Soul lay idly on his side, his mask balanced in the palm of his outstretched hand. He could hear Masao behind the screen—shuffles of feet or hands he couldn't tell—but he refused to rise.
After a few more moments of aching silence, that petulance to his voice was back: "My lord."
"What?" he muttered in return, but he could feel the corner of his lip rising almost against his will. Why do I find it so funny? That annoyance I always manage to rile up in him seems endless, but at the same time…
"Are we just going to sit here all day?" Soul couldn't help a snort of a laugh and it was instantly replied to. "What's so funny?"
"Your mouth." There was an obstinate little "hmph" from beyond the screen as Soul rolled onto his back. Masao's silhouette was there, his head turned just right to give a profile of that delicate looking face. "Who did you serve before?"
The scoff came quickly after his question. "No one."
"Then why would you come here?"
"I had to," he answered flippantly before quickly swerving from the topic. "Again, my lord, it can't be good for you to lounge in bed all day but if you insist on it, at least do something for your mind. Staring at the ceiling isn't doing you any good."
His fingers tightened into the eye holes of his mask, creaking against the wood. I know it's not good for me, you little mother hen. He sighed away that bit of belligerence before eying the line of his face again. "What do you like to do?"
For once, there was flustered silence, just Masao's face forming new shadows as it seemed to look back and forth around the room.
Again, that weak pull started at his cheek. "You read, don't you?"
"I–" stuttered off into nothing.
"You've got a pile in the corner." He watched Masao's shoulders set tightly and an odd twinge of satisfaction knocked around his chest. "I don't recognize the titles."
"You don't seem to read all that much, so I'm not surprised," he spat back much to Soul's amusement.
He studied the shadow again, finding it fidgeting in his silence. "Then read to me."
"You can read by yourself!" There was a delightful huff of indignation, and Soul couldn't keep himself from another burst of chuckles.
He rolled back on his side, the picture of Masao drawn by the soft light lost from view. "It's that or nothin'."
There was another definitive huff before decided footsteps started. Reflexively, he pulled the mask to his face but found that they weren't stomping past the screen but instead behind it. Soul paused, mask sticking to his skin as he waited for Masao's shuffling to end. Finally, he settled and cleared his throat. "If I start, you're not to interrupt me."
He let the fresh air hit his skin as he pulled the mask away to uncover more than just a smile. "I wouldn't dare."
"If you're going to make fun of me–"
"Just read." He tried to suffuse that with as much of an annoyed sigh as he could manage, but the joy of it had almost entirely drowned it out. Why does this amuse me so much? Why do I crave all those little huffs and hums from him? Those questions were only drowned out by the sound of Masao starting a story between the blind.
Maka turned another page, a strange new joy starting to flutter in her chest. I've always loved stories… The easy excuse wandered around the back of her mind as she continued. At the end of the page, she paused to reach for the tea tray, taking one of the cups for a long, slow sip. With all the stress lately, it's nice to pretend– to have a moment that feels like old times.
"Do you need a break?" Soul murmured through the screen.
She watched his shadow grow, the height of his shoulders taking up the space. "Maybe more tea…" Maka smiled at the dregs in her cup, the reflexive elation still feeling alien to her. "I'll just–" Her offer stopped short as she heard the steady footsteps starting in the courtyard.
It was an echo of the past as Wes rushed up to the engawa, vial in one hand while the other clenched in a fist. "Soul, she's back for you."
She? Maka mind flooded with golden eyes and the scales of snakes.
He shuffled behind the screen before getting to his feet, his masked face covering any change from the calm she'd assumed the reading brought. "The physician?"
"Yes." Wes toyed with the vial in his fingers before offering it between them. "She's requesting an audience."
His hands stayed at his side. "She can't speak to you? Father?"
Wes shook his head firmly.
No—Maka's mind urged desperately—you can't take that again. You can't do that to your body again.
Soul's trembling fingers reached for the poison, making it disappear into his palm. "See if you can just hold her off for a little."
"Soul–"
His fist shook around the glass. "Please."
Wes's weakness brought his eyes to the floor. "I'll try," he murmured as he turned, hiding his shame with his back to them.
Maka waited for the footsteps to recede before she rushed to Soul's side, hand threatening in the air between them. "You can't take that."
As if he'd forgotten his company, Soul jumped, jerking himself away from her reaching hand. "If I don't–"
"If you do, who knows how badly you'll get hurt this time!" Her hand jutted out regardless of his fidgeting. "Give me the vial."
"Masao…" His hand was still inching away, fist loosening as he stared down at the ichor.
"How much more do you think your body can take?" Maka spat frankly, palm still begging for her quarry.
A shaky smile pulled at the corner of his lips. "What does it matter?"
"What?" Her question required no answer from him, and her body moved before he even had the chance to take the breath for it. There was no more pleading from her fingers, just a harsh jab as she smacked the poison from his palm. She barely even blinked as the glass shattered, just letting her frustration ring: "Purge that from your mind, Soul. No matter what you think you are, dying little by little at your own hands isn't something that you deserve."
His bewildered stare traced the lines of the liquid as it dribbled over the tatami mat.
"If you have to, smoke your pipe." Maka knelt, starting to daintily nip each piece of glass between her fingers to drop into her palm. "It'll stop the pain, right? It'll keep you from– well, from whatever goes wrong when you're with them."
A laugh that was nothing more than a choppy breath left his throat. "Masao, I can't."
"You can," Maka pressed back as she got to her feet, shards of glass carefully balanced in her hand. "Sit and have your pipe. I'll talk to her and buy you some time."
Franken's smooth, long strides brought him easily to the edge of the tumultuous life that had been breathed into the main hall. He'd heard the twittering about that thing's arrival– could feel the unease the snake bred in this den of mice. Suddenly, a whiff of something entirely different washed over him; not that woman's smug surety or the anxiety her presence created, but a swift wave of demand– of stubbornness.
He imagined the top-knot loosened, that flaxen hair making delicate waves over those thin shoulders and suddenly Masao was a ghost from years ago; Masao was nothing more than Rin, that upturned chin signaling trouble for everyone but the girl herself. If he'd had any doubt before of Masao's lineage, it was instantly gone. This was most certainly the little girl he remembered from atop Spirit's knee– the pigtailed, cherub-faced toddler that insisted on book after book much to her papa's delight.
Maka. He tried the name out, rolling it between synapses and finding it fitting. That's right. Maka. The only daughter of Rin and Spirit. An orphan that's not. "Masao," he called patiently.
None of the fury left those green eyes, but she slowed nonetheless. "I want you to stop making those vials," she hissed under her breath, inching close enough that it should be for Franken's ears only.
He wagged a silencing finger. "Maybe later we'll discuss your lord's medicines. Right now, no matter how much you'd like them not to, words travel." Franken glanced towards the opening of the hall. "Is it just you?"
"He's taking his pipe and then he'll come."
Franken snatched at this information like cornered prey, rolling it over with delight. "That wasn't his idea, now was it?"
Maka frowned. "You said later. Right now, that woman– Medusa needs to be–"
"Ah–" Franken cut her off with a jovial grin. "I'll see to that. You just wait here for your lord." Daggers from those green orbs were trying to slice into his back as he walked away, but they only aided in reviving the cat-like grin that graced his face as he headed into the snake's den.
It looked like nothing more than a fine tea party– trays of treats and porcelain pots strewn on platters between Wes and Medusa. The conversation seemed jovial enough– well, for Wes it did, but Franken easily spied that wink of reptilian displeasure that smoldered in those yellow eyes.
"Ah, and here's our physician now…" Wes waved a welcoming hand, motioning Franken next to him. "I believe he can attest to Asura's worries being unfounded."
A sly lean brought her hand against her cheek, head tilted in interest. "Hello, Franken. Nice to see you again."
"Is it?" His reply didn't diminish his smile as he settled against the mat.
"How is your wife? Your daughter?" All these niceties came with a twinkle in her eye that threatened to cool his blood.
"Not part of the matter at hand." Franken reached for a cup, watching the curls of steam as he filled it. "I thought I advised you and Asura some time ago that the boy's powers have been in flux."
"I thought in the light of the last page's injury, that would have changed." Her finger tapped playfully into her cheek. "And the last time Asura was with him, he seemed ill. Maybe too ill."
"The last page was an unfortunate accident." Franken couldn't keep the withering sigh from escaping his lips, trying to use it to cool his tea instead of the atmosphere. "There is no illness that's plaguing the young lord. Just his own mind."
A cool grin graced her features. "And that's why I've taken leave from Asura to spend some time concentrating on making the young lord see his potential."
"Oh, how generous…" Wes slipped a tentative glance at Franken before bending to refill Medusa's tea. "But are you sure his great lordship can afford to be without you?"
"His great lordship only cares about one thing: Soul's health."
And his duty– Franken's mind added with a special breed of disdain. It was times like these he couldn't help but let his mind wander to his wife– to that burden she and the boy shared. "So am I to assume Asura finds me lacking?"
A gravely laugh left Medusa as her eyes gleamed at him. "Don't tell me you're looking for compliments, Franken! So unlike you." Her lips curled joyously as she purred, "Don't worry, it has nothing to do with your skill. I simply have more experience with this considering I took care of his mother. Don't you remember, Master Wes?"
"Ah, yes"—Wes nodded along with the logic—"she did come to stay with us after I was born. Then with my sisters…" He let out a mournful sigh. "I believe Father credits you with–"
"Now, now, you'll make me blush!" This laugh bordered closer to lady-like as her hand fanned her face that gave no hint of changing color.
Regardless of the attempted diversion, Franken sunk his teeth into the idea. So, she's got something to do with this– as if I should be surprised. Maybe I should play nice, get what I can about that little issue with his blood that perhaps should go to her credit as well. "Then I'd love to compare notes. Perhaps there's some overlap between our research on the young lord's condition."
"Oh, a collaboration!" Cheer rang clearly in her voice, those golden eyes narrowing at him with a new delight. "Won't it be fun for the two of us to be together again?"
"You can."
Masao's stubborn words echoed in his brain through every pull from his pipe. While the smoke dulled him, those words did the opposite, breathing their stubborn life into him with each iteration.
You can't– that inky darkness was trying to drag him the other way, but there was more weight tugging him back to Masao.
Each step towards the hall should have brought with it the thudding ache of fear, but it was his memories that had started to carry him.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"That you're good."
"... dying little by little at your own hands isn't something that you deserve."
He should have left. I should have made him leave but– He moved out of the courtyard, a little more sluggish but at least not poisoned completely. I couldn't order it, not above a whisper, not with him awake. I can't because… Finding that was as easy as separating a drop from a tsunami. His hope of grabbing it was as thin as wrapping his fingers around a tendril of smoke, and the urge did nothing but flutter to a fever pitch as he entered the corridor and saw Masao there.
His face was still soured with dismay, but as soon as those green eyes fell on Soul they erupted in a new, tender sort of worry. He inched in close, leaving a whisper just for Soul: "You only smoked?"
"Only," he murmured.
"And you feel…?"
The exasperated sigh was nowhere near faked as that question reverberated in his mind. How do I feel? Why is it that you—a belligerent little page—refuse to leave me or my mind? "Tired," he grunted back. "Have you figured out why she's here?"
"The physicians are trading blows as we speak." Another centimeter of space left them, Soul now all too aware of how whispers still carried breath that could tickle skin. "But she's staying– that's the verdict, and I don't see anyone stopping her. Be careful."
Careful would be drinkin' the poison. Sendin' myself half into a coma just to keep from slippin' up– from showin' what I really am. The smoke works—mostly—but there's still a chance. "Do me a favor."
The tiny start of a smile crept up the corner of his mouth. "Haven't I done you enough favors for today?"
"It's the physician in there talking to her, not you." Masao's smile was contagious, threatening to spread across his face as well.
A hint of a pout wrinkled the space between his eyebrows. "The nerve. The reading, your kosode–" he was flinging fingers violently with each on his list.
Soul waved a gentle hand—not touching, since there was no chance he'd risk that—but just to waft away the annoyance of it. "Just– could you say it again?"
Pure confusion blinked back at him. "Say what?"
All the thread of old wounds wanted to tie this tightly on his tongue. The dark thing that wrestled inside of him even threatened to squash his heart, but still he forced the words: "Tell me I can do this." Had he ever seen pink touch Masao's cheeks before? Or seen his lip quiver with utter uncertainty at what to say? And there was no denying how that spurred the tempo of his heart regardless of the way the smoke was supposed to slow it. "Please."
Masao's hands twitched upwards, a reach that turned into tight fists that fell back to his side. "You have to, so you can."
"Thanks." Soul nodded slowly, bringing a hand up to rake through his hair. The grin had caught now, growing to a smirk that while in a small way joyful, still heavily weighed into the guilt of his next thought: I know what it is… I need him. I need Masao.
