10. Adjusting, Adjusting; The First Week Home

Soul Evans woke up that morning in a room that felt both familiar and foreign to him.

Death City. He was in the Death City. Both curious and excited, Soul got out of bed and opened the window. He looked out on the street, impressed.

The view from the fifth floor window wasn't necessarily the best, but it overlooked the street Maka lived on. No, the street they lived on. This was his home too, to some extent.

Just like the rest of the city, it had an almost mish mashed gothic-and-modern art feel, with cobblestone streets and old, black lamp posts, but buildings that leaned a bit and were more colorful than not. It comforted Soul. Could this be his old feelings of the city itself?

Shrugging, Soul left the curtains open and looked around his room.

He didn't have a chance to explore the night before, being too tired to care too much. Now that it was morning Soul decided to do some snooping. Did it count as snooping if he had lived there before? Did it count as snooping if he was going through his own things?

Soul just shook his head. It was too early to do that much thinking. Besides, he wanted to know more about himself.

Snooping time!

Soul began to go through all of the drawers and shelves, trying to determine what the old Soul Evans was like. Who was he before the accident? What kind of life did a Death Scythe live?

The closet was full of practical clothing, many of it black, white, grey, and red. The drawers, meanwhile, had an array of colorful t-shirts folded neatly in them. The shelves were lined with textbooks on soul theory and foreign languages, CDs, and records, as well as a few odd knicknacks. His desk drawers were more interesting. One had the usual school supplies—notebooks, pens, pencils, erasers, highlighters. Another had file folders with job applications and resumes. The bottom one, which was the largest, was filled to the point of bursting with sheet music.

Soul frowned. He hadn't expected that. He pulled out the front stack of them (again, surprised by the organization) and flipped through it.

Half of it was pieces he'd never seen before, all of them for piano. Lots of the pieces had colorful sticky notes attached to them. Soul squinted at them. That wasn't his handwriting.

Played on Kid's birthday, Winter Solstice: 12/21/XX

New piece I found at Death Note's Music. Wonder if Soul will play it for me?
6/12/XX

Concert: 5/1/XX

Angela's 11th birthday party Black*Star's place: 6/6/XX

A few were accompanied by photographs that were paper clipped to them. Soul flipped through them with interest. Whoever had taken these clearly had an artistic eye. They mostly focused on him playing the piano with a serene look on his face. Weird. Had he always been this relaxed playing the piano? Others, though, had his standing and smiling with people. Soul recognized many of them from the people he'd met yesterday.

My friends, he reminded himself.

There was Lord Death shaking his hand, the two of them smiling. Another where there was a young girl Soul assumed was Angela running around as Black*Star chased her. There was one of Soul talking to Liz (or was this Patty?) as he leaned away from a piano at a cafe. And then the last one…

My birthday! 9/5/XX

Soul stared at it long and hard. It was a picture of him and Maka—so Maka was the one who'd made all the notes. He had an arm draped around her shoulder, and her arms wrapped around his waist. They were both smiling. Maka's beam was wide, while his was a bit more reserved. There was no doubt the two of them were very comfortable with their closeness in the photograph.

Soul swallowed a lump in his throat as he put it away. There was an intimacy about that photograph that bothered him. Maka had definitely held him at arm's length when they arrived to the apartment last night. It made him wonder if that photo was even true.

"Quit being an idiot, Soul," he muttered to himself. "She's just being polite cuz you're total strangers now."

The weapon decided to change into one of the t-shirts and a pair of jeans before heading out of his bedroom. Already there was a flurry of movement there. His new...old(?) roommate was listening to some classical music while cooking pancakes on a skillet. She turned and beamed at him as he sauntered in.

"Good morning, Soul!" Maka chirped. "I've already started on breakfast, if you can grab a couple of plates."

"Yeah, sure," he said. He hesitated, however, upon entering the kitchen. "Um, Maka?"

"Hm?"

"Where do you keep the plates?"

"Oh!" Maka turned, pointing. "My bad. The far left cupboard. Cups should be in there too. I'd like a glass for orange juice. If you want coffee, just grab a mug."

The thought of coffee wasn't that appetizing to Soul, he nodded. He settled on two glasses instead. Right as he set the plates down, Maka laid out the forks and knives. She moved around him with ease, like it was a practiced movement. A second later there was a tall stack of pancakes in the middle of the table and two smaller plates of sausage in front of both their seats.

"Dig in!" she announced.

Soul sat down across from Maka. "No Blair?"

"She had work this morning. She hates waking up early, but that means she gets a bigger bonus from the fishmonger, so she'll take it."

Soul chuckled, remembering his embarrassing reaction to her very fine figure. "Makes sense."

Maka gave Soul and odd look at his reaction, but said nothing.

"Sure you don't want coffee?" she said instead.

"I'm sure."

Maka rolled your eyes. "Don't blame me if you're a big ol' grouch later today."

Soul paused while cutting his sausage. "Am I one of those reliant-on-coffee-to-function type of people?"

"You…" Maka paused as well, setting her cutlery down. "You were, yeah."

They fell into silence, unsure how to continue. Soul was the first to clear his throat.

"That probably explains why I was grouchy at the hospital and at home."

"Probably."

The two fell into an awkward silence. Soul cleared his throat.

"I'm gonna eat."

Maka nodded vigorously. "Yes, please do!"

He took three pancakes off the top of the stack, slathering them in syrup and peanut butter. His eyes lit up as he took a bite.

"This is good!"

"Of course it is. It's my Papa's recipe. The one thing he's good at," Maka grumbled.

Soul raised his eyebrow. "You and your old man not on good terms?"

Maka snorted. "It's getting better. You used to hear me complain about him all the time."

Soul grinned. "Oh yeah? So should I expect to still hear about him a little bit now?"

"Maybe. Depending on if he does something stupid."

Unsure of where to start, Soul hesitated a moment. "I... know that you already know me, but… I feel like I should get to know you more, considering we're living together and all. If you're okay with it, that is..."

"Of course! If you have any questions, please ask away! That's what I'm here for, after all!" Maka sent a reassuring and confident smile. He's helped her out so many times already. It was time for her to help him.

Soul felt himself relax. From the little bit of conversation they had now, he could already tell she was an amazing person.

"Your birthday's September 5th, right?"

Maka looked shocked. "How did you know that?"

"I found some old pictures in my room," Soul said. He hesitated. "I was snooping around a bit. That's not weird or anything, right?"

"Well, it is your room," said Maka.

Ah.

"Right. We have a magical pet cat too."

"That we do."

"How'd that even happen?"

Maka's expression turned sour. "That was due to our biggest failure."

Soul wanted to pry, but he could tell this was a sore spot for Maka. And for him too, judging by her wording. He decided to change the subject.

"So we've been living here for five years, right? Do we clean up after ourselves, or take turns, or have designated chores."

Maka pointed towards the fridge. "There's the weekly chores list. You, me, and Blair rotate through them, though we've started doing her share too since she's actually using her money for rent now instead of new clothes."

"Cool." Soul paused. "Did I have a favorite chore?"

Maka snorted a bit. "Dishes. You like listening to music while you do them. And you're honestly a better cook than me at this point. In return, I fold your laundry too."

"How domestic," Soul said with a laugh. "Talking about the old me and you sounds like an old married couple."

CLANG.

Soul looked up at Maka dropped her fork on the ground. She blushed a bit, bending over to pick it up.

Soul felt guilty. "Sorry. Too inappropriate?"

"No no, it's fine. You were joking."

It was definitely not fine. Maka was taking an extra large drink of orange juice. Soul picked at a pancake. Was this sort of joking bad? Did Maka not like him teasing her about being in a relationship with him? Was that an untold rule that old Soul just knew and he, new Soul, had forgotten?

"I mean, it's a fair assessment," Maka said suddenly. "There are lots of weapons and meisters who end up in relationships. Like my parents."

"Your parents were like us?"

"Yeah. Mom's a meister, Dad's the Death Scythe. They had me when they were eighteen, and got married soon after. Though they got divorced when I was thirteen."

Soul nodded, choosing to shovel more pancake into his mouth. He tried to formulate a game plan in his head for the next couple of days.

Step One: no more awkward questions.

That seemed like a good starting place.

. . . . . . . . . .

The next few days was time at home. Soul spent it reacquainting himself with the apartment and getting used to Maka's presence (and Maka getting back used to his presence as well.) Sure, Soul could have explored more, but they had almost two weeks for that. Besides, it was nice to spend a day at "home" after long travels. He'd asked her questions about various things in their tidy home, observed her habits and routines, talked about the photographs he found, about his pursuit in music.

Soaking up all the information in just this one place alone was tiring on his mind. Soul couldn't imagine what it would be like to retrain at the DWMA.

What was frustrating about the whole process, though, was how little Soul was actually remembering. He'd panicked when Maka told him his towel had died when he couldn't find it (an apparent inside joke they'd had for years, but still). He had a nosebleed from seeing Blair naked, which she teased him for relentlessly.

The worst was with Maka, though. It was almost like there was a barrier between him and her, and Soul had no idea how to get across it.

Trying to feel less useless, Soul had insisted on helping with dinner the fourth night home. Maka was reluctant at first. It was difficult to get her to slow down enough for him to actually do anything. In the end though, Soul successfully convinced her that he wanted to feel helpful, wanted to learn how they worked together before, and that the only way to do that was to participate.

Even then, Maka was a control freak.

"Maybe I can wash dishes while you finish up the pasta?" he suggested.

"Relax! I've got it handled. I'll get them later. Just get the potatoes out of the cupboard."

It was frustrating, seeing her push herself so. Was she always this stubborn? Or had he become a burden already? Soul retrieved the potatoes and tossed them onto the cutting board. He also grabbed the nearby knife and peeler.

"Well, at least let me chop these, then."

"Soul, let me do it!" Maka snapped.

Soul felt a pang of irritation. Said irritation got the better of him.

"No, I'm cutting the potatoes because you always do it weird!"

Both weapon and meister froze at that. Strange, they hadn't had a single potato since his return. So how?

Maka was the first to speak. "Did you just—"

"I did," Soul said, staring back at her, "didn't I?"

Maybe… maybe there was hope!

. . . . . . . . . .

Strange how silent the apartment was. There was no stirring about, no footsteps going back and forth, no music, no heavenly scents of food.

"Maka?"

A pause. No reply. Concerned, Soul stepped out of his room and into the kitchen. Answering his question was a note left on the counter.

Hey Soul,

I had to run an errand for Kid back at the DWMA, so I won't be home until the afternoon. We're out of groceries (I forgot you didn't know this week's usually your turn). Run down to the market and grab some things. If a vendor calls you by name, just ask for the usual.

Maka

P.S. Grocery money's in the leftmost cupboard in the kitchen, in the fish-looking thing. Though you say it looks like a dragon. Reusable bags are in the box next to the umbrella rack by the door.

Soul frowned at the container. It...did resemble a dragon. Where did Maka see a fish in it? There was no way that face was a fish. He'd have to ask her about that later.

Shaking his head at the ambiguously-designed receptacle, Soul grabbed a few deathbucks from it and put it back on its shelf. He'd forgotten that Death City had its own currency due to the mass influence of the former shinigami. It was amazing that the system was still around.

Soul was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even realize he'd arrived at the market without a single wrong turn.

Strange, he thought. Maka never gave me directions to the place. And yet here he was, roaming about it like he'd never left it in the first place. His instinct seemed to lead him right, though, so he continued following it.

"Well if it isn't Mr. Soul himself!"

Soul looked up from Maka's letter, a short list jotted on the other side. Sure enough, there was a portly woman with a big smile on his face waving him over.

"Heard from Miss Maka you were off on a mission out of the country with a few others. How was that?"

"Interesting," he concluded. "Long story. Better saved for later."

There, that answer would surely satisfy anyone who asked. By the time he was back out, they'd have forgotten to ask again. Soul glanced down at the bakery items presented. Unsure of what to pick, Soul recalled the letter: just ask for the usual.

His pondering was interrupted, reminding Soul fo how long he'd been dumbfoundingly standing idle. "What, you forgot the taste of my bread, did you?"

Yes, he thought, but tried to play along. He smiled instead, and said, "It's been a while. I think you'll have to remind me."

The baker chortled. "Cheeky boy. Death's weapon or not, you've been my favorite customer for five years!"

"Your bread is good enough for me to come back for five years, then."

"Course it is!" The baker handed Soul a large bag with two loaves and a couple of chocolate croissants in it. "12.5, same as always."

That didn't seem right. Soul frowned. "Including the croissants?"

"Bah, that's on the house! If you had your way, you'd probably buy them out and get a real tongue-lashing from your partner about it. I still remember when you two were about, oh I reckon 14? You spent 100 notes here and she smacked you across the head with a book! Called you a glutton, she did! You called her stingy in return."

Soul chuckled. Everyday he learned something new. Chocolate croissants, huh? Sounded good! Also, these shopkeepers probably knew him better than he knew himself.

"Well, thanks! It was good seeing you again." Even though I don't remember you.

The rest of the shopping continued like that. A stand owner would call out to Soul jovially, he'd make small talk while they all gave him the usual—sausages and beef, a surprisingly heavy bag of fish crackers for Blair, a small block of cheddar cheese and a much larger one of mozzarella, tomatoes, carrots, spinach, mushrooms, and a whole flock of spices Soul didn't know the names or uses of—and sent him on his way. By the end of the afternoon Soul's head was swimming with faces and his arms were laden with groceries.

Soul all but collapsed when he finally made it to the front door of the apartment. Five flights of stairs was much harder than he'd thought. How had Maka managed to carry his suitcase so easily while running up them last week? He should've taken the elevator!

Shaking his head and hoping Maka wasn't in to see his weak, panting state, Soul unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"Maka? Blair?"

No reply.

Soul kicked off his shoes and ambled into the kitchen. He began emptying all the bags and putting the perishables into the fridge. Then he went about washing the dishes because he felt he had nothing better to do. Thirty minutes later Soul was lounging on the couch with one of the old soul theory books that was in his room. The material was dense. How had he managed to remember all this at thirteen?

. . . . . . . . . .

"Hey Soul."

Soul looked up from from the couch, his books scattered on the cushion as Maka entered. She hung her keys on the ring next to the door and entered their apartment.

"Hey," he greeted back. "How was your day?"

"Busy. Kid wanted to know how you were doing, and I had my last exam. Looks like you've been doing some recollecting."

"Yeah… oh, sorry! Let me…" Soul panicked, picking up his materials into a neat stack again on a table beside him. "Here, have a seat."

She sat down heavily on the couch next to Soul. He decided not to comment on the distance she purposely put between them, cleaned up mess or not.

"How was shopping?" Maka asked.

"Good," Soul said, surprised by his own honesty. "Everyone was super nice. It was cool."

"You always liked going out and gossiping with the market people," Maka mused. "Then you'd call me a introvert and force me outside."

Soul grinned. He did enjoy hearing about this, though there was always a pang of longing accompanied with each missing memory discussed.

"I took you for an outdoorsy type."

"Death no! I'm much happier inside with a book."

Standing back up, Maka made her way back to the kitchen, pondering a hot tea. There was always something soothing about a hot tea after a long day. She'd expected to have to hunt, after realizing she didn't tell her partner where anything was supposed to go. Instinctively, she checked the first place she always did. Top cabinet above the stove.

Lucky guess maybe? Oh, well she was already in the kitchen anyway. No harm in getting everything else arranged back to normal! Opening cabinet after cabinet, it seemed strange. Everything was right where she would expect them to be. And she hadn't even told him where to put them!

"Is everything okay, Maka?" Soul asked ten cabinet doors later. Oh Death, had he forgotten something?

"You put the groceries back in the right place," Maka noted.

Soul sat up. "Really?"

The meister was regarding the open refrigerator carefully.

"Yeah," she concluded, "you did. Guess that means something is coming back to you, huh?"

"It could be muscle memory…" But Soul did feel a bit hopeful by that. It'd only been five days and he'd already began falling into a rhythm. It felt nice to be doing something everyone was deeming right.

Which reminded him…

"So, care to tell me about the dragon-fish?"

Maka groaned loudly. "I am not having this argument with someone who can't remember the first six hundred times we've been over this!"

"All the more reason to tell me it again," Soul countered. "I need to hear your side of the story. Who knows? Maybe I'll agree with you this time."

"You won't, and you should know that!"

Soul shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"I swear, Soul! I'm not doing this! Just accept that it's a fish! End of story."

There was no winning this, so Soul opted to change the topic. They had plenty of chances to argue later. "So… when am I going to get to see the DWMA again?"

This got a gasp from his meister. "I almost forgot!"

"Hm?"

"I was asked by Dr. Stein to bring you back to school in two days." Maka paused. "You remember him, right?"

Soul hesitated. "Um…"

"He was one of the doctors who was with you during recovery after you woke up."

Oh, that's what Maka meant by it. Soul relaxed a bit. "Yeah, him. The guy with the weird scars all over him. Why him?"

"Right, you don't know. He's one of the teachers. Probably the most powerful meister alive at the moment. His wife's a Death Scythe and a teacher at the DWMA as well."

Soul's jaw dropped. "Wait, really? That's so cool!"

"I'm actually babysitting their daughter tomorrow, if you want to come along."

"They have a kid?!"

Maka smirked. "There's a betting pool on whether or not she'll be a meister or a weapon."

"And… Have you bet?"

"She'll be a weapon," said Maka with confidence. "She and her mother, Marie, are really similar. You'll see what I mean when you meet her."

. . . . . . . . . .

Stein's house was more interesting than anything. It carried a blend of homeliness, and yet a feeling of experimentation. With no real theme, various knick knacks screamed both "scientist" and "soldier" at the same time. Soul and Maka sat on an obviously home-reupholstered couch, stitches where people normally didn't repair, but instead replaced.

Victoria Stein, their young daughter, resembled her mom more than her dad. She had bright brown eyes and ashy hair that curled around the bottom. She was all smiles and pep. Soul was immediately put at ease by her presence, the young girl warming up to him in a matter of seconds and taking his hand, dragging him over to the living room where there was a pen of guinea pigs set up.

"You can play with Mr. Fluffles!" she chirped, plopping one of them casually into Soul's lap.

Mr. Fluffles squeaked indignantly, trying to scratch and flee from Soul's lap. The weapon held on for dear life. The look he shot Maka was a mix of fear and hopelessness, which made Maka in turn laugh.

"She seems to really like you," Marie began. "Can you look after her, Soul? Maka and I will make some tea."

"Oh, um, sure?" The guinea pigs alone would be enough to keep Victoria occupied.

Maka followed behind Marie until they were out of Soul's sight.

"So, how are things going, Maka?"

"They're okay," the meister replied. "It's been a bit weird trying to adjust without the…intimacy."

"I can imagine."

"But… he is starting to remember some things. He put all the groceries away without being told where or how. He found the marketplace and his way back home alone. So I guess that's one good thing. I just… I don't know. It's still off, somewhat. I just wish I knew how long I'll have to wait for everything to be normal again."

"If he's remembering things now, I'm certain he'll eventually be back around. Just give it some time, okay?"

Maka nodded, holding back the tears that threatened to swell in her eyes. Marie was right. She just needed to be patient. "Yeah. I supposed I'm just happy to have him back home, at least."

Marie smiled, wrapping her arms around Maka in a tight hug. "I'm so glad!"

Holding Maka at an arm's length to look the meister in the eyes again. "See? It's all starting to look up!"

Just then, the sound of a door interrupted their personal conversation.

Marie looked up. "Oh, looks like Dad's home."

"Hey guinea pig!" Stein called out.

"Daddy!"

Marie was smiling happily as she walked back into the living room to greet her husband. Soul was sitting in shock over the fact that Dr. Stein had just called his daughter a guinea pig.

"How's my little girl?"

"I'm GREAT!" Victoria stood and ran as well as a toddler could to Soul's side, a guinea pig in her tight squeeze. "Mr. Soul here is playing with me!"

The doctor looked back at Soul, who continued to struggle in keeping Mr. Fluffles in control. He chuckled a bit. "Soul, good to see you again. How has your reintegration been going?"

"It's going good. A lot of… information to take in, I suppose?" It was hard to say things were normal, when he wasn't sure what 'normal' was yet. The small amount of time he'd been back in Death City wasn't truly enough to offer a comparison opinion.

"Of course. Well, don't worry, we won't be long tonight. You'll get to rest that mind of yours soon." The gaze in Dr. Stein's eyes seemed to express something further, something unspoken. It made Soul wonder just what was soon to come.

Stein smiled. It seemed uncharacteristically bright. "Well then, I have dinner plans with my lovely wife. See you tomorrow!"

And with that, it was him and Mr. Fluffles sitting in the middle of the living room. Soul eyed the guinea pig, who had calmed down considerably.

"Alright man, it's us and this little girl. We gotta keep her entertained. Are you with me?"

The guinea pig, as all guinea pigs do, just squeaked. Soul nodded.

"Good man."

From across the room, Maka watched on with a smile on her face.

Maybe things weren't perfect, but they were getting there.