"What was it about this time?" Soul asked when his mattress dipped.

"My mama," she whispered.

He rolled over and scooted to the side to give Maka more room. She crawled under the covers and curled against his warm, hard chest. Her hands were curled right over his scar, cold against his bare skin and trembling viciously. Her whole body trembled against his. He wrapped his muscular arms around her as delicately as though she were made of crystal threads. Her warm breath feathered his throat.

"The one where she left?" he said softly. She nodded into his neck. Just being in his embrace soothed her, calmed the shaking in her body. She could hear his rhythmic heartbeat and feel his even breathing.

"This time Papa was with Blair when Mama came home. She yelled a lot, as usual. She threw some things around. Then she pulled me into my room, sat me on my bed, and knelt in front of me. She said the same thing as always. Men are pigs. Never trust one. And then she was out the door."

Soul leaned his cheek against her crown, feeling her soft ashy hair tickling his nose. He knew what else her dream mother had said. Maka had only ever conveyed the other words to him once, but he knew they were present every time. It's your fault. Your fault I have to leave. Then, after the men are pigs, she would have said especially him. Especially that Soul Eater character. Your partner. But Maka had spared him from those details after that, knowing that it would hurt him.

But these dreams hurt her more than they would ever hurt him.

"Maka, you can't hold on to that forever," he sighed. "Sooner or later, you'll have to come to terms with the fact that she left."

"What?" she demanded angrily. "I have come to terms with it! I know she's gone, Soul!"

"You get defensive fast," Soul noted.

"Well, you're basically insinuating that I—"

"Whoa there, smaller words, Maka, please," Soul interrupted.

"You're implying—"

"Smaller."

"You're saying I'm acting like a stupid kid!" she snapped.

Soul sighed in exasperation and pulled back to look into her eyes.

"I didn't say that. Ever."

"But you said I haven't come to terms with the fact that my mama is gone. But I know she is, Soul. I'm not an idiot."

Soul scowled, his scarlet eyes sparking with thinly veiled annoyance. Maka couldn't help but notice that they darkened when his emotions were running high, flecks of black appearing in the ruby depths.

"Yeah, you know she's gone. But you're still hoping, maybe subconsciously, that she'll come back. It's been years, Maka, and all you get are postcards. They don't even say anything, for crying out loud! She isn't coming back. Eventually you'll have to acknowledge that. Don't," he warned when her eyes flashed furiously, "snap at me. Don't you dare try to get pissy with me. We both know that's what you've been thinking."

There was a short silence, then he continued, in a much softer, kinder voice. "It's not your fault, Maka. It was never your fault that she left." His arms tightened around her.

Slowly the fire left Maka's eyes, and she snuggled wordlessly back into Soul's chest. He was right, she knew. There was a part of her, small, true, but it was there, that had secretly held on to the hope that Kami may realize her mistake and come back to her daughter. She had not been ready to let that hope go, though, despite her knowledge that it was silly and immature of her to continue to think that way. Irrational it may be, but she hadn't been able to let it go. But Soul was right.

Soul was sure she wasn't going to release that hope, just as he was sure he knew how badly said hope was hurting her now. She thought that that hope was all that kept her sane, and that letting it go would be more painful than anything else, but it would hurt her less to accept what couldn't be changed. She still tried to contact her mother—Soul knew this, because he would take out the mail each morning, and he would catch Kami's name on the envelopes sometimes. But Maka never got a response. Just a postcard, with nothing written on it, and her face would fall, crumple in on itself in her disappointment. He hated it. He hated seeing her torment herself like that, but she wouldn't listen to him.

There are five steps to the grieving process. The first stage is denial. When a person won't accept what's happening, or doesn't understand it. Refusal to come to terms with what is going on. The second is anger. Trying to pin the blame on someone specific, demanding to know why this is happening to them. Anger at their own helplessness, at somebody else's mistake. The third is bargaining. "What wouldn't I do to change this?" When they try to find a way around what has happened. Often, if grieving the death of a loved one, the person wishes they could switch places. The fourth stage is depression. More often than not a person will spend the most time in this stage, or perhaps anger. They wonder if anything is worth the pain they're feeling. They feel horrible, insignificant, sometimes they feel at fault. It's unwise to try to cheer up a person in this stage of grieving, as it is a natural part of the process, and they need to pull through it.

Not all of the stages are always hit. Sometimes someone doesn't go through any of them, accepting what happened from the beginning. Sometimes only a few are touched. Sometimes a person never reaches stage five, and are instead trapped by their own emotions. Some people remain in denial until the very end; some finally reach the last stage in their very last moments of life.

Soul played with a lock of her hair absent-mindedly, allowing the soft strands to slide between his fingers, and not catching, at first, the mumbled words from her lips.

"Huh?" he grunted when he realized she had said something.

"I said, you're right," she said louder. He stilled, hand still tunneled in her hair but no longer moving. His breath brushed the top of her head, slow and hesitant.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" he said after a moment. "I'm afraid that I'm having a black blood-induced hallucination and I just heard you say that I was right."

She smacked his bare chest hard, right over his scar, and he flinched at the stinging pain, just barely holding back a yelp. Vicious girl, his meister was. Completely and totally violent and instinctive. Still, he heard laughter in her voice, and it brought a smile to his own face.

"Shut up, idiot. I did say you were right."

"Mark it on the calendar!" Soul cried, with exaggerated joy.

He crushed her to his chest as he spoke, in a way very reminiscent of her papa, until she choked out a warning that she couldn't breathe, and that he was about to get a most painful Maka Chop in a place that would have him singing soprano for a week at least. After a self-satisfied smile when he released her as though she'd burned him, Maka continued.

"I've been really stupid, hoping like some little kid that someday Mama would come back. I'm sixteen, and I'm still acting like an abandoned little girl. That's stupid."

"Maka, I don't think that that's—" Soul started, not wanting her to put herself down in that whole acceptance process.

"No, Soul, don't deny it. I was being stupid, I know that. But I see that now, so I can fix it."

"Well, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have a problem," he laughed, tightening his hold on her.

She snorted and jabbed him in the stomach, earning another wince and groan.

"Damnit woman! Would you quit abusing me?" he whined, reaching down in time to catch her fist before it connected with his manhood.

"It's not a problem! It's a natural stage in the grieving process!" she said indignantly. "But it is a stage I've spent way too damn long in."

That was the last they spoke that night. Maka feel asleep soon thereafter to the rhythmic sound of his heart beating and the feel of his gentle fingers combing softly through her hair.

Soul was awake long enough to feel proud of his meister. As his fingers slid through her hair with increasing slowness, he allowed himself to press his lips to her forehead.

"I love you, Maka Albarn." He murmured into her skin. Then he buried his face in her hair, and gratefully leapt into sleep's open arms.

There were five stages of grievance. A person didn't necessarily hit them in consecutive order, and sometimes they hit only one or two, and sometimes none at all. The first step was commonly called denial. Not really believing what was going on. It sounded like Maka was finally starting to work through this one. The second was anger. Maka had sure as Hell gone through that one, raging about her dad for causing the issue, and at her mom for letting it tear her away from her only daughter. The third was bargaining. She'd gone through that one as well. Actually, Soul thought that was first one she'd hit. No, no, the first one she'd gone through was officially stage four: depression. Or so others said. Soul hadn't been around when her mom vanished, although he met her shortly after. According to Tsubaki, that stage hadn't lasted terribly long. As a matter of fact, she'd said that the more time she spent with Soul, the better she'd gotten. And then, finally, there was stage five. The most elusive one of all, the most difficult one to reach for, but the one which Maka was now fighting to achieve. Stage five was more often reached than not, but sometimes a person would linger for too long in another stage, even as they took that fateful, irreversible step through death's door.

Maka was almost there. Almost to stage five.

Acceptance.