He's filling up the bike, watching the digital numbers on the fuel pump tick by, when his phone rings. The number is unfamiliar, and the temptation to ignore it is strong. Alas: adulthood. Soul answers.
"Evans," he says.
"Evans," says Ox.
"Oh no."
The officer has a thinness to his voice which Soul had only previously associated with unscheduled quizzes and written essays. "No one can give me a positive injury report yet, but it seems Albarn got into it at the library with Harv," he says, his police cruiser revving in the background as he accelerates.
Soul stops the gas pump. "Soooo, when you say 'Albarn,' do you mean-"
"Of course I mean Maka, why the hell else would I bother to call you, Evans."
"Sorry for trying to be optimistic this one time in my entire life," he gripes, twisting the bike's fuel cap back on. "I'll meet you there."
Not that there'd been a staff meeting about it or anything, but it's become common knowledge that any combination of Black*Star, Maka, or Harvar being reported in the same incident was to be treated as a worst case scenario. Soul guns the bike through the city, and doesn't meet Ox at the library so much as see him speed by at an intersection and tailgate him the rest of the way.
Once inside, the ground floor is deserted, cleared out by other officers at the scene. Soul follows Ox past the checkout counters. "No, just let me handle it," the meister says into an earpiece. "I have more experience being electrocuted anyway," he adds with a grumble. Then he stops so fast Soul nearly runs into him.
"What. What is it? What happened?"
Ox frowns over his shoulder. "Sorry, could you please shut up? My Perception isn't as strong as the power couple's."
Despite reflexively wanting to point out that he and Maka are not a couple whatsoever, Soul shuts up.
Catching the wavelength trail, Ox leads them to some obscure-ass wing of the library, and debris starts making regular appearances: avalanches of books with singed pages, a couple of scattered 'NO PARKOUR' signs. There's even a signature Maka Chop dent on the edge of a shelf.
"No blood, though. That's good, right?" Optimism doesn't suit him.
Ox ignores him, stopping at a bookcase and looking up. Not long after, Harvar peeks over the edge. Why in Death's name he's on top of it instead of on the floor, no one cares to explain. Soul thinks he hears some music that may or may not be from Animal Crossing and nothing feels real anymore.
After a moment of really weird silence that Soul is glad he can't understand, Harvar says, "I'm innocent, officer."
"Can someone please tell me what's going on in this damn town," Soul complains.
With a sigh, Ox holds out an expectant hand, and Harvar eventually transforms across the distance. As the officer carts away his weapon for a chat, Soul hears Harv say, "The kids are fine."
Soul still has no idea where Maka is; it's been difficult to hear her wavelength lately, and as much as that scares him, he's got other things to worry about. He supposes with all the property damage already done, no one is going to scold him for climbing the bookcase, so Soul makes a leap and hauls himself over the top. He ends up face to face with Maka sitting cross-legged on a rug, deeply absorbed in a lightning-scorched reference book that looks about as thick as one of her legs.
A bit of her hair is frizz-fried, but she otherwise appears fine. Further down the line, he sees a gaggle of kids watching that friggen TV show, also on top of the bookcase for some reason. He sits down and crosses his own legs. "Maka?"
It's a delayed reaction, but her head pops up, and she looks the most like herself he's seen in nearly six months. "Hm? Oh! Hi." She glances to her right, confused. "Where'd Harvar go?"
"The police are here."
He watches the color drain from her face. "Oh." Maka puts a hand over her eyes. "I made a mistake."
Soul slouches, resting his elbow on a knee and propping up his chin. "Well, are you alright?"
"Yeah. ...Sorry." She gestures towards all the dead book bodies in the area with a wave of her fingers, face falling back into the one he's used to seeing now - the one carved by time. "This was all my fault. I attacked him unprovoked."
"What? Why?"
Maka's forehead scrunches beneath her fringe, and she shakes her head a tiny bit like she doesn't really know, herself. Her fingers curl against the pages of her textbook, slowly clenching in distress. "I guess I was frustrated," she says.
He doesn't get it, but he also might get it more than he really wants to, because beneath her hands are words like 'recovery' and 'sprain,' with diagrams of muscles and rotator cuffs; he can't help but connect himself to those things and feel at fault.
"Are you off from work?" she asks. He nods. "How are you feeling today?" she asks.
Gaze still fixated on the textbook, Soul worries if he keeps letting her pamper him because he's touch-starved and lonely, he's just going to make things worse. He needs to stop leaning on her so much.
"I'm fine."
Spring is short-lived in Death City - Blair turns on the air conditioner by mid-March. They can afford it now after months of budget adjusting and Soul getting a small raise; Death had convinced a few sponsors to fund the continuing tradition of helping young weapons and meisters control their abilities for 'normal life.'
It feels like Maka is getting the hang of all this massage therapy. Having her brain work hard again is nice, and learning something new all the time brings a satisfaction she'd missed. Every now and then she gets to apply what she's learned on Soul, and he stands taller and sleeps longer. But he's also working harder, too - he works and trains and travels so much she can only see him late at night, rubbing knots out of his calves and shoulders before he falls asleep, and when it's that late she ends up passing out, too.
By morning, he's already gone. Sometimes, when she studies in his room to stay up for him, she wakes up under the covers he's tucked around her without having heard him come home at all.
Weeks go by like this. When she wakes yet another morning with Blair curled into her hip, his side of the bed still covered in her textbooks, she resolves to find him, herself.
She doesn't even use a pretense of bringing him lunch - just walks into Shibusen and down its familiar halls straight to the teacher's lounge. Seated at one of the skull-shaped tables, Soul leans too far back in a plastic chair. He's holding his phone to an ear, draping his free arm on his head with his hand dangling to one side.
"Do the reporters have to be there, though?" he says, and Maka recognizes the familiar cadence of Kid speaking on the other line. Soul groans and says, "Understood."
Edging closer, she hears Kid say, "Anything else?"
"I guess tell Star he's a choad?" Soul offers with a half-hearted wave of the dangly-hand.
Death sighs.
"You're the one who asked."
"Don't be late," says Kid before hanging up.
Soul makes his own sigh, sliding his phone to the table and watching it spin in place for a moment. "Alright," he says, tilting his head back. "Who's eavesdro- Maka," he starts, pulling his arm off his head and tipping his chair too far back. She rushes forward as he wobbles, helping him set all four chair legs back to the floor. "What're you doing here?" he asks over his shoulder.
Hands still on the back of his chair, she realizes she hadn't planned on anything to say, only intent on finding him the moment she'd left the apartment. "Um. I haven't seen you in awhile. So. I came to say hi."
"Oh. Hi." Soul turns back to the table, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Sorry. Been busy."
It's completely automatic for her hands to raise just a few inches and place them on his familiar shoulders, thumbs pressing where he's always liked it best. For a moment, his chin dips down with a rough sigh as he enjoys it, but something about the whole moment feels empty, and she can't identify why.
Soul then does something he's never done, reaching back to gently pluck her hands away from his shoulders. "Thank you," he says quietly. He turns around in his seat, still holding her right hand in his, and rubs his thumb on the underside of her wrist. "But I'm fine."
Dumbfounded, she tries to catch a hint of his wavelength, and is startled to not find it at all. It's barred off from her, locked away as she had locked herself from him before, even as he releases her hand to gently touch a dark circle under one of her eyes. "Worry about yourself. I know you're not sleepin' enough," he says, voice like a stranger's.
His phone buzzes with a timed alarm. He slowly scoots the chair back so she can get out of the way for him to stand. "I'll be gone for a couple days," Soul says, grabbing that ugly yellow duffel bag from beneath the table and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'll text when I get back, okay?"
"Okay," she replies, too in shock to muster anything else as she watches him unceremoniously leave.
She's met with the same silence as the apartment. Maka looks at the chair he'd vacated, an angry frown pulling at her face. This is the exact opposite of what she'd wanted. And for the first time in what feels like ages, she finds north.
She wants to fight.
Things change, so she'll adapt. Instead of fighting monsters or criminals, she'll fight for herself.
Patti has Shelley on her shoulders, chasing a play-terrified Liz around the Death Room as Marie drinks tea on the throne, watching the proceedings.
Stein still wears those god-awful sweaters, revealing another grey monstrosity after shedding his lab coat. Spirit looks twice as light in Stein's hands as he had in Black*Star's, which Soul had not thought was remotely possible.
At least Soul is being wielded by Death this time, but it seems the need to check the fridge for Maka is more deeply ingrained in his subconscious when he's in his weapon body. It's not really a problem, but Kid is definitely getting annoyed.
[ I am certain there is a level of hypocrisy in my bringing it up, given my own compulsions, but please do something about that. It is profoundly distracting. ]
[ Sorry. I'm workin' on it. ]
[ This lesson will not be a walk in the desert. While I regrettably do not know how to emphasize 'Maka Is Not Here' in the exact amount you require for it to stick, I would appreciate it if you accepted it soon. ]
[ Man, what do you think I've been trying to do for the past year? It's hard. ]
The sound of Kid's soul changes pitch in his confusion. [Year? What are y- ]
But the thought is interrupted by Stein. "Wouldn't Maka have been a more appropriate teacher for this?" he drawls, doing a few warm-up moves with Spirit. "I had plans today."
"'Doing science' is not plans. That's your default setting," says Marie, blowing steam away from her cup of tea. "You need the exercise."
Stein's lips pull into a line, but he removes his glasses and tosses them into Marie's lap for safekeeping before adopting a more appropriate stance for sparring.
Through resonance, Soul can feel Death observing that stance and adapting it for himself. Testing Soul's weight in his hands, Kid says, "I talked to her first, actually. She mirrored to ask my opinion regarding massage therapy certifications. She appeared busy. Begin."
What? He hadn't even known she was interested in doing that-
[ Pay attention, ] his new meister insists, meeting Stein and Spirit with a sparking crash.
Right. He needs to focus. He needs to remember how all this fighting used to go, but not remember her at the same time.
They're practically strangers now, anyway. If she's doing well on her own, that's good. If getting back to her normal self requires him to not be there, then...that's how it'll have to be.
[ ...Soul. ]
[ I'm fine. ]
[ My carefully curated aesthetic, you're fine. Do not attempt to lie to me in my own resonance, I'm a god. We shall discuss this later. ]