A Maka for All Seasons

By DarkAngel

Disclaimer: Soul Eater belongs to Atsushi Ohkubo.

Author's Notes: A rehabilitative exercise to ward off a long bout of writer's block.

Warning: There are spoilers for the recent chapters of the comics. If the words "Noah", "Gopher" or "Book of Eibon" are a mystery to you, I suggest reading at your own risk. :)

[01. Smear]

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Maka squirmed uncomfortably in her hospital bed. The pillows propping her up did nothing to alleviate her discomfort; if anything, they only seemed to aggravate her problem. She frowned, trying to concentrate on her book, but the problem persisted. She lifted a hand from her book.

"Don't scratch it." A dry voice from beside her said, also for what seemed like the hundredth time. She shot her companion a glare. He only raised pale eyebrows at her, and she relented. She knew he meant it for her own good, but –

"It itches," she grumbled irritably. She slammed her book shut. "And we've been stuck in here for over two days now. I want to go home." She blew an explosive breath. "I don't see how you can be so calm about this."

Soul only shrugged. He was used to his meister's prickly nature, and he knew more than anybody else that one of the things that irritated her the most was not being able to do anything, especially when there were things that needed doing. Maka knew that he knew all this, and that just irritated her more. He'd long ago stopped arguing with her about it, choosing instead to let her anger wash over him. Damn him for being so composed. He was supposed to be angry. He supposed to be yelling at her. He wasn't supposed to be placid about it. Especially because...

Maka dropped her gaze from Soul's, biting on the inside of her he would have another scar, another big gaping wound to top – literally top – the one he'd gotten in Italy. She couldn't even blame Girrico. Soul had, as he had the last time, stood in the way of danger when she'd refused to fight. How many more strikes was he going to take for her? How much more of his blood would she be smeared in before he finally gave in and... She swallowed, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Soul must have sensed something, because he called her name. She looked up warily. "What?"

Deep garnet eyes held hers, the look on his face dead serious. Bad choice of words; Maka winced. Soul frowned.

"Whatever you're thinking about, stop." With a pained grunt, he swung himself over to the edge of his hospital bed. Maka's mouth drew into a thin line. She was about to open her mouth but he cut her off with a gesture. He made his way to her, a determined look on his face. She scooted over so he could sit at the edge of her bed. Soul glared. "It isn't your fault. Don't even try to shoulder the blame on yourself." He crossed his arms over his chest, though it didn't escape Maka's notice that he did it gingerly.

He noticed her stare and his glare intensified. "Don't," he gritted it. "Think. About. It." They glared at each other. Maka slammed herself back into her pillows with a huff, hissing when the action sent a shock of pain down her back.

"Maka!" She swatted his attempts to help her away and they glared at each other some more. They stared each other down and then, suddenly, they were both laughing, holding their wounds as the laughter disturbed their still tender frames. "We're pathetic," Soul wheezed, hands clutching his chest. Maka leaned back into the pillows, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Yeah, we're pathetic." She gave a great sigh, wiping the tear away. She smiled fondly at him. He smiled back, a genuine expression void of his usual sarcasm or snarky humour. She only shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while. She reached out a hand to his chest, feeling the raised skin and stitches through the fabric of his thin shirt. He clasped her hand, tightening his fingers over hers.

"What did I say about apologizing?" he said in a rumbling voice. He wormed his other hand behind her back, soothing the itching sensation. She sighed, leaning into him. They were both pathetic. They were both too stubborn for their own good, and too unwilling the address the things that really mattered. The things that lay buried beneath the surface.

"I'll get stronger," she said, feeling Soul shift so her head rested in the juncture between his shoulder and chin. He made a humming noise. The noise was deeper when she was this close to him. "I promise. And..." She fumbled for words. What could she say? That she wouldn't let some manifestation from an ancient book mess with her mind again? That she would fight for the both of them because the thought of losing him once had been unbearable enough, but almost losing him a second time was enough for her to want to rend her own heart out?

He seemed to understand. His arms tightened around her. "I know." She wasn't sure, but she thought she could feel his lips brush against her forehead, the ghost of his breath on her skin.

It would only get harder on them, she knew. They were far from finished with what they need to do. Her hand tightened on Soul's sleeve. There was a very large possibility that one or both of them could be seriously injured or die along the way. She closed her eyes tightly, swallowing hard against the lump of misery that threatened to disgorge itself from her throat at the thought. She could feel his pulse against her cheek and tightened her grip on his sleeve. The irony could have made her laugh if it wasn't so bleak. Perhaps she was more her father's daughter than she thought.

Maka swallowed. What if she never got the chance to say anything? Their occupations being what they were, and her being every Medusa and Noah's It Girl, the chances were depressingly small, no matter how much protection Shinigami-sama and Shibusen afforded her. And of course, they were in the thick of everything, being Shibusen's elite.

"Soul?" His name was out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop herself, before she had the chance to think. She took a sharp breath. What the hell am I doing? But she was reaching out for him. "Soul, I –"

A soft noise reached her ears. Carefully, Maka leaned away from her partner, giving him a slight nudge so she could see his face. She could have chopped him.

He was sleeping. Mouth open, eyes shut, his head lolled against her arm.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid rabbit boy. Stupid her. Disgusted, she disentangled herself from him, ready to let him drop.

"Ma... ka..." Soul mumbled something else before his lead lolled the other way, landing with a thump on her chest. She sighed. So much for just dropping him on his graceless ass. With her back screaming in protest, she dragged him onto her bed – it was far easier than dragging him and lifting him onto his.

He made a pitiful moaning noise and shifted, arms splaying out. One of them smacked them in her side and she bit down a growl. Stupid Soul. And to think, she had been ready to tell him something important. She gave him a shove and he snuffled, curling into himself. His fingers twitched, curling around her waist. With a final twitch, he was back to snoring. Maka's gaze softened.

Maybe... Maybe when he woke up, she would tell him. Or maybe she would sleep, and forget about it. Whatever the outcome, he would be here when she woke up. She'd make her decision then.

Good night, Soul.

Author's Notes: After a long case of writer's block, I decided to release something, simply because I felt that nothing would come of waiting. In the end, I came out with this. It has no deep meaning and doesn't go anywhere, but I felt it made a halfway decent rehabilitative exercise.

I've got a lot of ideas bubbling in my brain at the moment, so I guess I'll type them all out one by one. Even if I don't think they're all that good, I'll leave it to you to decide.