Author's Note: Sorry it's taken so long to update. A lot of stuff has been going on but everything is all good now. I apologize sincerely for any mistakes I've made in this chapter, which is much longer than I expected it to be. There will be this chapter and then one final one. If you've stuck around until now, thank you :) I appreciate the support. At some point I'll probably go through and fix all the mistakes in this story, but… today is not that day.

Soul had been home for almost four months now, and he was finally beginning to feel the prickliness of boredom and restlessness crawling under his skin.

His memories were unbelievably slow returning to him. Sometimes he just wanted to hit himself in the head with a heavy book until they all came back, consequences be damned. He was sick of the constant empty feeling in his chest, the feeling that a part of him was missing, or reaching for something else. It was confusing as hell, and he hated it. He just wanted to know what was wrong with him; he wanted to know what the deal was with that weird doctor, the crying girl, the glimpses of faces and places he couldn't place names to. It was making him irritable, moody, confused. He was sick of the strange looks from his parents, and more recently, his older brother Wes.

He sat at his family's dinner table, pulling at the collar of the suit he was being forced to wear. It felt ridiculously hot in the dining room, and the constant chatter coming from his family members wasn't helping at all. His brother was home for the rest of the week, taking a break from his tour with the famous orchestra he was a part of to visit his family while they were still in America. He was the same as Soul remembered; obnoxious, rude, insulting… only when their parents weren't in the room, of course. If the younger boy was honest, he kind of missed the playful banter the two constantly tossed between each other, and it felt like too long since they'd done so. Sometimes when Soul caught his brother watching him, much like their parents did, he felt it was a different reason.

Wes and their parents were having a lengthy discussion about one of the members of the orchestra, who had thought it would be okay to leave his cello out of its case in the freezing Russian air as he ran into the restroom, which left Soul to tug at his collar and noncommittally push his food around his plate. He occasionally hummed in what he hoped was a concentrated way, wishing to stay out of the conversation as much as possible. He had been feeling strange all day, like there was a fog settled in his head, a swarm of bees buzzing in his bloodstream. There were constant flickers of scenes in the edge of his mind, but if he tried to focus on it, it vanished like a wisp of smoke. It was extremely frustrating, and he didn't think he could focus on both these disappearing images and his brother's incessant rambling.

It took him a moment to realize that the talk around him had ceased, and that both his parents and Wes were staring at him. He coughed awkwardly. "Um, what?" He shook his head lightly, trying to shake that strange feeling in his mind. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

His parents shared a look, while Wes leaned across the table to address him. "I asked how your piano playing was going. You haven't played in all the time since I've been here."

Soul scowled, red eyes narrowing and brow furrowing. "That's because whenever I play with you around, you constantly try to correct me." When his older brother chuckled, Soul snapped, "well you do! I'm tired of it."

His brother sighed. "Soul, I'm a professional. I can help you perfect the way you play, so there's no chance of a mistake. It's a great opportunity."

"So, what, you want me to let my older brother boss me around?" He rolled his eyes, looking back down at his plate. "I got enough of that as kids, thanks. I get sick of your voice after a while you know, with you talking all the time and nagging me because you don't like the way I play."

Wes smiled. "What? It's not my fault, and actually I don't nag. It's not that it sounds bad, it's just the techniques you're lacking in, and if you'd just listen to me-"

Soul's temper flared and he suddenly stood, his chair clattering to the ground behind him. His mother gasped, his father shouted his name, and his brother's eyes widened as he watched his brother glare down at him. "I'm tired of it," he repeated loudly. "I know, you're a world class musician, you remind us constantly, but I don't need your advice or approval. Who gives a damn about technique? I think it sounds fine, she thought it sounded fine-"

"You play beautifully."

He staggered where he stood, falling to the side and grasping at the tablecloth, pulling it and making a few dishes fall off the table as his mother let out a scream. His father and brother rushed around the table, but he was already pulling himself to his feet, shaking his head at their offered hands. He gripped the edge of the table, his family staring at him as he tried to gather his wits and steady himself. "She thought it sounded fine," he whispered, his mind whirring as he tried to comprehend what had just caused that episode to happen.

Wes' brow was wrinkled in confusion. "Who thought it sounded fine?" He stepped closer to Soul, who swatted his hand away when the older reached for him. "Jesus, Soul, you almost gave us a heart attack. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he muttered. "I'm just a little dizzy. I think I should go lay down." He took a couple steps away from the table, turning to head up to his bedroom. He felt the slight brush of his brother's fingers against his suit sleeve, but heard a whisper from his mother that made them release. He slowly made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, slipping only his suit jacket off before crawling under the covers and trying to sleep.

As usual, his dreams were filled with half-complete faces, that looked like somebody had tried to smear them out of existence. It was one of the rare times his mind was filled that that painful, unstoppable laughter that made everything in him ache, and he wanted nothing more than to know what was causing it. He wasn't able to get much rest, tossing and turning for a few hours before he gave it up as a lost cause. He shook away the last dregs of tiredness by tossing his head lightly, grabbing a blanket from the edge of his bed and wrapping it around himself, making his way quietly down the stairs.

He heard a few whispers of a conversation coming from his parent's bedroom, and a suspicious amount of quiet from his brother's room, but ignored both closed doors in favor of the music room. He walked silently through the house until he reached the basement, glad for the soundproof walls, because he didn't want to wake anybody. He settled at the piano, allowing the blanket to slip from his shoulders before placing his fingers on the keys and letting them roam free. He'd always been proud of his fingers; thin and pale, they belonged at a piano, flitting across the white and black keys like an elaborate dance. He never felt like he played enough. He could spend forever seated on this bench in the basement, and still it wouldn't be an adequate amount of time. He watched as his hands moved of their own accord, muscle memory causing him to play one of the most familiar tunes he knew. He hardly had to think to perform, he knew the song so well. It was comforting, even if it did cause the memories to swirl around in his mind lightly, as if encouraging him to try harder to remember. He felt a sense of foreboding, that something big was about to happen, not necessarily bad but life changing, and he could almost grasp it…

"I never said I didn't like the way you played."

Years of practical jokes were the only thing that stopped Soul from jumping out of his seat. Of course his brother was down here; like he was always saying, his life was all about music and he obviously couldn't stand to go a single moment without it. He eyed the large book in Wes' hands and wondered if he could hit himself hard enough to pass out. "You might as well have," the younger boy muttered. "You imply it often enough."

"You misunderstand." Wes walked over calmly, setting himself beside his brother on the piano bench, much like their mother had those months ago. "I didn't say I don't like how you play. Quite the contrary. I find the way you play the piano to be phenomenal." When Soul's brow scrunched, his brother said, "I only said your technique sucks. But that has nothing to do with you."

"Explain."

Wes sighed. "Well, I guess its like this. I think its the fact that you don't move your fingers the correct way, but the music is still beautiful. I've worked for years to perfect my violin techniques. Its a difficult instrument to master, you understand." He ran his fingers slowly across the piano keys. "But you've always had a natural talent for the piano, without much work. The main reason I want to help you with the logistics of playing is because… well, I don't really know why. It's not jealousy, never mistake it for that," he sputtered when Soul grinned. "Its more… misguided admiration. I think what you do is amazing, but you should do it the right way. Does that make sense?"

Soul shrugged. "I guess so. You could've just told me all this, you know. Instead of making me think I sucked at my instrument."

Wes smiled, reaching over to ruffle his younger brother's snowy hair, causing him to grimace. "That was never my intention." He brought his book into his lap, opening it to a random page with the intention of reading. "Now, back to my question from earlier. Who, exactly, thought you music sounded fine?" His eyebrows raised suggestively. "Pretty girl friend?"

The shark tooth boy blushed, facing away from his brother. "No," he said quietly. "Just a girl I met a little while ago. I don't know why I stumbled like that though, it was pretty weird." He frowned, staring down at the piano. "Do you think it's weird, Wes?"

The older boy laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the large room as he closed his book with a snap. "I've always thought you were weird, Soul." He hefted the book into one hand, lightly tapping his brother's head with it.

"MAKA CHOP!"

Soul was vaguely aware of his brother shouting in surprise when Soul slumped to the side and fell off the piano bench, but he couldn't really focus on anything but the searing pain rushing through his head. He could feel his vision starting to go black, and distantly heard Wes call for their parents before he went unconscious.

His mind was spinning, flickers of phrases and faces racing in a storm around his brain, making it pound like a drum. Names were connecting to features, and he recalled people, friends; Black Star, Kid, Tsubaki, the twins. But the one at the forefront of his mind was Maka. The girl with the blonde pigtails and the greenest eyes he's ever seen. There were more flashes of her than any of the others, and as the images played he could feel the months of wanting to miss her but not being able to remember. His soul reached for familiarity, for her, but was unable to reach, and it almost physically hurt. Segments of her words, of their conversations, of them, were coming back to him, and he felt the sudden sense of loss like a sword to the chest.

"We might be scared but that's what makes us stronger!"

"I am your weapon partner Maka! That means I'm always prepared to die for my Meister!"

"It doesn't hurt! It's not hot! I'm not scared! I will not be beaten!"

"Back away! I won't let you touch my Meister!"

"I refuse to let my fear control me anymore."

It all came back in a rush, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be with her. He missed her so badly, so suddenly, it was hard to concentrate on anything else, but then that god awful laughing was starting, and finally, finally, he'd know exactly what it was.

It turned out to be a witch. Cackling at she hovered above the two of them, Soul and his meister, occasionally sending bolts of magic at them and forcing them to move or be struck. Maka pulled them to the side, and Soul shifted, human once more, with their hands entwined. They remained in silence for a few moments before resuming their fight, their actions perfectly in tune with each other, their souls resonating as they fought to take down the witch. But she continued to laugh, refusing to give in to their attacks, and at the last moment, when they thought they were going to win…

Maka slipped. She went down, and Soul skittered in weapon form across the cobblestone, shifting quickly to get to her before the witch did. She was braced on his hands, one of which were bleeding, and the witch was gathering her magic again, a dark shade of red that certainly wouldn't do either of them any favors if they were hit. And because Maka was down, and her back was turned, she was the target. But Soul couldn't allow that to happen, because Maka was his meister, and he was supposed to protect her no matter what. So as the witch fired and Maka turned around, the scythe lunged, placing himself in the line of fire so that Maka would be safe.

He remembered the searing, crippling pain, and Maka's cry of shock, followed by the witch's never ending giggle of delight as she rode off. Maka was with him, he remembered that, and that he wanted to tell her he was fine, even if the agony was so intense he couldn't move or speak, he wanted to tell her that everything was okay, but his mind was starting to blank and then he couldn't remember anything, and Maka was gone…

"Maka!" He sat up gasping, his chest heaving as he tossed the blankets laid across him aside and tried to leave the bed he was in. He tripped over the edge of the covers, stumbling and falling hard to his knees before there were hands under his arms, lifting him back to the bed. He struggled before he realized the hands belonged to his brother, who was trying to prevent him from darting again. His mother sat in a chair by the bed, their father pacing by the door as he struggled to sit up. "Maka," he rasped, his throat dry and voice cracked. "Where is she, where's Maka?"

Wes' eyebrows furrowed, as he pushed on Soul's chest once more to keep him down. "Whoa, slow down there. You've been out for almost ten hours and the first thing you do is ask about some girl? Jesus, how about you let us take care of you first?"

Soul shook his head, trying to push his brother's hands away and rise from the bed. "Not just a girl. Maka, my meister, my partner, where is she-"

"Soul." His mother's voice stopped him moving, and he looked over his shoulder at her. Her eyes were filled with tears, and he suddenly felt bad for making her feel this way, though he didn't know exactly what he'd done, what had happened. "Do you remember everything?"

He nodded, shifting on the bed so he could face her properly. "I think so. It all came so suddenly, it was overwhelming. But I remember Maka, and I need to see her soon, because I just left her and she needs me."

Olivia Evans sniffled, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dressing gown as she came closer to her youngest son, drawing him close to her. "I'm so glad," she whispered. "I'm so glad you remember."

He hugged her tighter, not listening to the conversation happening between his brother and father, instead concentrating on his mother's heartbeat. "Do you want me to stay? Because I will, if you want me to. Maka can wait for now."

"No," she said firmly, pulling away, holding his head between her hands. "No, you won't keep that girl waiting a moment longer than you have to, because if she's been even half as miserable as you've been, then these last months were hell. You're going to her."

Soul felt the beginnings of tears burning under his eyes, and wanted to wipe them away because crying wasn't cool, but he wouldn't. "You won't mind if I leave?"

She smiled through her tears, chuckling lightly at her son. "Of course I won't mind. I'd rather you be there and happy, than here and missing her. You go to her." But when Soul released her and tried to stand, his brother pushed him back down.

"You're not leaving yet, little brother,"he stated, glaring down at Soul. "I don't know what the deal is here, but you need to stay in bed for a little while. You can go see your little girlfriend after." Olivia reluctantly nodded, settling a glare on her youngest to keep him in place. Soul mumbled a lighthearted "not my girlfriend" before laying back against the pillows and allowing his mother to fuss. He'd only be there for a little while longer, and then he could go find her.

Just a little while longer, then he could go find his meister.