.three.

Maka hesitated outside the hospital room, hand on the doorknob. Her mind reeled; she wasn't sure she was ready to face Soul just yet.

Three full days had passed since their interrogation in the Death Room. They had seen only Sid in that time. The nurse had brought them their meals and changes of clothes, conducted physical exams on Soul, and changed Maka's bandages. The first time Soul saw Maka's injuries, he had fallen into a brooding silence that Maka had been unable to draw him out of for the rest of the day. Sid told them that Maka was healing well, but it was obvious that the livid marks would scar her for the rest of her life. Maka had resisted pointing out that Soul had more than his fair share of scars.

The waiting had been agony. In their many hours alone, they had quietly planned for escape, but both knew that such an attempt would be futile. Beyond this, Soul and Maka had spoken little; the atmosphere of the small hospital room was too heavy to permit light conversation. Instead, both were absorbed in their own private thoughts.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, Sid had delivered a summons. Lord Death required Maka's presence immediately; Soul was to remain behind. The Death Scythe had argued fiercely, but in the end, he could do nothing about it. Sid had led Maka to the Death Room door, and Maka had passed under the guillotines alone to platform where the Reaper stood waiting.

Maka rested her forehead on the hospital room's door as she replayed that morning's conversation with the God of Death in her mind. Once again, Shinigami-sama had thrown her completely off-guard.

"Do you have any questions for me, Maka?"

Questions? Of course she had questions! Hundreds, thousands of them, clamoring to jump off her tongue, but held in check by her wariness. Why had Shinigami-sama summoned her but not Soul? What was he going to do with them? What would she do if Shinigami-sama decided to hurt Soul? Why did the God of Death look like something out of a child's picture book? Why had she and Soul been so well cared for when they were considered enemies of Shibusen? Would defying Shinigami-sama turn her into a kishin?

She was somewhat surprised by the question that slipped out first. "Why didn't you ask us why we betrayed you?" She had been wondering about that ever since he had interrogated her and Soul. But it had hardly seemed the most pressing of her many questions—until she gave voice to it.

Shinigami looked at her thoughtfully. "Well, there's no obvious answer to such a question, is there? If I asked why you had betrayed me, you might've come up with something to say, but it wouldn't have been the whole story. You wouldn't have been able to really explain if I had asked like that, would you? So I gave you a different way to tell me what I wanted to know."

"But…the only question you asked was how Soul had been injured…"

She detected a hint of a smile behind Shinigami's reply. "Ah, but with that one question, I drew out a large part of your story. Do you see? It's all in the wording."

It was true. Soul and Maka, caught by surprise, had ended up telling the Reaper a great deal more than they had meant to. But..."Did you decide whether we were traitors just from what we told you?"

"Hmmm…Well, what do you think? Are the two of you my enemies?"

She was taken aback, but once more, she spoke before her mind had entirely caught up with her. "No."

"Good, good!" Shinigami said cheerfully. "Glad to hear it! Well, now that that's settled…"

Maka was still having trouble comprehending the quickness with which she and Soul had been absolved. Surely it couldn't be as easy as affirming their loyalty to the God of Death! They had broken one of the most important mandates of Shibusen. They had evaded their duty; some would go so far as to say that she had "stolen" from Shinigami-sama. But he was treating the whole situation like some minor mishap that could easily be forgiven and forgotten.

"B-but what about our punishment?"

The God of Death tilted his head quizzically. "Punishment?" he repeated. "What punishment?"

"Our punishment for betraying you," she explained, frustrated."Aren't you going to—to lock us up, or—or something?"

"I don't see what good that would do," Shinigami said musingly.

"But…but…" she protested weakly, not sure why she was rebelling against what ought to be good news.

Shinigami chuckled and patted her head as though she was a small child. "No worries, Maka-chan. I'm not going to punish you for doing what you thought was the right thing." His tone changed; she thought he sounded a little sad. "You should know, though…a Shibusen hospital would never have turned you away. And I would never take away the witch's soul that is keeping Soul alive. Shibusen only takes the lives of those who are evil. I hope you understand that."

Maka's heart wrenched once more as she recalled the words. He made it seem so obvious—and maybe it was, to anyone else. But for her, it was impossible for something like this to be so clear, so simple. Life had taught her the truth, over and over again: she couldn't rely on anyone but herself. She had made an exception for Soul; after all, she knew his soul almost as well as she knew her own. But everyone else had to be kept at a distance, because—intentionally or not—they always hurt her in the end. All their pretty words faded to nothing. They would turn on her, or abandon her.

But she wanted to trust Shinigami-sama. She found herself believing him instinctively. What, after all, was more reliable than the very fact of Death itself? She had pledged her loyalty to the God of Death before she had even met him in person, made it her goal to become the greatest meister ever to ally with Shibusen. It had been the cause that attracted her—causes offered purpose without threatening betrayal. Even if the people who supported the cause failed her, the purpose would never change, never falter; her duty would remain clear.

Maka sighed quietly in frustration. That clarity eluded her now. Nothing was certain anymore. Fate kept throwing things in her path that—she smiled grimly—she didn't know how to deal with.

"Shinigami-sama, why did you ask Soul to stay behind? This affects him as much as me."

"Ah…yes. I have one more thing to discuss with you, Maka-chan. Dr. Stein thought it best that you hear it from me first, alone."

She blinked, confused. "Hear what?"

"It seems that Dr. Stein has identified your biological father. Tell me, was your mother Kami Albarn?"

She went perfectly still. Face stony, she said tonelessly, "The woman who gave birth to me was called Kami. I never found out what her surname was."

Shinigami hummed thoughtfully but did not press her for further explanation. "Well, according to Stein, you are the daughter of Spirit Albarn—my current Death Scythe."

She narrowed her eyes. "The red-haired man who fought with Dr. Stein?"

The God of Death sighed. "Yep, that's the one. I suppose I should warn you that he tends to be very enthusiastic. He is probably waiting for you outside."

"Oh." She didn't know what to think, didn't know what to say. It was too sudden. She had...a father? Numbly, she asked, "What does that mean?"

Shinigami answered her seriously. "Whatever you want it to. I will not place you in his custody. You have been living independently for several years now, and you will be a legal adult in under a year, anyway." The God of Death watched her struggle with that news for a few moments before gently telling her, "You may leave now, if you are ready. That was all I had to talk to you about."

She bowed, expressionless, and left the Death Room.

Enthusiastic, Maka thought wryly, proved a highly inadequate adjective. Ebullient, perhaps. Overly exuberant. Effervescent, maybe.

"MAKAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The moment the Death Room door shut behind her, a loud wailing assaulted her ears, and she spotted a blur of red racing down the hallway. She reflexively dodged to the side, ribs complaining at the quick movement, and stared as a full grown man crashed headlong into the door she had just closed. Tears cascading down his cheeks, the red-haired man turned aquamarine eyes on her from his position on the floor. He beamed at her through his loud sniffles and stretched his arms up towards her as if to embrace her. "Makaaaaa," he burbled. "My beautiful baby girl!"

She stepped back, eyes huge. His face fell tragically at this sign of rejection. "Maka!" he cried. "Don't you know me? I'm your Papa!"

She shook her head vehemently, denying it. "But I am!" he insisted petulantly, scrambling to his feet. He smiled at her hopefully, looking for all the world like a begging dog. "I'm your very own Papa!" Before she could escape, he caught her up in his arms and squeezed. She gasped in pain as he crushed her injuries.

"But…you…tried to…kill us!" she choked out, barely able to breathe. The man began to sob noisily into her shoulder.

"Papa is so sorry, Maka! Papa didn't know you were his daughter! Papa would never, ever hurt you! Never!" he wailed.

"You're…hurting me now!" she wheezed. Immediately the Death Scythe let go, an almost comical expression of horror on his face.

"Papa's sorry! Papa's sorry!" he yelped. He gasped with a sudden idea. "Papa will carry you back to the infirmary!"

"No!" she shouted, sidestepping to evade his attempt to grab her. Her tone brought the Death Scythe to an abrupt halt. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "No, I—no! I can't handle this! You're not my father! I don't have a family!"

The Death Scythe fell to his knees in front of her. "But don't you see?" he pleaded. "You do have family now! I don't know—" His voice hitched, and he swallowed convulsively. "I don't know what happened to Kami, but I'm here for you! You'll come live with me, and I'll take care of you—!"

Again, she stepped back, shaking her head fiercely. "No," she said harshly. "You don't get it at all." Her eyes burned. "Kami—Kami Albarn—abandoned me when I was seven years old. She left me on the doorstep of an orphanage and told me she'd be back for me later. She wrote to me three times—sent me pretty little postcards that were supposed to be for my birthday. She couldn't even remember how old I was, the last time she wrote.

"I learned my lesson, living in that rat hole. You have to take care of yourself. I do not acknowledge you as my father—Soul is my only family."

And with those words, she turned and left, leaving the stunned man kneeling on the cold floor in the empty corridor.

And that was the real reason Maka was standing out in the hallway, trying to compose herself. She had already decided not to tell Soul about this final piece of news. Not yet, at least. Not while the emotions it had stirred up were so fresh. Soul had enough on his plate without having to deal with her…family issues. Maka grimaced at the phrase.

At last, she straightened, steeling herself. She schooled her features into an expression that she hoped fit her tidings at least passably and opened the door.

Soul sat in his bed, leaning back against his pillows. Lost in thought, he absently rubbed his thumb over the smooth back of the teardrop-shaped amulet around his neck. He looked up as Maka entered. "So, what's the verdict?" he drawled. The partially-concealed anxiety in his eyes belied his casual tone.

"I think…I think we're going to be okay!" Maka told him, managing to smile genuinely. Soul's shoulders sagged in relief as Maka crossed the room and dropped into the chair by Soul's bed that she had inhabited for the last week and a half. She sighed, happy to be off her feet.

"C'mon, Maka, could you be any more vague?" Soul groused, pulling himself away from his pillows and leaning towards her. "Tell me what he said."

"Shinigami-sama says that you are to remain a Death Scythe," Maka explained. "You'll be registered at Shibusen and enrolled in both regular classes and special training just for Death Scythes. He wants us to stay at this branch of Shibusen…at the main school. You'll be just like a regular Death Scythe, except…" Maka hesitated, suddenly afraid of how he might react.

"Except what, Maka?" asked Soul, eyes narrowing. "Spit it out."

Maka bit her lip. "Except…you're not going to be Shinigami-sama's weapon. I will remain your meister."

In the sudden silence, the steady beeping of Soul's heart monitor and the quiet humming of machines seemed especially loud. Maka shifted slightly in her chair, the rustling of fabric clearly audible. Soul stared at her, expression unreadable. Slowly, he turned away, his eyes gazing unseeingly at the wall straight ahead of him. Maka watched him uneasily, shoulders tense.

"…It's because I'm crippled, isn't it?"

Maka flinched and looked down, not replying. Soul's hands clenched. The air between them was thick with tension. Maka could barely breathe.

Without warning, Soul swiveled around and slammed his palms down on the bed between himself and Maka. "Tell them you won't do it!" Soul hissed. Maka started at his forcefulness and looked up into his blazing eyes. "Tell them you want a different weapon!" His shoulders shook with rage.

"W-why?" Maka felt her own anger spark. "Are you tired of being my weapon?" she asked bitterly.

"No," Soul denied in a heartbeat.

"Then why are you getting so upset?" snapped Maka, eyes filling with hurt fury. "Is it because you wanted to be Shinigami-sama's weapon?"

"No!" shouted Soul. "It's because they're making it impossible for you to let me go! I'm a crippled weapon, Maka! You'll never get anywhere with a weapon like me! I'm holding you back!"

Maka stood abruptly, knocking her chair back. She grabbed the amulet around Soul's neck and yanked it harshly, dragging him forward until their faces were a scant inch apart. "You're holding me back?" she demanded, her voice dangerously quiet.

The silence stretched out as the two gazed into one another's eyes, one pair icy emeralds, the other flaming rubies. The amulet, clenched in Maka's fist, hung between them. Neither moved or blinked.

At last, Soul closed his eyes and made a quiet sound of irritation. He caught his amulet with one hand and used the other to shove Maka's hand away. Letting the pendant thump down against his chest, he crossed his arms and looked away from his meister. "You fight dirty," he muttered.

"Like you don't," retorted Maka, throwing herself into her chair. They glowered at one another, still simmering.

Stein watched them a few moments longer before soundlessly closing the door, unnoticed. "Interesting," he said to himself, chuckling quietly as he walked away. He would come back later, when things had cooled down a bit.


Author's Note: This is about most of the length most of the chapters will be. I don't know why the first two chapters turned out so long, but that's definitely not normal for me. A più tardi!

~Shenzuul