"Marie Mjolnir, Death Scythe formerly residing over Oceania has been temporarily stabilised," Stein said, his voice bone-weary.

Spirit's eyes seemed hollow when he stared into the mirror. "She's-"

"Alive. I need her medevac'd."

He watched as Spirit ran a hand through his hair, his shirtsleeves rolled up. "The request was put in already, the second we got the call. Should be there in twenty minutes."

Death was nowhere to be seen, and Stein supposed that was metaphorical as well as literal. He'd never been a man minded for the metaphorical, however, so he did what he was good at. He continued pumping oxygen, maintaining slow breathing, and turned back to Marie and carefully checked and rechecked her vitals. He peered at the makeshift IV he fashioned on short notice and contemplated another precious few drops of morphine.

"Stein, what the hell happened? We got the call and... you weren't around and that man was practically weeping."

Stein stared into the mirror. Once he'd excised the failing intestinal section and given Marie blood, once she'd stabilised enough to not be in immediate, fatal danger, they had the random man run and get it, setting it in front of Stein.

Everyone scattered.

The Meister had already stitched Marie up, hoping against hope that she wouldn't need to be opened up again once he'd treated her internal hemorrhaging as best he could.

"Is this really the time for a mission report?" Stein snarked.

"I just need the shorthand, Stein." What he meant was that he needed to know that the doctor hadn't caused Marie harm in the first place. There was something broken in Stein's eyes, his shattered glasses having long been removed.

"Marie had to fight the demon soul, Sandman, alone and maintained multiple injuries."

"Alone?"

Stein's Adam-apple bobbed when he swallowed. "Yes."

Spirit knew better than to push the matter. "And you-"

"I was rendered incapable of fighting. Spirit, where is the medical team?"

"They're on their way, Stein. They'll be there soon."

Stein appeared like a man who went through an eighteen hour surgery. Spirit took in the way Stein was holding Marie's hand, keeping his fingers on her pulse to monitor her but stroking her wrist with his thumb while he controlled her breathing. He took note of how the doctor's hair was wild, mouth twisted, and shoulders sagged. He didn't notice the scalpel still in Stein's thigh, but the lab-coat draped over Marie's form was clearly his, her head cradled by her folded up shirt.

The look in Stein's eyes was obvious.

"You must have been scared," Spirit commented, remembering back to the first time he'd been injured badly on a mission. Stein hadn't been hardened to that life yet. For him to be so strained as a veteran, it must have been bad.

Stein's voice was smaller than he'd heard it before for a long time. There was a long pause. "Spirit?"

"Stein?"

"I think she should be reassigned," Stein said, suddenly and Spirit's eyebrows flew up.

"Are you joking?"

"No. Pair her with Sid."

"Sid can't wield her. You know how difficult Marie is to even pick up and-" Stein stared Spirit down. The redhead realised immediately what the Meister didn't want to say.

The pressure of the silence was almost too much before Spirit sighed.

"Don't be so selfish, Stein. She'd never allow that and you know it. And you know why."

Stein's mouth twitched but he remained silent.

"The medical team should be there, soon. They have your coordinates, so just stay on the line and they can trace you, alright?"

Stein nodded, giving in and putting more morphine into her IV bag.

"You should tell her," Spirit commented.

"About the morphine?"

"Stop dodging."

"Why?" Stein asked. Everything was a jumble in his head.

"She deserves to know."

"She'd never leave."

"Why is that a bad thing? That's her decision."

"You know why," Stein commented plainly, his voice empty of emotion.

"Don't you think she has a right to make that choice? Besides, deathbed confessions are romantic to some, I hear." It was a cheap attempt at humor, but at least it was filling up the space.

Stein stared at him, easy to read.

"Stop dodging," Spirit said, again.

Stein remained silent, but Spirit could have sworn he saw the scientist squeeze the hammer's hand just a little more firmly.

He had never been so thankful for proper medical tools in his life. When the Air Ambulance finally reached them, he was ready to downright kiss the rib separators, oxygen tanks, and nasogastric tubes. They could finally leave Deadwood and the small community that tried their best though it wouldn't be enough and the blood Marie left in the dirt behind them, hopefully to remember it only as an insignificant memory.

In the Air Am, Marie was finally on proper life-supporting machines but Stein still didn't feel comfortable pulling his soul away. Enveloping her when she was so delicate, it took everything he had not to let the madness seep through in her most vulnerable state.

He didn't tell any of the nurses about still being in resonance with her, but it was draining him. Spirit put in all the paperwork to have her under his care, and since he was the Lord's weapon, he could make orders by proxy whether he had the paperwork to back it up or no. The hospital staff had to give Stein access to everything, including the operating room they'd be in when they got back to Death City. And he had to be in a foreign operating room. He didn't trust himself in his own.

Stein had to conserve his strength, so he just gave orders to the nurses, as opposed to fulfilled them himself. Marie was on oxygen and they had her on a working pump, keeping her heart steady. Her vitals were all monitored closely: she had terrible internal damage, but he fixed up everything immediately life threatening as best he could, which was enough for now. And while they kept her body alive, Stein focused on her soul. He kept himself in a chair by her side since having such a one sided resonance was draining the life from him.

Almost literally.

It was 45 minutes in that he realised he should have just done everything himself because the pain medication started to fail her. Marie was a Death Scythe and she needed different levels of everything, especially what with her form being a hammer that utilised electricity. A very durable hammer. They must not have given her enough.

He was so tired he didn't notice it until she started to flail and he felt her soul wrestle within the confines of his own. The instant he was aware of the unrest, he brushed his soul close onto her, both of his hands reaching out to grasp one of her own that wasn't attached to the drip. Marie was whispering harshly behind the oxygen mask they'd put on her.

'Franken!' her mind screamed out, sounding terrified, sounding like she did when she was in the Sandman's vortex and he lowered his forehead down upon her own, sweating from the effort of stabilising their connection.

I'm here, Marie.

She whimpered, a sob bubbling from her chest which forced her to cough repeatedly, something which brought his eyes to the machines to see if something had been ruptured or disrupted. Dear Death, she was alive by force of will alone and some medical tape. Stein figures the lord might even have a hand in how she survived, because Stein had all but called him on the mirror to tell him that he owed the doctor. All the things Stein did in his life for Lord Death: he had a debt he wanted paid.

Whether threat, or miracle, or favour: Marie's life force was so fragile.

Stop, Marie! I'm here. Right here, he told her, bringing her hand up to his face, tracing her fingertips over his stitches like she always did when she thought he was sleeping. She seemed to calm down at that, her fingers twitching on their own while he dislodged one of his hands to bring it to the top of her head.

Such actions, such small things were so ingrained in her. Touch was powerful and he wanted the familiarity to calm her, needed her stable.

She sighed, relief ringing out in her voice, sweet as a bird, 'Franken, you're safe... Thank Death,' and then went limp, surrendering to the pull of his soul which was pleading for her to go back under. Her hand ceased moving and her body melted down back into the table, all tension gone as his soul stroked over her own from all sides.

He lifted his head up, managing to catch the eye of more than one nurse that had been staring at him.

"She needs more morphine," he informed.

Then, uncaring of anyone else but the two of them, he just lowered his head right back down.

When she woke up again, days later, he was slumped in a different chair looking worse than she had ever seen him. His eyes were skittering around, looking over the room at invisible things no one could see. He was trembling, quickly turning into horrible spasms. But Marie watched as he grasped his own wrist and twisted, wincing when she saw just how far he'd bent it.

Pain tactics: Stein had been called a sadist by many a person, but a masochist he was not.

She released a strange sounding gurgle when she tried to speak, to comfort him, and her throat felt odd and uncomfortable.

His head whipped up when he noticed she was awake. Quickly, he stood from his spot at his chair, standing up and leaning over her, looking at all the machines for any sign something could be amiss. When he came back with nothing out of the ordinary, he stepped to the door and called into the hall for ice chips before coming back to her side.

"You have a nasogastric tube in, give me a moment, I'll take it out," he told her, not waiting for any response before he rushed over out of her line of sight and she heard water running. Washing his hands, probably.

She didn't feel like lifting her head. She didn't really feel like doing much of anything at all, really. What she did feel like was that she was bulldozed. Or hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Stein came back into her peripheral wearing gloves. "You need to hold your breath," he told her, then, with a pause and a small voice, "Please," he added, and Marie's eye softened. When she did, her chest burned but she endured and he clamped his fingers down on the tube before he gently removed it. The sliding sensation was disgusting and Marie's eye watered slightly.

She could have sworn she heard soothing "shhh's", but it could have been her imagination. It probably was her imagination. Marie coughed slightly when the tube was entirely removed and Stein went to dispose of it just as a nurse knocked, coming in with two cups: ice chips and nodded at the nurse, but that was the only acknowledgment he gave, a sign for them to leave immediately, and when the nurse did, Stein walked back to where Marie was laying, hesitating.

"Do you... would you like to rinse your mouth out?" he asked her, something both wary and weary on his face. Marie cleared her throat, taking in the unpleasant taste on her tongue and nodded. Stein set both cups on some nearby table and rustled the blankets she was underneath so they exposed the hospital gown. It was a struggle for her to sit up enough, but she clamped down on any noises of pain.

Stein just looked so shattered already, she didn't want anything to make him worse.

He brought the cup to her lips and tipped it, barely, his other hand splayed on her semi-exposed upper-back. "Don't swallow it, just... just swish it around," he told her, and she followed the instruction though she desperately wanted a drink.

When she finished swirling the water around her mouth, she lifted her gaze to his with the question of where she should spit. The ghost of amusement played over his scruffy face. "Just spit back in the cup, Marie."

She wrinkled her nose, her cheeks puffed from the water, and he wanted to laugh.

Death, did he miss that feeling.

She figured they were done with inhibitions at this point. Her brain, in an effort to be funny, figured that they were even: she'd seen him shirtless and he'd seen the inside of her torso. The incision line ached dully.

So she spat in the cup, feeling more than a little gross when some of the water went down her chin instead. She huffed, twisting up her face and Stein's hand left her back so he could get up and throw the used water down the sink. He disposed of his gloves after grabbing some gauze to mop up what she'd spilled over her face.

She felt like a baby, so she decided to pout like one, and Stein shook his head after he tossed the used gauze as well. Carefully, he reached for the cup of ice chips and hesitated again. He looked annoyed, at her or himself, she didn't know, but she waited. He set the cup down so he had a hand to support her back with and took one chip out. When he put it on Marie's lips she almost jolted at the cold, but welcomed the bit of moisture.

"How is the pain?" he asked, ready to get another vial of morphine. It felt so foreign, to ask that.

She opened her mouth and took the ice in, feeling it melt and slide down her throat, sweet, blissful moisture. "Bearable," she replied, thankful that her voice wasn't as croaky anymore.

Stein nodded, his eyelids drooped as he repeated the process with the ice.

She looked him over, opening her mouth to accept the morsel. Her brow wrinkled in concern.

"Franken..."

"You should lie down soon. You'll pull your stitches."

Marie ignored him. "Franken, how long have I been out?"

He looked at her, removing his hand from her back and letting the ice chip he'd grabbed melt in his fingers. He licked his lower lip. "A few days. Weeks. You had an incident where you almost flat-lined early on, I thought it best to keep you sedated to alleviate any bodily stress so you could heal."

Once he started, he didn't think he could stop. Just nervous ramblings. But he knew this: it was medical, it was science, and he was so absolutely a doctor. He needed that, now. Because he wasn't sure what else he was, which face he was wearing today. "I took you off the oxygen a few days ago. You had pulmonary edema, evident by the severe hemoptysis. Your body... you suffered from some bad internal bleeding, mostly gastrointestinal, especially after your cardiopulmonary arrest and-"

"Franken," Marie interrupted. "How many days... weeks have I been out?"

There was something haunted in his eyes, jerky. "Thirteen days."

When her wavelength flared up in her, it hurt. It ached like nothing ever ached before but she didn't care. Had he gone all that time without proper sleep? Nutrition?

And what of the nightmares? He'd been under the Sandman's influence back in that battle, did he mean to tell her that for almost two weeks he was left without the power of something soothing? She didn't want to attribute too much power to herself, he survived without her before. But he was her partner, she... Death, she loved him. She adored him with each fiber of herself and the thought of him, fighting those demons that wore his skin and convinced him they were his reflection, all alone, burned worse than anything else.

Her job was to keep him from this, and she was the one who led him to it.

He jerked back from her. "Marie, you've gone through significant trauma, you shouldn't-"

"Be quiet!" she demanded and her hands flashed out and pressed to his neck, one of them trailing up over his scratchy jaw.

And he was selfish. He was so damn selfish and greedy but he wanted to sob in absolute gratitude when her palms brushed against him. He wanted more than that. Just a touch, something so flimsy, and he was reduced to such crippling want.

His own hands came up and covered hers; pushing them further against his skin and he slumped, boneless, bowing his head down. Gently, ever so gently, Marie tugged on his spent body and pressed his face into the crook of her neck. He moaned softly when her glowing skin connected with his forehead, and she fought through all the pain so she could turn her head and stress her neck, setting her golden lips right where his bolt met his skull. How easily he yielded to her, melted to her grasp.

She carefully worked her hands out from under his own to stroke the back of his neck and she pressed her cheek to his scalp, let her fingers run down into his collar, just barely. It was almost too affectionate for Stein, too chaste.

He felt foolishly, idiotically, overwhelmingly happy.

His hands came around her, careful of her stitches, her wounds, her incisions, to settle flat against the bare flesh of her back where the flimsy hospital gown gaped open. It was better for him to touch her since she had so much more of herself exposed than he did, but he was always so reluctant.

Wasn't that forever the case with them, in many ways?

"Oh, Franken," she whispered in his ear, tugging on him so he stumbled onto the bed, thankfully, on the side opposite of the IV line. "You don't have to be alone."

She felt his hot breath on her collarbone. "Marie, you're still healing. You aren't allowed to have anyone else on your bed-"

"I'm here, Franken."

And that was all it took. He felt weak for submitting to her so easily, but it was that echo of what he had told her. Hearing it said back to him just made his pride shrivel, all his walls demolished.

"I know," he replied, clutching her a little harder.

"I'm here. I'm here. You can sleep. You can relax," she assured, biting on her tongue as she lowered herself down onto the pillows, scooting and adjusting for his more massive form to cradle him against her, to her. The pain radiated and engulfed her, spine to belly.

It was because she knew him, because he finally felt, for once, for the first time in what felt too long, safe. He listened.

It was dreamless. He welcomed it with open arms.

She nuzzled her nose into his hair, her fingers combing it off of his face, all of her emitting light and calm into him when Spirit walked in, hands in his pockets and a grateful look.

"Good to see you awake, Marie."

She smiled, not letting up her ministrations. "It's good to be awake."

"Eh, I doubt that," Spirit said, well aware of how much pain she was in. "Do you want me to get a nurse for some more painkiller?"

Marie looked down at Stein's form, vulnerable once again, and shook her head no. It would just knock her out. "I'm alright. I want to be awake. I hear I've been a bit of a Sleeping Beauty, recently."

"Sleeping, maybe," Spirit began, grinning, "But a beauty you ain't. You're bruised to kingdom come."

"So I'm a colourful Sleeping Beauty. They fought over whether the dress should be pink or blue, right? Well, I'm wearing the combo. Just on my face."

Spirit's look grew fond. "I'm glad you're okay, Marie."

"What, you thought that was enough to end me?" she teased, her fingers looping a strand of Stein's hair round and round.

"Yes," Spirit told her, blatantly. "Honestly, it was enough to end anyone."

She sobered quickly, her hands halting. "Stein started talking about it but it was all medical jargon... how bad was it, Spirit?"

"Honestly?" the redhead asked, waiting until she nodded. "You practically went through a meat grinder. What I could get out of all the medi-talk was that Izuna ruined your heartbeat. Took you off-kilter, I guess. Went into a heart attack and everything. Stein had to start your heart up again so you have some nasty electrical burns on your chest."

Marie's voice was small. "Was that it?"

"No... there was the damage you took from the Kishin egg. Had to pop your shoulder back in and open you up from how bad your internal bleeding was. Your lungs filled up, too. We... he didn't think you were gonna make it."

"How did I?" Marie asked, staring at her friend.

Spirit fidgeted. "Well, it helped that you had the leading Death Scythe anatomy expert taking care of you. Five years, remember?"

Marie remembered back to how Stein used to cut Spirit up. She never thought it would bloom to something that saved her life. Though that didn't explain how restless Spirit got.

"Is there... something you aren't telling me? Was Stein hurt?" she asked, her eye immediately combing over her partner's curled form.

"Not from the fight," Spirit placated. "You did your duty as his weapon. Not a scratch."

Marie looked back at him. "Not from the fight? Then from what? What happened?"

"Your... you were still resonating when you started going under."

Her eye widened. Something hitched in her chest. "What?"

"Stein had to... cover your soul. I don't really get it, honestly. What I could get was that he covered your soul up, wouldn't let you go."

"But-"

"Please, Marie. It couldn't be helped. You were dying. He'd die too, if you did. You were still linked. He can't survive if he's in resonance with a departed soul, you know that."

Marie flinched, unconsciously bringing Stein closer to her. Spirit was starting to wonder if the other man could even breathe, what with his face pressed into the woman's flesh.

"He's probably lost some years," Spirit told her, and her face pinched the same way his did when he found out about the danger.

"I'd never want that," she told him in a watery voice.

"No, I know." He waited for a minute, just standing there, watching as Marie composed herself. He contemplated a joke about how Stein should certainly quit smoking, but he figured it might be insensitive. And he was going to offer up the painkiller again, but figured the stubborn hammer would rather remain awake all night, straining herself to keep her wavelength steady just to make sure Stein got his first night of actual sleep in two weeks. He originally stepped in to get the other half of the mission report from Marie, but considering she was busy with something, someone else, he wanted to give her some down-time before she had to relive it. Spirit smiled.

"Do you want me to just turn on the TV? There's a marathon of Disney movies on one of the channels. They always have it running here for the kids."

Marie nodded. "Yeah, that would be great. Thank you. Could you... call a nurse in? I wanna get these tubes out of me."

"No problem." Spirit grinned tiredly, though it was strained, and snatched up the remote from the side of the room to bring it over to her. He had to set it next to her side as opposed to in her hands, since they were still a little occupied.

"Want me to get another blanket?" he asked.

"No, thank you. I think we're fine with just the one."

"Alright," Spirit replied, walking to the television and turning it on. Over the low volume, as he was stepping out of the room, he turned his head to look at her. His voice was serious when it rung out.

"Marie... it's the closest thing to a confession you're ever going to get from him," he told her, and Marie froze all her motions.

"What?"

She could only make out half of Spirit's face, his conflicted but encouraging expression.

"He lost a couple of years, Marie. You probably wanna hurry up." With that, he closed the door behind him and left them alone.

Stein woke to her singing. There were no nightmares, no furious irises, no mask he thought he was wearing when he opened his eyes. Stein's vision was hazy but Marie was close enough to him that he didn't need the corrective lenses to see her still-radiating form.

"I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam," she sang, soft as she could as though not to wake him. Her fingers were tracing the scar on his face, moving in time with the music around the room.

Someone must have turned on the television.

"Marie," he said, amazed that she was still awake, still using her wavelength. She turned her head down to look at him. Sometime while he was sleeping, she had shifted so she was sitting; propped on so many pillows he was sure the staff had to raid other people's homes. His head was resting in one of her thighs as opposed to her shoulder.

"Good morning, Franken."

"Is it?" he asked, and it must have been because his voice was hoarse and scratchy.

"Yes," she answered, simply, still tracing his face.

"Marie-" he began again, dreading having to leave the gentle lull of her presence, but knowing she needed rest. He'd used up an entire night, one where she chose to remain awake without anything to ease her pain. He noticed that she wasn't on her drip, the machines unhooked.

But she cut him off with her singing, swaying to the waltz of the song.

They were resonating again. It must have been instinctual on his part, just to latch onto her soul when she extended it. Whether he did it in his sleep or when he was hazy upon waking, he couldn't pinpoint. But he could make out the knowledge of her gaze.

She knew. And he knew.

So what now?

Everything about her was warmth and acceptance. And her face was moving closer to his, but stopped, waiting for confirmation. It was sink or swim for him. His elbows sunk into the hospital mattress on either side of her thighs and he lifted his upper body, as though to leave. She remained still for him, waiting, watching him.

He could leave. He could come off the bed and pretend it hadn't happened and push the scenario aside and keep dancing around her.

But what was the point of that now? It was one thing when only he knew, a different thing if she understood how mutual it was, had been. Is.

He hears the mortality rate for their line of work isn't the best. Maybe it was time to acknowledge that.

So he smiles at her, moving up and forward until their lips were barely a hair's breadth away.

Marie moved first, slowly setting her mouth onto his and he slid his hand to the back of her head, supporting himself on a singular arm, his neck twisting. But his calloused fingers were touching her, stroking over the shell of her ear and Marie's palms met his jaw: familiar motions. Yet new, effortless.

He opened his mouth to her.

He let her in.

Massive thanks go out to my Betas Jcrycolr3wradcse and Crimson-Lia, who not only put up with my constant whining, but also made this fic so much better than it originally was! I have fought with this fic from the very beginning of resbang: It was the first one I wrote and the first one I finished. And now, here it is! Published! And it's all thanks to them!

Thank you so much for reading!

And thank you to my incredible, crazy talented partner, Olishia, who blew me away with her fabulous art! She is reponsible for the excellent cover art, and the link to MORE art for prone can be found at olishia dot tumblr (dotcom) /post/134583342770/heres-my-part-of-resbang-2015-prone-written

She's phenomenal!