I know, I know, yet another fic with so many unfinished. I hate myself, too. Strangely, this really sprung from the need to redeem Soul's parents since I see them so often portrayed as cold/mean/etc (I'm guilty of this obviously). Plus, I love writing SoMa right now.

Soul would laugh in my face if I said I never pushed and I'm trying to be truthful, but there are occasions, I guess. I'm more than willing to push myself past limits and have in the face of enemies that would have ripped us to shreds. I consistently push our team every day, preparing them and myself for what's to come after Asura. I push Soul to be a better partner and an indestructible weapon for Kid. But that all boils down to one segment of my life: I push myself at work. DWMA is my life and I spend my time only examining that part.

I could make excuses for this:

I'm too exhausted from life as a fighting machine to bother with anything else.

I'm too busy to put the time and effort into finding a passion outside of my drive to save the world.

I'm too overwhelmed with recovering from the Kishin, the madness, and all of the new problems in the backlash from that to find out what Maka Albarn is other than a scythe meister.

So I don't push when Soul and I are on the couch together and he casually throws an arm around my shoulder.

I don't push when I find myself watching him sleeping on the couch rather than concentrating on the words on the page.

And I especially don't push when he wakes me in the middle of the night, his soft cries in his deep sleep filtering clear across the hall. I only walk across the hall, my hand gently pressing to his chest and his face until he wakes with a start. I only climb into bed with him, letting him rest his head on my chest, his arm tight around my waist until his breathing slows. I only let him fall asleep listening to the beat of my heart as I do everything I can to soothe his soul with my own.

Of course, the nightmares hadn't gotten better but at least remain consistent, me waking up in his bed three or four mornings a week. I don't push. I let this be us. I try not to take the time to think about those moments, break them apart bit by bit and analyze them like my mind screams to do on a regular basis. There are wants and hopes and dreams haunting around in my mind and I try to make them not exist. I need to let this be us, but maybe I'm starting to hear the echoed question of why? especially as I wake up with him clutched tightly to me again, his breath hot against my neck.

It was the phone's ring that tore me away from dreaming and I quickly moved to shake him awake since I knew the sound alone wouldn't be enough. "Soul?"

"What?" he grumbled but the phone answered his question before I could with another urgent chirp. He pulled himself away, hand lingering on my stomach as he sat up. "I'll get it." The morning usually brought slow movement for Soul, as if each sunrise came with a hangover, but this time he pushed through it, quickening his steps to get there before the ring cut off completely. "Hello?"

I mused for a second at his tone, the fact that whoever was on the other line was in for an attitude to call this early. I waited for the disgruntled mumbling or the outright snap of his barely awake voice but heard nothing but silence interrupted momentarily by the sound of his hand meeting the wall. It wasn't a punch, not enough to get me to stumble out of the bed, but as the next words came from his mouth I found myself ripping off the sheets. "No, Wes, I heard you… I…"

I was up and out of the bed, trying to force myself to move slowly and not instantly jump to the conclusion that he needed me. As I hit the doorway the sight in front of me stopped me in my tracks. His eyes were no longer anywhere near sleep-lined, just staring widely at the wall where his hand had connected to keep himself standing. His fingers were white from his grip on the receiver and his jaw was set so tight I could swear I heard the grind of his teeth. "Look, I'll try," he murmured. The sound of my feet on the floor didn't register for him and I got close enough to put a hand on his arm before he jumped back to life, his eyes darting from me to the phone.

From this distance, I could now hear the urgency in the other voice but not make out the words. Soul stayed immobile, once again letting everything but the sound in his ear fade away. The voice on the receiver droned on until Soul finally snapped, "I said I'll fucking try!"

My hand clenched around his arm just in time for him to slam down the phone. His skin was burning under mine, his heartbeat practically pounding through his entire body. "What is it?" I asked lamely.

"My dad's in the hospital." His eyes were still focused on the phone, showing too much white against the red of his irises.

I let my grip slide down his arm, stopping to cup his palm. "Is he going to be OK?"

"They don't know yet," a ragged breath punctuated that sentence. "Wes wants me to come home."

"You should," I shot back without hesitating.

"Maka, I can't just leave." He finally met my gaze, the panic started to tremble at his lips. "What about you? About Kid? This isn't just some nine-to-five I can take off from."

"And this isn't just some vacation you want to take. This is important. Kid will understand." Especially since he lost his own, he'll understand it so well because it's all still so fresh for him. It won't be an argument it'll be an order to leave immediately. As my mind raced through the logistics of Soul leaving I barely registered the thought before I said it, "And I'll go with you."

"What?" It was a breathless question from his lips.

"If you want me to," I corrected a little late. "I don't mind. I'll just… I'm your partner and if you need me then I want to."

From years of being with him, I'd learned all of the signs of an overwhelmed Soul, the way his face goes blank, the thousand-mile stare taking all his attention. I didn't let him sink into it, moving to wrap my arms around him, pulling his chest to mine. As he settled against me, his hands clenched into the fabric of my shirt, his voice squeaking out as if squeezed by the same pressure. "Maka, I can't…"

"You can." I let my hand smooth through his hair as if this was just another nightmare and he was clinging to me in bed. The strange euphoria of doing this outside of that scenario was only dampened by the fact that he needed this to begin with, that I could feel him crumbling apart in my hands. "I'll borrow Spirit's car and I'll tell Kid. All you have to do is get ready, Soul, pack some things." And I knew I felt the change then, no matter how small and no matter how much I tried to ignore it.

Soul had spent the entirety of the drive staring out the window in silence. I didn't push, didn't make him talk or tell me what was on his mind even though I could probably guess. I only got the nerve to reach over to him and take his hand when we were only a few minutes away. When we touched I could feel some of the rough edges melting away, allowing me to send out my wavelengths lapping like waves on a shore. I could finally hear him breathe again.

That dissolved upon entering the hospital. As soon as the antiseptic smell hit I could feel him bristle, his hand going clammy in mine. I refused to let go, making him stop at the desk rather than pulling me through corridors like he knew where he was going. The length of the hallways made eternities and I struggled to keep him level as well as myself. Hospitals were never really my forte, better waking up in one of their beds than exploring the intricacies of dealing with the delicate situations in them.

I recognized Wes as soon as I saw him, practically the perfect picture of Soul aged by ten years, his eyes only softened to mahogany rather than the brilliant red of his brother. The woman to his left was staring off, her hands folded carefully in her lap. Her hair was a golden honey blond, much like mine, and her tear blurred eyes were the same as Wes, leaving me only to believe it must be his mother. It wasn't until we approached that I knew for sure because as soon as she raised her head, her eyes meeting Soul's, she was out of her seat and rushing towards him, throwing her arms around his shoulders to press him tightly to her.

I tried to take back my hand but he refused to budge his grip, letting only one arm rest on his mother's back. "Mom," his murmur was strained.

There was only the sound of her soft sobs, her face pressed into his t-shirt as he half held her while still clinging to me. I didn't know what else to be other than an extension of his hand since I was a stranger to the rest of them. Wes's eyes met mine and I fumbled with the words until he thankfully saved me from myself, "You must be Maka." He moved to the other side, coolly noticing our intertwined hands before reached out his hand to me.

"And you're Wes." Luckily my free hand was the right one and I was able to shake. "I'm glad I could finally meet you, though I'm sorry about the circumstances."

"Agreed," Wes sighed. He let his hand drift away as he moved them to his mother's shoulders, prying her away from Soul. "Mom, it's alright."

Soul had been in an innumerable amount of battles and for the most part shock and fear weren't part of his visual repertoire, so the look on his face struck me as alien, a trembling in his features I'd never witnessed before. All of that was gone in an instant, recovered with the removal of his mother's touch. His eyes wandered to his brother, the gaze now just as cool as always. "What did the doctor say, Wes?"

Wes opted for a gentle hand to his brother's shoulder rather than a full embrace. "He's out of the woods, but the recovery will be long, hard. A stroke takes some of your mobility, maybe even his ability to speak. The extent they're not completely sure of yet, but they're hopeful."

Soul looked from his brother's hand to me, a soft, wordless pleading there. I wished I could read his mind, translate the need he had but all I did was squeeze his hand in hopes of making him understand my own thoughts. "I want to see him," Soul murmured.

"We're waiting on that ourselves," Wes shrugged. "The nurse said once they've moved him they'll come to retrieve us."

"Alright." He mirrored his mother, that blank slackness taking over his entire body.

I stepped closer to him, careful not to disturb his tight hold on my hand. "Let's sit." Wes was the first to listen to my offer, moving their mother back to the position we first found her in.

After a moment's hesitation, Soul followed, wavering a little as the seating arrangement left him next to her but taking it anyway. Her hand fell to his leg as soon as he sat and I watched as his fingers hesitantly wrapped around hers. "Mom…?"

His voice melted away some of the haze and with a few blinks of her deep brown eyes, she turned to him, the smallest of smiles pulling at her mouth. "Yes, darling?"

He cleared his throat, "This is Maka." The anxiety flared as her eyes fell to me as if this was how I wanted to meet his parents along with a little bit of anger at the thought that Soul would find this the right time to squeeze me in.

"Oh, yes," that soft smile grew minutely. "Wes has told us that you're his partner. I'm glad that Soul has someone…" The way her mouth gaped left me believing there was more there but the words she did manage were enough to start the gears turning in my head.

I tried to stop the revolutions, especially as Soul remained quiet, not interrupting, not clarifying any of those open words she'd left. "Mrs. Evans, if there's anything I can do…"

"Bringing Soul here was more than enough," she replied. "And, please, call me Regina."

"I didn't-" My soft whisper was cut off by Soul squeezing my hand, the message there clearly that I was about to lie. I did, I forced him here, my first real push. "Alright, Regina."

Regina's gaze fell away from me, her eyes returning to her lap as she brought her hands along with one of Wes's and one of Soul's back there. Our silence was filled with the bustle of the hospital, the calls over the loudspeaker, the squeaks of sneakers, and the plodding of hurried footsteps.

My mind was far from quiet. I am his partner, he has me. The selfishness of it all was shameful and I wanted to stop to take a moment to hate myself for it but there was nowhere else my brain wanted to go. Of course, I wanted to be part of his strength, to keep him stable through this, but that wasn't all of it. It was all painfully and reprehensibly clear: I wanted him to see how much I loved him.

We'd spent hours at the hospital and when we did see Arthur Evans, Artie as Regina had so sweetly whispered when she took his hand in a picture-perfect moment that my heart melted as if subjected to a Hallmark movie, it was only for a few minutes before being pushed out the door. Regina was obviously allowed to stay, but the boys and I were left to pace around the waiting room. After a half-hour of Wes running a ditch in the floor and Soul clamping my hand as tightly as I ever thought humanly possible, Regina reappeared, less tearful but mostly still exuding exhaustion.

"Go home," she ordered as if suddenly a different woman. The soft-spoken, vacantness gone and replaced with what I would categorize as the pinnacle of mom-voice.

"But, Mom," Soul was ready with the stereotypical child response.

Regina silenced him with a soft hand to his cheek, a move that clearly surprised him. "Really, please, go home. Get some rest."

Soul took the hand slowly, pulling it from his face. "What about you?"

"I'm going to stay with your father but perhaps both of you will come by lunchtime tomorrow?" Regina turned her eyes to Wes. "And I mean lunchtime. You'll both sleep in and take your time getting here. There's no rush. Your father will be fine."

I didn't know how much of any of that was the truth but there was something about her that left you completely convinced. Assertive felt too weak of a word to use to describe her. I didn't exactly think that was the word Soul would like to use as I saw the frown grace his features, his brow furrowing in the way it always did when he was prepping for an argument. "Mom-"

Without even acknowledging the word coming from his mouth Regina turned her head to me and let her words rush over his. "Maka, you'll stay, won't you? It's terribly rude to ask but there's more than enough room and Soul can show you the ins and outs of the house."

"I'm staying as long as Soul stays." I risked glancing at him, seeing his jaw tighten with some indecipherable message, before looking back at Regina.

Regina had moved on to staring at Soul, her lips pressed together just as tightly as his, another glimpse of the likeness between the two of them. "And you'll stay how long?" This was a little softer, less assured with a tremble at the end of the question.

It was loud enough that all of us could probably hear his teeth grind before he sighed, "I can't take a lot of time off, Mom."

Something in me screamed it wasn't my place but the words tumbled from my lips anyway, "But we can at least stay until your father's out of the hospital."

"Maka…" He trailed off with another sigh. "Maka's right. Fine. We'll stay."

Regina was talented at hiding her delight and I only saw a moment of sparkle at the corner of her eyes. "The guest room-"

"It's not a big deal, we'll take my old room," he muttered.

"Oh." Regina didn't dare glance at me again but now suddenly let her eyes fall to our constantly connected hands before smiling back in her son's face. "Whatever you want, Soul."

"Just… get some sleep, too, OK?" For the first time since we arrived, Soul released my hands so he could wrap both of his arms around his mother. It was by no means a natural-looking hug, his hands still stiff with no idea where to go but the way Regina sighed, the contentment was enough to tell me it was probably one of the best she'd ever received from him.

Even though Soul had called it his room, it was oddly devoid of soul and Soul - the walls bare, the desk unadorned and lacking piles of every piece of paper he'd accumulated over the past month, the bed tightly tucked with sheets so white that they were just asking to be stained. We sat back to back, having left Wes downstairs in the kitchen claiming no appetite for the two of us. My body really just yearned to be undressed and in bed but my mind was frantically analyzing the single bed, the single room even if this was usual for missions.

He cleared his throat and I braced myself to hear about his take on sleeping together like this as if it was something new and terrifying. "You must think I'm an asshole."

The words caught me completely off guard and I had to blink into the darkness until my mind could translate them. I turned around on the bed slowly to stare at his back. "Why would I think that?"

"The stuff with my mom, my dad." His shoulders shrugged but he still refused to turn around.

Maybe it was the late night, the long drive, the exhausting day but my mind couldn't process this line of conversation. "What about it makes you an asshole?"

He sighed, probably fighting with his usual eloquence. "I'm an asshole for not wanting to be here."

"No," I answered tentatively, waiting for him to go on. When he gave me nothing but silence I reached out, touching the back of his shirt gently. "You never really told me why you left here, so I can't assume you're an asshole for not wanting to be here."

Instead of turning he leaned back into my hand, letting my fingers dig into his skin. "I'm not sure it's a good enough reason."

I flexed my fingers and he leaned into them more, halfway to stealing a massage from me. "You were fourteen when you left. No one has good reasons as fourteen."

Soul grunted a laugh, "Guess not."

"Don't get mad…" I murmured.

He gave me that knowing sigh, the one that easily translated to I'll forgive you this one time even though the times had been innumerable.

I gave one more kneading of my hand before using it to slide to his shoulder in order to finally force him to turn to look at me. "Maybe you don't think so, but they love you."

Soul's bitter smile never looked any good on his face and this wasn't an exception. His hand came up and clasped over mine, bringing it from his shoulder to the bed. We both breathed into the silence, hands pressed together on top of the comforter. "Look, I'm going to go downstairs, talk to Wes for a little. You should… just try to get some sleep, OK?"

I squeezed his hand, trying to formulate something more useful than just an OK and finding nothing much better. "Is it OK if I take the right side?"

"You always do." Suddenly that weak smile was gone, replaced by that playful grin I knew too well. Sometimes he was so handsome he left me breathless and that grin was usual the star of those moments.