds and loud splashing, the Scythe could guess that she had stripped and was now immersing herself. It took several minutes, but eventually the splashing stopped, the rustling returned, and Maka finally spoke.
"Okay, I'm ready. Let's go!" As he turned around and looked at her, her back to him, he noticed the goo was gone, even from her hair, but her skin still looked raw and angry on her neck and he couldn't help but to feel guilty, like he should have somehow prevented it. Soul also noticed how the grey t-shirt clung enticingly to her still damp skin and forced himself to look away, quipping "Yes, my meister" to hide his sudden embarrassment.
He'd meant it as a joke, poking fun at how bossy she could be, a play on an overused cliché, but she turned around suddenly and stared him square in the face, her own green eyes meeting his with an odd mix of emotion he couldn't quite place.
"You really mean that?"
"Mean what?" If he sounded confused it was because he was.
"That I'm your meister?" Her look was expectant. Soul grew uncomfortable under that earnest stare and looked away, running one hand through his white hair in thought.
"Yeah," he said slowly, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I think I do."
"So, you're willing to stick with me, then?" Maka pushed. She was good at that. There was another pause as he thought it over for a moment; there was nothing to consider, not really. Sure, she could be bossy and violent and annoying, but she was also strong and smart and brave and had just used him to slay a fucking kishin. And they had mingled souls—that had forged a bond that Soul hadn't even begun to understand, but that he felt intensely. It made no sense, not when he put it to words, but he trusted her. Without Wes, she was all he had.
"Yeah, I think I am."
Maka walked closer, sticking out her hand. "Partners?" she questioned.
He looked from her hand back to those piercing green eyes and did not hesitate. He offered his own hand. "Partners," Soul agreed.
He'd made his choice. Hopefully, he didn't come to regret it.
