after
They had warned her when she was in the midst of warning herself, not when it mattered, not when she was jumping blindly into danger.
Marie hadn't been stupid before. She was well aware of the danger that living with him would pose. If only she hadn't let her guard down, if only she never let him sleep in her room like that. If only this had happened when she was prepared to face it.
She kept Psyche from going to school and had sobbed into shoulder until midday, an ice pack pressed against her stomach. Her wails were loud, pain carrying through every vibration that even the photos in the frames seemed to pity her. Spirit brought her ice cream and hot chocolate and fried chicken but she couldn't eat. Everything hurted. Everything.
They never said I told you so or we warned you or you stupid little girl, they just let her cry and stood by her side, offering whatever comfort they could give. They gave her a silent shoulder without the judgmental nature that everyone seemed to possess, just the warmth of a friend that she never seemed to have enough of. She appreciated that.
Perhaps what she had expected was I'll show him what a lack of trust means or I'll cut him up and won't sew him together or I'll make him regret ever stepping foot into the DWMA, but not a glimpse of a vengeful comment was mentioned. It wasn't because they wouldn't kill him if she asked, (nor because she asked), but because the three of them knew that even if her heart didn't need Stein, her future as a Death Scythe sure did.
She had one witch soul left and then she could leave him and never see his face again, which just thinking about sent a thrill into her body. Marie could start a new life where no one would doubt her if she said the scars were just from surgeries and she could find a man who wouldn't break her heart the way he did.
Yet sometimes she watched as Spirit and Psyche argued about his infidelity and wondered how the two of them ever got there. Where once they were convinced that their husbands or boyfriends would be saints, one constantly cheated and the other cut others open. Now, all she wanted to do was to kill every existing man alive and live by herself in a world of peace and harmony.
Even if she tried to convince herself that she could move on, Marie knew that she couldn't snap her fingers and forget about Stein like she hadn't devoted years of her life to him.
Sleep was harder to come by these days and in the darkest part of the night as she slept, it wasn't the fading scar that burned the most but her broken soul who longed for him back.
He never apologized for what he did.
It wasn't like she expected him to, for Spirit had gone through much worse than she did and even he wasn't offered an apology. After all, Stein had never been known for his compassion nor his ability to mend relationships. They were different in that way.
Marie had always been good with people, she understood them and loved them and could empathize with them to her own enjoyment. She knew their strengths, their weaknesses, their passions, their hates, and people were predictable. She knew how to fix them, to say just the right words and validate their fears and lift off a burden of doubt just by speaking to them. Even with Stein, she had known just like everyone else that their relationship was doomed to end, she had only been blinded by glowing hope.
Yet Stein could fix people when they were injured, sewing up their wounds and sending them back on their way. Because even in his most destructive tendencies he could always fix what he had done, but only if he wished too. If he had wished to, perhaps far fewer lives would have been lost to such a maniacal mind and if he wished to perhaps he would have been compassionate.
She had thought that he did not lack that compassion in the beginning, when he let her move in colourful furniture and taught him to cook and when he'd be careful not to hurt her in any case but she realized that it wasn't what compassion was. He had only ever treated her well in a situation where she had practically been his slave and when she demanded more, he would turn his head and refuse. Compassion couldn't be compassion when he couldn't offer it without needing someone to give it up first.
She gave him all she could afford to offer and he took more.
The deep thought of "what now" constantly settled in her mind, digging its way into her darkest imagination.
They were over. So irrevocably, immediately, unfortunately over. He wasn't dense enough to deny that.
Marie hadn't sought the bravery to face him, not after what he did, not after nights were spent wondering how he handled her organs and intestines and whether or not he felt a thrill with pressing a ten-blade into her skin. She sometimes threw up just thinking about it, for her empathy could not extend to the thought of revelling in the pleasure of causing someone harm. At this point she was unable to look him in the eye, she shrank away from his presence.
On the rare occasion that she would accidentally meet his gaze were gut-wrenching and terrible. Because how could his green-grey eyes be so lost and how come the only time he would look at her outside tasks was by coincidence, and how could he act like she was a mere stranger to him? Every time she felt his apathy was another stab in a pre-existing wound and she didn't know how she could go on for much longer.
And as much as she shouldn't have, she missed him. She sat by his side every day and she didn't look at his notes or his hands as she heard them practicing beneath the table yet longed for another one of those accidental brushes she was so careful not to give. They no longer cooked together, she rarely ate anyway and she found no need to anymore. In the end, the bowls of instant ramen piled up and stale bread was left on the counter.
The apartment once again lingered with the heavy smell of smoke and perhaps the only consolation that he was not completely unaffected by her distance was the counting of 24 cigarettes in the ashtray each day, compared to 20, from before he had quit for her. Yet she could never wish for his demise and she did not take any pleasure in his lungs burning after her departure.
She locked her bedroom door nowadays and in her sleepless fits she'd hear him hovering again, the way he used to. He never tried the knob, however. Perhaps he was too afraid to even touch it, perhaps he had heard the sound of the lock clicking shut before she went to sleep. Had he only knocked, she would have opened it for him. She wouldn't know what to say in the slightest but had he even just stood here, maybe she'd feel an ounce of steady relief.
They still talked to each other sometimes, only the conversations they couldn't avoid anymore. New tasks, the progress between Spirit and Psyche, their approach into defeating the witch...but they both knew that even if they could maintain their professionality, it would be hard when she could barely look him in the eye, much less keep a soul resonance.
Their opportunity came up as her pain started to level out, and the grief she felt started to fade like soft graphite.
She didn't know if she could defeat a witch in a state like this and if she was being realistic, neither was the rest of the school. But in any case, Lord Death assigned them a task and both of them had too much pride to refuse. In her heart, fear loomed that this time when she threw her body in front of him, she wouldn't make it out and neither would he.
Marie knocked on his door the afternoon before, he was reading a dissection book, not dissecting. It was a surprise in itself. She didn't mention it, however.
"We need to talk." her voice had barely been a breath but he heard it nonetheless. Stein was still, his eyes glued to the book, but it was clear he was not reading anymore. His long hands slowly brought the pages together and he met her gaze, intentionally. It was the first time in a while he had done so. And for the first time, she felt like he truly looked sorry.
"We need to talk," he agreed.
They sat on the couch, but she had no energy to say anything. She waited for him to start. It took him a long wait before he pushed his glasses up and sighed.
"You've lost weight,"
Marie was shocked, her body heating in anger. She felt like she could electrocute him. "Shut up! It's very rude to comment on—"
"No, let me rephrase. You haven't been eating. You need to eat."
But of course he would know that she had lost weight. He knew every part of her, every curve and corner, every wound, every scar. Her dresses didn't hug the right places anymore. She had to change her bra size. And worst of all, she was no longer as strong as she used to be.
Stein then pulled out a sandwich box, one that she bought, and he handed it to her. She peeled open the lid and she had to hold back tears.
A caprese sandwich was placed perfectly in the middle. She examined the inside, she had no criticisms. He had done it perfectly. Marie took a bite, it tasted just like the ones he made.
He watched her eat the whole sandwich, she had eaten it quickly, nearly devouring it because god she had not eaten a proper meal in weeks, always throwing up or sleeping and lacking appetite. She was cautious of his gaze, as she finished she wiped her hands and folded them neatly across her lap. She was so sick of being sad, so sick of his pitiful looks on the rare occasion she would catch his gaze and the strain it brought them when she was vulnerable and hurt. She wanted things to be normal. She wanted to pretend.
Marie smiled, her eyes did as well. She thought happy thoughts, morphed her own emotions to what would only be suitable to him.
"So, what shall we talk about?" she asked, feigning sunshine. It worked, it always did in the lesser situations, the ones that didn't involve aggravated assault. Sometimes, if she smiled hard enough at least some of her pain would be lifted and her act would be half a lie rather than whole. But here she knew that her attempts to change her emotions were fruitless, even if convincing.
He looked so extremely confused, his eyes glued onto her as if he were contemplating whether or not he should peer into her soul or if that would be accepting defeat. "You said you wanted to talk first,"
"Yes, but you agreed with me, remember? Go ahead, Stein,"
He slowly thought through options. "I have already spoken, I offered you the sandwich,"
"Which was very good, thank you." she grinned. A part of her felt sociopathic, kind of like how she saw him most of the time. However, disinterest in someone else's harm and disinterest in your own were completely different things. "Well then I guess I will start."
He seemed surprised that she would give in so easily.
"How do you expect we kill the witch when our souls are further apart than ever?"
He definitely was astonished now, as if he had lifted his guard but only to the wrong place, dealing with the repercussions of such a careless move.
Stein stared at her more intensely than he ever did and she didn't shy away from his gaze. Instead, she held it with her easily plastered on innocence and she could see the egotistical, so explicitly manly part of him realize that perhaps none of the emotions she had ever displayed for him were as they seemed, that every happy moment could have been anger or fear or disgust. He could live with the question of who really is Marie Mjolnir if not peppy and cheerful and sweet and so fucking simple.
Because while it wasn't like she always tried to deceive others and while the majority of it was truly real, if one day was fake, there was a chance that every other could be too.
"Did only a sandwich do this to you?" he asked cautiously.
"You did this to me, of course," she replied. "I'm just coping,"
His face drained of colour like a wilting rose. He allowed his mouth to hang agape in shock and the fragments of guilt and regret released through his uneven breath.
"Look, Marie, I—" he cut himself on then. She waited for him to complete his sentence, and found the apology she so desperately craved about to spill from the corners of his stitched-up lips.
"Yes?"
Stein was still like a statue. And still, he didn't apologize "I don't know how to fix us,"
"Temporarily," she said, surprising herself even then, though she wouldn't let it show. The words had tumbled through her voice without a second thought, as if she had been prepared to say that her entire life.
"What?"
Her words betrayed her, speaking on their own, her self-control and self-preservation flying out the window with a singular blow. "We'll fix it like we always do, temporarily. We always just ignore the shit we need to talk about and leave it for another time. So we'll leave it again, just one more time. And after that, I will be a death scythe, and this issue at hand will no longer be an issue we have to face,"
He seemed doubtful, but when she crawled onto his lap and buried her lips into the crook of his neck, reaching her hands under his stitched-up sweater, most of these doubts seemed to quickly wash away.
They had killed their last victim on the thrill of endorphins and she joked to herself that having sex was their secret weapon. However, that thought couldn't be more inaccurate. Having sex was never a weapon because had they been somewhat of a normal weapon-meister duo they wouldn't have had so much trouble even working together. Stein and Marie were simply broken and having sex was just a bandage over a wound that would never heal. Her wound mostly.
And Marie wasn't some horny sex-starved freak, she was more or less intimacy-starved and for her, it was the only way to let herself in the door where Franken Stein wasn't so strange and seemed more human than robot. She just wished she wasn't so emotional and didn't get attached so easily, when she had no real reason to.
Sometimes, she wondered how deep the cut between their souls really was. Because when he swung her like she was simply an extension of his body and she his movements were predictable like her heart beating in her chest, Marie doubted that this was made from simply a a good fuck. Perhaps that was the question. How much had she held herself away from him, denying that just because his soul was incapable of even a little bit of love, perhaps it was all that was needed for them to work.
Maybe the sex wasn't a trigger, it was just an excuse to forgive him for the darkest parts of her soul, the parts so jagged by his sharp blade of betrayal that no one, not even him, could ever fix them.
The purple, glowing witch soul was terrifying, unlike any kishin egg she had consumed before. It radiated hatred, anger, fear… all the emotions she was supposed to face. How would she swallow this down? Yet as she held the orb in her hand and watched its shape struggle from her grasp, she could only decide that while the path to obtaining this last soul was a season of stories in itself, the fight was too easy.
She had made one sacrifice for this soul, and that was her left eye. A terrible sacrifice indeed, one that only heightened her bad sense of direction. It wasn't like she was ever so dependent on her eyesight when she wasn't a meister. Her body was more valuable than her senses and she thought about all the other sacrifices that could have been made: years in a hospital bed, a lifetime of PTSD, emotional instability, a meister's life… she still had another eye.
But even then, the loss of her eye was a reckless decision, a painful one, yes, but this fight had been so much easier than the other witches they had failed against, and quick too. It almost seemed like this soul was not theirs to take by the pure simplicity of the action. It had taken one strike to the chest to end the witch, and now she was going to become a death scythe.
Marie realized that it wasn't the simplicity that bothered her, it was the fact that while this soul undoubtedly belonged to her, so did every other witch that they fought and failed. She was strong, dammit, and she had let her heartbreak over a fucking boy let those fights slip away like wasted wine. Any day, she would throw her body away to protect him but she wouldn't let him choose to take away her eye.
It was not the first time she cried in front of him but it sure felt like it, breaking into a sobbing mess with her knees on the floor. Her body shook the way he once did by her bedside, but she mourned her own loss. She mourned for herself and the pain she could have avoided all for the sake of him, a man who had never loved her.
Even then, he could not understand her grief or understand what exactly she was crying about.
When Marie Mjolnir's tears had finally stopped, she was a Death Scythe, one of the most powerful weapons to exist.
Marie was really fucking tired.
Yes, tired. That was the best word to describe what she was feeling. She was exhausted, and she wanted a relaxing life that no longer put stress into her body. Demon Hammer Mjolnir just wanted to settle down in a nice cottage with flowers around her yard, wake up every day with the motivation to clean and develop a series of cookbooks, and receive a call from Lord Death once every six years.
She requested to be stationed in Oceania, where she had heard was the most peaceful of the continents, with beautiful weather and bright green oceans and coral and her duties as a Death Scythe would be few. And her powerful position must be quite an attractive trait where she could easily find a boyfriend to date, maybe marry. The life ahead of her was exciting, she would get a huge apartment with equally large windows and after she got married, she could settle down.
But of course, such a transition was not exactly a quick one and she was still packing, taking down frames, pictures, and paintings. He tended to watch her pack, her suitcases and boxes filled more with her extensive collection of pretty dresses and shoes rather than books and journals.
The day after her new agreement, he had sat on the couch, a neutral leather one she had bought and decorated with thick but neat stitches to match the overall feel of the makeshift living room. She bought that couch with him in mind but it would always be hers to use as pleased. Did he know that she wanted to get rid of that couch just to spite him?
Stein had his legs crossed and elbows leaning on the top of the seat. He stared down, his gaze hidden by the angle he faced her with, or lack of face in this situation. "I have a proposition, though I understand if you choose to refuse."
Marie was silent, inviting him to speak.
He looked her dead in the eye and the determination in his blinded her from even seeing the moss green she had spent so many hours staring at. His next statement was ironic in that sense. "I believe I can fix your eye, but I am less sure of whether or not you will trust me enough to."
Trust.
The comment was more stupid than she realized because Marie would trust him even with no eyes. She would trust him even if he betrayed her millions of times. She would believe him if he told her that when he cut her open it was all under possession or a figment of her imagination, because the thing was, she would also trust that he would never lie to her. Even now, even though he had sliced open her stomach, she believed that he truly tried to hold himself back and clung onto the edge that kept him in the comfort of sanity.
"I will trust you," she said, and it perhaps was the most honest thing she had ever said.
He explained to her the procedure, spitting out medical jargon everywhere that he seemed to be talking in a different language. From what she understood, he would be fixing her left eye with stitches composed of her own DNA, recirculating together with soul energy utilizing her calming wavelength. She was less concerned, however, as to whether or not she would be able to see but whether or not his confidence would be destroyed if he failed.
And as she lay on his operating table, her entire body draped in sheets and everything was completely sterile, panic shifted through her uncomfortably. She fought back the doubt that her eye would be the only part of her cut open or that he would lie to her like that. She saw the heart-rate monitor increase steadily with the corresponding beeps. Stein noticed as well and she saw guilt race through his body the way panic had driven through her.
"When there is a task at hand, I usually do not get distracted from it," a sore but appreciated attempt at comforting her. "And the satisfaction after completing a procedure is strong enough,"
He passed her the oxygen, let her hold it in her gloved hand, letting her decide when she wanted to go under. He gave her control, promised that she would never lose it, and that he would only touch her where she consented to him.
She woke and was in her bed, her room somewhat transformed to that of a hospital room, monitors everywhere, her vitals stable.
Stein was by her side and she read his body language, draped over his chair. His hair was a tangled mess but not the way it looked when she ran her fingers through them. He looked drained as expected but a sense of dread filled her stomach.
As her heart rate monitor sped up, he was quickly woken, met her one eye and straightened himself. He looked no more professional than he did sleeping.
"I was able to connect the nerves of your left eyes with the old ones using soul stitches. Your optic nerve works surprisingly well and is smooth. Because this operation depended on your soul, I found that this left eye draws in an incredible amount of power from the light it receives and converts it into a much stronger healing wavelength. It is unlike anything I have ever witnessed." he paused, she swallowed hard, preparing for the bad news. "I had assumed that the greatest challenge of this operation would be that your optic nerve was irreparable, but that was wrong. The sphincters in your irises cannot dilate and are very sensitive to light. You can see with your left eye but if there is a sudden flash of bright light, you may permanently damage it to a worse extent."
She lost her ability to breathe, the hopes she had tried to suppress fading again. "So I can see, but only under conditions?"
He nodded. "It should be fine in the dark, you will not be able to see well but you won't create further damage. However, without optimal conditions, you will find yourself having constant headaches when both of your eyes are not adjusted. You...you will need to wear an eyepatch for the majority of your life."
Marie nodded, disappointed. She had not let herself wish for miracles and if her wavelengths were calmer, then at least the procedure had not been useless. On the positive side, she'd never have to worry about even eyeliner again.
She began experimenting with the change of her ability to send out wavelengths, the way Stein could. She'd show up to hospitals and send a sense of content to the patients who were distressed. Marie liked it, quite a lot, actually. She was so naturally destructive, her peers called her "the pulverizer" and for good reason. There were a lot of things she had destroyed over the years, buildings, roads, bathrooms...even if this was different, at least she was putting broken parts together instead of taking them apart.
Yet as she slowly gained acceptance of the lifestyle she would be forced to live, never being able to drive and a huge limit to her peripheral vision, Stein didn't. Whenever he looked at her eyepatch he turned his head away in guilt. Whenever she made jokes about her vision he always tensed. Sometimes she heard him walking to the kitchen in the middle of the night and the smell of smoke would waft into her room, reminding her that he wasn't completely gone.
Though bitterness would always cling to her over what he did, she supposed that forgiveness wouldn't be so hard to grant him, nor so distant
Some people would have called it friends with benefits but she would refuse that title because while she sure as hell felt like he at least treated her like a friend, a close one in that, the loneliest nights were always the ones where he would hold her in his arms and she'd never consider that as a benefit.
Yet even when she knew that this slow stability in their souls was something that wasn't going to break anytime soon, she was selfish enough to want more. She wanted him to love her, she wanted him to put her over everything else, not just a friend he had turned into a powerful weapon. And she couldn't stop thinking about it, the life they could live if they weren't just two partners growing out of their adolescence.
"You know, in another life we'd be able to run a miracle hospital," she had said on one of the sadder midnights, gazing up at the ceiling as if there were stars. "You could heal bodies, I could heal souls…"
"Do you believe that in another life, we would be…" he struggled for words, but more with more difficulty, a label, the definition that would take guts like no other to use. She longed for him to label it, it would give her a little closure at least.
She shrugged, though wondered if he could feel it through the tremble in the sheets. "If you were alone in that other life, then yes, I would be there.
"I do not deserve your kindness, Marie,"
"Everyone deserves kindness," her voice did not falter. "Especially you, Franken."
She felt him stiff, she did not often call him by his first name, felt like she had crossed a line. Perhaps she did, as she suddenly knew that she had to tear herself away from him in that given moment, despite the ache in her heart that wanted to stay.
Marie covered herself with his bleached white bedsheets and picked up one of his shirts, tugging it over her body and crawled back into her room, the one with soft linen bed sheets and fluffy stuffed animals but it didn't feel any more softer than his bed. She cried herself to sleep.
Again.
Her last night in Death City passed like a blur. All the furniture was gone from the stale apartment and colour was void like a black and white photograph. Her bags were completely packed, only one photo of each person she would be leaving, and she had only packed those items she had bought with only herself in mind.
She wondered if he would even think of her after this, with all traces of her gone except for the lemon ginger scent left by the diffuser, which was sure to fade in years to come.
Marie stumbled into his room that night, though she had originally planned to get a good night's sleep for the flight the following morning.
She crawled onto his stomach, taking her shirt off in the process. No words were spoken as he placed his hands on her waist and yet again, guided her into a sensation of euphoria. He whispered pleas that she wanted to mean something else, he sighed like he was content. They lay together, tangling their legs and their hands, the darkness blinding their vision.
He spoke to her softly, the way he would only speak around her, only after sex, also. "I used to believe you were easy to read, and perhaps that's what makes you harder to understand than the others. One emotion hides the others. Any good meister can read their weapon, but you read me like it's nothing, like you have done this your whole life."
"But Franken, I am no longer your weapon," and she didn't feel like she could read him either.
She belonged to Lord Death now, ready at his disposal whenever he saw fit, and somehow that idea seemed to hurt her more than it did to him.
She could read him so easily and she wished she didn't. Because she knew that he cared about her, more than he seemed to care about anyone, but that was no compliment, to her at least. The extent of his care was certainly the limit and it bothered her to know that whatever disgustingly foul way of expressing concern was all he could probably ever be capable of. She only mattered to him because of the obligatory, minimal connection two powerful partners must have in order to function and the body that could fill the sexual desires that he had no control over. He was a man after all, and she was sure that many would love to have his emotional attachment.
Had he been anyone else, anyone, he would have been in love with her by now. At the hospital as her heartbeat was weary and her body was numb from an act that wasn't purely heroic or reckless, he would have broken down, with tears streaming down his face. And he would have told her to never have done it again and he would have begged her not to kill herself like that.
And when she wore nice underwear and pretty dresses he would have stared at her and marveled like she was his own creation, a statue beyond his wildest imaginations. He would have told her she was beautiful until she would nearly be sick of hearing it and he would have savoured every part of her as if it was the last time.
He would have asked her about her favourite flowers and her favourite holiday and planned surprise parties for her birthday because he knew she always wanted one. He would have watched romantic comedies with her and made corny jokes just to see her smile and play with her hair just for the fun of it. He would have made all the others jealous of their relationship and people would aspire to be as cute as they were and if it had been any other guy, maybe love wouldn't feel like poison eating away her heart.
Yet tonight, when all she wanted to do was sever the emotional ties binding her to him, he held her like he was sorry, like he had regretted everything he had done to her, and she knew he was. She knew every inch of him after all, the parts that slowly succumbed to a deafening madness and the parts that were lighter and possessed sarcastic remarks every so often, and she knew that he would never hug her head into his chest and comb his fingers through her hair like this on any regular day. She knew he was sorry but he would never say he was, which wasn't enough. Franken Stein had too much pride, too much of a mindset that valued moving forwards more than fixing things from the past and would never dwell on something that happened before.
He never did say he was sorry, not with words anyway. She would learn how to translate his actions in years to come.
Instead she loved him with her touch, gently holding him and caressing him softer than she ever had before. They took their time, as if one wrong move would shatter them forever. She touched him hoping he would ask her to stay, she knew she couldn't, but she wanted him to anyway. She wanted to be wanted by him.
As morning rose and sunlight poured into the kitchen window, the only window in the apartment, Marie had woken, tightly held in his arms. She tried not to disturb him as she woke but it proved no use. He opened his eyes, blinking before processing her face. He was silent, emotionless in his half-conscious state. She heard him sigh softly before averting his gaze.
A part of her tore open and Marie held back her tears before heading to the washroom, silent pain flowing from her eyes. She pressed a cold spoon to her face, depuffing her face before applying makeup to hide every insecurity she had ever possessed. The apartment was silent, not a stir in the air. She wheeled her suitcase out the door as quickly as she could, kitten heels clicking gracelessly on their floor.
She knew he wouldn't say goodbye.
Oceania was the dream, coastal skies and salt-kissed air, soft and warm temperatures rather than scorching heat. Her skin was quickly blessed by a golden tan with a light dusting of blush on her upper cheekbones. Marie's presence as a Death Scythe was warm and her sweet and non-intimidating demeanor sure helped.
And she went on dates.
She went on so many dates and had so many boyfriends and sometimes girlfriends and they were all so different from him. They all had soft eyes and tan skin and silky hair and they all knew how to surf or skateboard and these men, oh god these people were straight out of 1980s movies. They taught her how to surf and skateboard and when she painted them in her free time she knew that these paintings were beautiful enough to be hung up in galleries.
But they never lasted.
She cooked for them every day and put them over her and a part of her loved being able to bring them a smile, but in the end they were all so insecure about themselves and they broke under such a pressure. The paintings and sketches of their beautiful faces lined her halls and stacked against each other as the years go on but when she draws Franken from memory, his face appears as a blur.
Marie draws him as a combination of how she remembers him and how she imagines him, the shadows of his face are vague and detail is lacking, but in the end she knew that had this mess of blurs ever appeared on the side of the road, she would recognize him in a heartbeat.
She started going for different people, the ones with dark hair and broody personalities, almost in the way he was. But once again, none of them ever came close to making her feel and some of them started taking advantage of her calm and giving nature. They would take from her, they took more than she ever thought she had and she had then realized that things could always get worse. When Franken betrayed her, the pain was unbearable but with these men, living didn't seem like a possibility anymore. The highs were so worth it; they would comfort her with strong arms and give her all the soft comforts that Franken had never cared to ask about. They knew her weaknesses and manipulated them until she felt like she too, was a mess of stitched-up parts.
But even after all of this time, she threw herself at anyone who would take her love, constantly and constantly getting hurt. Some people thought she was desperate, they said that one day someone would take advantage of her naivety and she wouldn't be able to love again. And god were they right, just not in the way they thought.
Because she already knew that in each of these relationships, with each new but temporary lover, she would never be able to love them the way she loved Franken Stein, and what was too much for them was simply half of what she had offered to him. No one made a dent in her soul the way he had.
Marie didn't truly believe that she'd find love as passionate and beautiful as what she felt for him, and maybe if she put in her all she could have found something close to an alternative. And for a moment there, she thought she had found one.
Joe was like a breath of fresh air, they met when he was hired to fix her department. She could pinpoint the moment his gaze changed, not when he saw her figure that so many had eyed upon, but when she had smiled at him. Joe really loved her for who she was. Their dates were thrilling and romantic, he was perfect. Her romcoms and journal entries finally seemed to come true.
He never mansplained to her and always listened to her when she talked about the issues she cared about and he would even research them so he could join in on the discussion. She mentioned him to Psyche, whose approval was immediate. She beamed and beamed about how she knew that Joe would be an amazing uncle towards Maka if the time ever came. After all, Marie's plans to retire after marrying would allow her to return to death city and care for her best friend's daughter. And Joe would do that with her, he would retire and they could create a women's hospital or an animal shelter and they'd live a storybook life.
Joe was the first person to make her believe in love again and for a moment she had hope, hope before he left.
He ghosted her like he never existed. His things were gone, so quickly that everything felt like a fever dream, the traces of him gone other than the parts she had created. Marie's ideas and plans had shattered once again, another man who crushed a fantasy that was so close to reality. But she continued, the way she always did, killing kishins and healing souls and pretending like this one really did change her, that this would be an unmendable wound, a scar on her heart (it wasn't).
She pulled herself together again, continued her desperate search for a husband and continued her long list of failed loves. Franken ruined her like you would ruin a child, desperately searching for a replacement rather than giving up hope completely. Because god dammit this man may have been the most powerful meister to ever step foot into the devastatingly grand halls of the DWMA but his compassion, the only real part that she wanted was simply not enough. And was it really so much to ask; a person who could feel like she did and make her feel like he did?
She never mentioned Franken to any of her boyfriends or friends in general, that was until she had met Yumi Azuna, whose dark hair and stern personality contrasted her own so inexplicably perfectly. Though younger, she was the type of person Marie had always believed she would become: strong, independent, and well-respected. Her ambitions well exceeded her own at the time and she commanded attention with merely her presence; had become the role model for so many aspiring girls, regardless of whether they were a meister or weapon.
They met during a long collaboration between their two districts and she remembered the discipline Azusa would enforce on the students as head of the student council. Marie had not paid her much attention, being that she seemed to always be on the good side of every soul capable of compassion despite not being perfect, and Azusa didn't care either. While she had never been fond of the girl before, being that Stein and Spirit were always spitting curses towards her, things changed quite quickly.
Because Azusa was simply stunning in all ways even after one night of takeout food on her couch.
And on her worst moments when she was drunk on all the expensive wine she could so-easily afford they would kiss and she'd tell Azusa about every single girl or guy that had ever failed her.
Azusa was perhaps the hardest person she had ever tried to read, harder than Stein and harder than Joe. Because when she finally realized that Azusa loved her even though she had not shown it romantically, Marie knew that for this girl, she would not be able to give her all the emotional commitment she deserved, not when half of her heart was still stuck to him.
She cried and cried upon realizing and she cried when facing Azusa, her heart breaking over and over again but not over the Demon Sniper, but for her own broken soul. They had all left her because they could not love her, not enough to match what she would give. Her love was too intense for everyone she had fallen for but for the one person it where it hadn't been, the one person who embraced her desperate need for security, she couldn't love back.
"Look at you, 'Zusie," she had breathed on one of the sadder nights she crashed over in the apartment that looked more like a prestigious lawyer's office than a home. "You're so strong. You've become the new face of feminism. Little girls take one look at you and they decide that they want to be stronger and work harder. I wish I had become like you earlier instead of wasting my life on finding a lover."
Azusa didn't answer for a bit, contemplating her answer. "My coldness towards men and ability to strike fear in them does not make me a role model. I will always encourage girls to take nothing better than the best, but that does not always translate into morals that do not hurt anyone. Marie, no one doubts a man's when he becomes a death Scythe. Look at Spirit and his obsession with chasing women and Justin's ridiculous prayers to god every second of the day. But for us, it's different. For women, they only expect the ones who are cold and brutal to get to where they are, not the ones like you. You proved to the world that you can be kind, compassionate, and vulnerable to become a Death Scythe. I may have proved that a woman could go far but you proved that being feminine did not equate to being a setback."
Her hands were numb but the bottle of wine on the counter seemed inviting. As she reached for it with her uncoordinated arms, she was intercepted and handed a glass of water instead. "That's enough alcohol,"
"I don't know what I have been drinking to," Marie admitted, and while her mind was fuzzy, the edges of the door and the window blurring together, her mind was sober. "I wonder if it's for Franken, that absolute bitch, or maybe it's for myself and all the shit I have put myself through."
"Not your boyfriends?"
"There's no way I drink such expensive wine to any of those assholes, none of them were worth my time—"
"Except Joe,"
"Except Joe," she agreed, chugging her water in as if they were shots. "But it's like, why do I ever think that they will be different? Like, I always see the red flags, the way they don't wash their face or only like music by men and some part of me always thinks that you can't judge everyone by one quality and maybe I can. But I still go on three dates and I fake my orgasms and let them believe they own me but in the end they all leave me. Why do I let it happen to myself?"
Azusa clutched her hand. "Does it hurt? To see the best in people and constantly be disappointed?"
"Yea, it does." she said "But I think the fact that I'm so hung up on the idea of a domestic life, so much so that I give up my pride to, hurts more than all of them combined,"
"Oh, Marie, you don't really want a domestic life, you just want someone to fix you."
But no one ever does, not her therapist or Azusa or any of the other men, even the good ones who try to. Deep down however, a thought is shared between her and perhaps all people who had even gotten close enough to know her past: that Franken Stein is the only person she will allow to patch her broken heart. It's just that they all know that the only solution sometimes only provides further problems, he could fix her but for what price?
In the academy they taught that fear in moderation kept you cautious, it prevented you from becoming reckless. Courage was only sought when facing fear and she knew for sure that she wasn't brave. Marie did not fear her relationships anymore, hence her recklessness and head-first dives into relationships destined to fail. Disappointment was pain and she almost bathed in it, letting knives stab her conscience and emotions but at least she would feel that instead of betrayal.
The achingly possible but simple truth may as well could be that Marie Mjolnir may not ever love someone like she did love him and will never be fully complete without him, despite her longing to be whole alone. A lover she loves half as much and ticking off a short list of checkboxes no one ever seems to meet, may be the best option, for if she ever sees Franken again he may unrecoverably reshatter her in a way that even a bandaid boyfriend can't fix.
But by the time Marie reached thirty she still had not made progress, the entire continent seemed to be destroyed of eligible bachelors. With Spirit's and Psyche's divorce, she ended up having her best friend crash in her apartment, which felt a lot less lonely with a soul who was there when things were simpler and warmer, in regards to her emotions at least.
"I missed you," Psyche confessed, her blonde hair cut short since the last time she saw it, the same length as her ex-husband.
"I missed you too,"
The divorce was not just a divorce, for all she knew had they had been still married it would not have affected the friendship she had with the two of them. The marriage didn't change her perception of them, a child didn't, so naturally the divorce didn't either. Yet it represented a realization that Marie didn't want to admit: that the fairytale that didn't exist for her didn't exist from them either. She had made plans in her head that were constantly crushed and changed but in the end the two of them were always together, and had always been soulmates.
Maybe even then the overwhelming reality was that even had it been guaranteed that they were soulmates, perhaps that didn't equate to being happy.
Marie took Psyche to the beach, her favourite one and taught her all the things she had learned about Oceania, and sucked up all the knowledge every toxic and non-toxic boyfriend had taught her about the place. Her former meister had waded into the warm water with hesitation but she started running across the wet sand, her footprints disappearing as the tide wiped them away, erasing her existence. And Psyche cried, bawled perhaps, but she just ran and ran and there was a smile on her face, and even if it was drenched in pain, she looked so free.
She would never smile like she did at 18, elegant silk dress that fit her young and quickly growing belly perfectly, long hair cascading down her back and wispy bangs that the wind couldn't ruin, but maybe this was just Psyche's marriage to herself. This was Psyche's commitment for stability, for predictability, for her to not have to shed tears for a thrill.
And Marie wondered why she couldn't do that either.
The difference between Azusa and Psyche is night and day, literally.
She had developed a personal relationship with each of them and while Azusa would spill her deepest worries during night, Psyche would during the afternoon, where the sun was highest. Marie also liked comparing their physical features to night and day in her mind, Azusa with her jet black hair, silver glasses and watch, then Psyche with her blonde hair and colourful clothes.
"I wanted us to work so badly, you know," she said as the sun kissed her skin gold. "It would have been so much easier for Maka. She deserves two parents to look after her. And I love Spirit, you know, I truly do. I think about him all the time, like I'm just—consumed by him. People say that love fades, you know, that you stop getting butterflies but I still do. I still feel like a teenager sometimes, crying over him and running to you when things get bad… I think we're soulmates, but I guess that we were not perfect for each other in body or mind. And in the end, it was a good love, great, even. But I know it's not meant to be perfect or forever. And Maka deserves better than a mother constantly frustrated even with no reason to be."
"How did we get here?" Marie asked, her skin gleaned from sweat. She was adjusted to the heat but it just felt too hot at this point. "Broken by men with superiority complexes."
Psyche turned her head, she lifted her red cat-eye sunglasses. A loving smile decorated her soft face. "Marie Mjolnir, you have gone through a lot of shit and I cannot imagine what it feels like to be betrayed the way you have been. Nothing excuses his actions, never will. He hurt you like no one else will but you do not have to be ashamed of that, do not dwell on it. You are here because of a combination of everything that has happened, whether or not it has a significant reason. But promise me that you won't look back and see this as a regret."
Marie felt tears roll down her face. "Okay."
Franken takes space in her memory like a fresh nightmare. The details fade every minute but there is a feeling, one you just can't shake off even though you can barely recall what happened sometimes. She cannot remember those of Spirit either, of course whatever he was, in terms of her dream analogy, is certainly not a nightmare. He is a dream she knows she wants to recall, just knows that there used to be something there, something that is better than whatever she feels when she looks back.
She will never feel it, either of them, again.
They are too old for that.
Psyche pressed her head against her hand. "You're not going to ask me?"
Marie raised her eyebrows slightly. "About what?"
"About Stein. I know you're dying to hear about him. When was the last time you asked? You never ask over the phone anymore."
She blushed. "I thought… I thought it would be weird. I didn't want it to seem like…"
"Like you aren't over him? Honey we both know that you never will be. There's a reason you're not married yet, even though you want to be."
"No one wants me! Every time it's me who has been dumped," she shot defensively.
Psyche rolled her eyes, but sighed with dismay. "I know, I know, but don't you think that maybe… maybe there's a reason? Joe and Azusa were both in love with you but not everyone you love will be the one. Yet the others? I don't think they were ever able to fall in love with you because you… you tried so hard to be perfect that you masked the real you, the one that everyone loves and has fallen in love with in friendship."
"Stop it," Marie breathed. She knew Psyche was right.
"He is different now… ever since you left he's been different."
She didn't know if it was a relief to hear, a part of her wanted him to hurt because she damn well was but another part of her wanted to know that he wasn't affected by her absence, that she had more reason to move on. At least after all this time, that was what she had been telling herself.
Marie was so conflicted, didn't know if she wanted to hear more about him and give up the self-control she had for over a decade. But even a small taste of an update was too tempting to bear. She didn't stop Psyche from speaking, from telling her everything that had happened after she left.
"It started normal, you know? Probably because at that time, everything was changing so fast. He started working missions for Lord Death and began his own research. He bought a lab four times the size of your old apartment. I mean, I don't think we had a lot of expectations as to how he would react.
"But we… stopped seeing him around after a while. He hasn't shown up to any of our parties. Even the wedding… I guess maybe he wanted to avoid you."
Marie watched as her friend struggled with herself. The four of them were friends despite all the shit that went on, they had done plenty of missions with each other. And of course while they all had their precautions around him, she knew that the empty space besides Spirit when Psyche walked down the aisle of the garden was reserved for Franken, who was absent. But because of her?
She felt the part of her that she had built in Oceania rip apart. If she meant enough for him to simply ditch the wedding, why couldn't he have told her before? He only would have had to ask her to stay, nothing more. Instead he ran from her and she found that that was the biggest similarity between all of her ex-boyfriends: they fled.
"Psyche, I can't hear about this any—"
"No, no, Marie, you have to face this. It's been over ten years and all of us are slowly falling apart. You haven't seen him, you probably wouldn't recognize him—"
She laughed but it came out as a strangled choke. "Fuck, you don't know, I would recognize him from anywhere. I would recognize him as a dead body."
"He has a screw through his head, he put it in himself. It took him twenty days to do that because he wanted to see something about nerve impulses. And he has stitches everywhere. He looks like a madman. And he keeps on wheeling around on his chair and falling and smiling and he never looks happy even though he's always laughing. I haven't seen him eat, he hasn't let anyone in his lab, and he's always rambling on this shit about curiosity."
She hugged her knees to her chest. A screw through his head? "Did we expect him to be different?"
"Did you expect him to have dated? Because he did. They all left faster than any of your exes did. And they all looked like you… or at least a part of them did. It was nearly like he was trying to build another version of you, to stitch up different people to create a doll—"
"Stop—"
"People still talk about you at bars and convenience stores and the most random places and every time your name is brought up I swear something in his eyes lights up, Marie. He misses you, he needs you, and maybe it would be best for you to stay here but don't you dare think that you were never the most important person in his lonely little life."
"I thought it was enough!" she screamed, the people on the beach didn't hear her wail. "I always think that I can be satisfied. When I was sixteen I thought that I could just love him and have sex with him and that it would be okay but I left him because it wasn't enough! I wanted him to at least tell me that I wasn't delusional, that even if he didn't love me he needed me because what does it mean if I'm the most important person in his life? He still cut me open and cut Spirit open and never apologized to either of us. And then I left him for this beautiful continent, and I thought maybe I need a man who might not love me but at least says it, makes me feel like it's true, you know? But in the end I can't find one, and I fucking hate this perfect place! I want to leave but I don't have anywhere to go! I don't have any reason to retire and I don't want to travel like you and I don't want to go back to Death City because he's there! What does it matter? Why do I need to know that he's suffering without me?"
Psyche looked at her with the sorrow of a helpless mother. "You don't need to know. But don't you want to? For the sake of curiosity?"
She paused, she could not argue there. The hole in her heart suddenly stopped expanding. "Does...does he ask about me?"
Her best friend smiled softly. "No, but sometimes I send your postcards to his door. He always takes them."
Psyche's visit had brought her at least a little bit of closure, the type she didn't know she needed. She continued to date, usually trying to hold back a little bit more but she was finding fewer men as she aged, even if her ten-step skincare routine didn't show it.
Things were stable aside from her love life. Her domestic dream started to come true, only without another to live it with her. She slowly gathered her life into a routine that she trusted and was true to her, fit all of her needs and had room for unpredictability. She considered owning another dog, a larger one perhaps. There was only one at the animal shelter with rugged silver fur and a missing leg. He was huge and he was lonely and no one really wanted him, they all avoided him anyway. So she adopted him.
She named him Stitch, inevitably after him. It was probably why she adopted him in the first place: the striking similarities between the two. He loved her back, at least.
Stitch was amazing, with only three legs he was energetic, loved anything to do with her. It had taken a few days for him to trust her but he waited for her all the time, seeing her as she left her apartment and waiting when she came back to walk him at lunch, going on runs and surfs, crushing her lap as she painted...He was perfect, and she was happy. He made her happy and that was enough.
But then he died. She didn't know what it was, he had gone to sleep and didn't wake up, his heart no longer beating. Marie had been in so much shock that she was unable to cry. She couldn't believe that this life she was living was once again torn from her hands as Stitch went to join death.
She did the only thing she knew she could do, she sent him for an autopsy.
It was the first time in fourteen years that she had contacted him, calling in favour after favour for her friends to fly her dog over a continent so she could reach an ounce of closure. Her message was brief and formal, her response nearly immediate. He agreed to do it, as she knew he would, and she felt a wave of relief.
He sent her a package three days later with all the tests and paperwork in a huge envelope, and gave her all the information he knew, even though she wouldn't be able to understand any of the tests. Her eyes tore up. He knew she would read every last page and research each word that appeared regarding her dog's health. His letter expressed his condolences and concluded that the cause of death was bladder cancer, likely from an exposure to some chemicals during his time as a stray dog. Stitch died painlessly, there wasn't anything she could have done.
She could nearly feel the both of them there, Stitch barking at her and Stein leaning against her doorway, the two of them grinning as if there were not a single cause of sadness in the world. This would always be her life, two ghosts who lurked in her apartment, trying to give her comfort but never physically, could never touch them.
But that only lasted for a year.
A year before she was called to Death City, where unexpectedly the kishin was released and her skills were needed. Marie gathered her personal belongings and took the private jet they sent to her, joining her fellow Death Scythes.
She saw Azusa first, a relief considering she wouldn't get lost with the best pair of eyes in the world. She broke down a toilet in an emotional rage, contemplated her life choices while wailing over a sink. But her friend's companionship was a breath of fresh air, even if the world was slowly falling apart.
But seeing Franken so early on was unexpected, so simple. He was talking to Spirit as bent over a bucket of soap and water, casually standing with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. There did not seem to be a single care in the world, his face had aged but not badly. Somehow, it seemed like the four of them were teenagers again, (minus Psyche), doing stupid shit and being yelled at by the younger Death Sniper because of it. It felt like despite everything, nothing had changed.
It felt so natural, the way she avoided his gaze and grinned with her soul, the way she would have done this when she was still a student or fifty years later.
"Long time no see," she had said, they smiled, she could see that they meant it, and they stuffed in as much small talk as they could in the moments before Azusa snapped, changing into her girl boss persona.
Then Lord Death revealed that she would be paired with Franken in place of Spirit, another round of deja vu washed over her. It felt different this time, though, her fear or making a fool of herself stronger than her fear of him. She knew what she was dealing with, or at least somewhat of a fraction of what she was dealing with. She knew what to fear and what not to.
And as she stepped into his new lab for the second, first time, it was like time rewinded but in a bittersweet, nearly hopeful way.
She met his eyes behind the kitchen counter, a paper bag of groceries on the table. She knew what was in them, fine cheese and fresh-baked focaccia, garden tomatoes and balsamic glaze...And she put her faith in him as if she had been blind to everything, opening herself because she was ok with being vulnerable.
Marie had never been so naive, and somewhere deep down that this time she knew that he wouldn't hurt her like before.
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