1, 2, 3, 4.

1, 2, 3, 4.

1, 2, 3, 4.

1, 2, 3, 4.

It never went away. Never. It was always there, always grating at her mind. Always sounding like a static song, a pounding that never ceased. It was constant, not slow, nor terribly fast. You had to think to count to it. 1, 2, 3, 4. You could also count it as 1, 2, 1, 2. You could count it however you like but it never changed. It never wavered. You had to tune into the sound of tapping to hear the numbers, the beat, the notes. Otherwise it sound just like an annoying noise, a static, obnoxious noise. It was never ceasing. Never stopping. Always there, even in sleep. It harshly contrasted the white all around her. The silence that reigned between each time, for however brief it might be it was still there. Still taunting her, the what if of it the beat left. The white walls, the white gown, the white plastic table, the white plastic bed, the white sheets. No windows, no. No windows for her. Every surface smoothed, rounded so she couldn't hurt herself. Herself? Who? She couldn't focus with the unending tapping. It was maddening, but where would she be without it. Alone, she was most definitely alone. The walls, the walls were so white. So white it hurt to look at them straight. Herself? She didn't feel herself, but who? Who is 'herself'? How would she know? It was all white, all white and tapping. Nothing else. No other noise. Surfaces. The surfaces are cold, always cold. Cold plastic. She moved, occasionally she moved. Around the walls she moved. Is there a door? What's a door? Funny word, 'door'.
A noise broke the tapping, a giggle? Is that what its called? Perhaps. But it's gone now. What's gone? The tapping. The tapping is still there. Nothing is changed, static. Always. Tapping. Always. White. Static.

1, 2, 3, 4.

1, 2, 3, 4.

1, 2, 3, 4.

1, 2, 3, 4.

He couldn't believe it. As his sad ruby eyes watched the girl that couldn't see him, his hand pressed against the glass longingly. He just couldn't believe that this was his Maka. She couldn't see him, he could only look in at her through the wall to her it was solid. The room was completely safe, she couldn't harm anyone or herself. She was in a white gown that his her figure and reached to her mid calf, her hair neatly done in two low pigtails. Some would see white room as sterile or comforting, relaxing even. He thought it was too bright, too plain, to white. Still, she was safe for now. At least physically, as he noticed her eyes were manical or dead, and remained in flux between those two states. His Maka. If he had known she would end up like this he would have never left to begin with. He didn't know if she was in pain, but seeing her like this was causing him to be so. He was brought back to the present at the sound of her giggle. Apparently she hadn't done anything other than tap since she was found in their apartment. Even then, they said they walked in to her sitting on her bed, tapping on the wall and staring blankly ahead. No one knew what was wrong for sure, but she had just giggled. The nurse next to him was writing about what had just happened. He needed to know more, and he needed to get permission to see her. He could fix this, he had to fix this. His Maka, this beautiful, smart girl couldn't stay like this any longer. She needed help and no one had been able to give it to her yet.

"I'm back Maka. I won't leave you, not anymore. I'm going to fix this." After speaking and a longing glance, knowing she couldn't hear him, he turned and headed to go speak and see Shinigami.

He would fix this.

He would save her.

AN: Hello. :) I honestly expected this to be a oneshot only, but with the reviews (which are lovely! Thank you!) and my current state of intense sadness. I was able to write this, and hopefully more. Though, I do have bad news. My computer is on the fritz and so I do not know when I'll be updating anything. Sadly, the emotion for this piece is due to my own deep sadness at having my beloved cat Cheese at the vet's for some serious health issues. Enjoy.