I can't understand why I'm writing another MakaxSoul fic, but it's happening. This one feels a lot more angsty though, so be ready for a sad boy Soul.

Five years ago was the last time I saw Maka.

It was about two years ago that I stopped hearing from her directly, every now and then getting a postcard or a cryptic letter from somewhere out in Europe or Asia. It was never the same place twice. I can't tell you why she stopped but maybe she didn't feel fettered to me anymore. I guess I cried when I realized the letters weren't coming anymore.

I've kept up with her since through second-hand information. Sometimes Kid would let something slip. Most of the time Marie would tell me a tidbit while I was over with her, Stein, and the baby, or what used to be a baby. Now he's a full-grown man at 5 years old, a perfect clone of Stein in every way. Poor Marie.

But I'm getting off-topic because I'm avoiding the reality that has hit me in the face. This time it wasn't letting something slip, it was Kid coming to me, telling me she'd been hurt by some kind of jail-break nonsense that happened when she was trying to use her Soul Perception on some witch for information. She was in some kind of magical coma, they were working on it, but bringing her back here seemed the best idea. Maybe bringing her to me seemed like the best idea.

Again, five years ago was the last time I saw Maka.

Five years ago, after the Kishin, after the celebration, after a few more years at DWMA, we'd started getting into the habit of sleeping in the same bed. The excuses were always the same, too tired, too cold, it's what we do on missions anyway. No matter the excuse it was just sleeping though, sometimes intertwined but always innocent, bodies together in comfort rather than need. She never pushed but I had to one night, that moonlight glow against her half-lidded eyes, that smile just for me, just for these moments spread on her face and wrinkling her nose urging some kind of action.

So as I pulled her into me like I usually did to start our slumber, I leaned my face into hers, capturing her mouth with the intensity built from what felt like a million years of loving her. She let me kiss her like that. She let me undress her. She let me touch her. I wasn't slow, I wasn't patient, I was needy and I took everything I wanted from her. It didn't seem anything like me since we were partners, we always shared the weight, but this want was deep and dark and I let it control me. When I look back at it, I know I didn't give enough, but Maka being Maka let me. But I was ready to learn, I wanted to know how to give it back, but I made a mistake after the fact since words were never my strong suit. I should have just told her I loved her. In a day she was gone.

Mira and Sid were the ones who brought Maka back and in my infinite cowardice, I let them install her in the apartment without me, claiming business at DWMA that anyone could tell you I didn't really have. Yes, I'd been working as a teacher there, but it was nothing I couldn't blow off to see the woman I'd loved for almost half my life. I'd been attempting to tell myself that I wasn't still in love with her, and seeing Maka would just concrete that as fact in my heart.

When Kid finally found me that day he practically dragged me back to the apartment, describing the possibilities the whole way. The theory of the moment was that it was something like a Soul Perception backfire as if the witch had used the tune her soul used to reach out to lock it back in on itself. Obviously, there weren't many models for this, and at this point, it just looked like Maka was in a permanent slumber. A real-life sleeping beauty.

Mira would come as necessary for any lady related issues, but other than that I was expected to take care of her and try to reach her. I'd been her last real long-term partner, so if anyone was going to reach her it was going to be me. I couldn't admit that as soon as I reached out to her I was sure her soul would zap me without hesitation. Kid would realize soon enough, I bet, but at least I'd get to see her and really be able to tell myself I didn't love her. Or at least I'd see her when I quit chickening out.

I hoped that Kid didn't see me holding my breath as we entered the apartment, as I heard sounds coming from a space that was usually devoid of all life. Each step felt like my feet were stuck to the floor but I couldn't let Kid get past me so I urged myself on, pausing only at the threshold before the door, taking a deep breath to keep myself from blacking out before I turned the corner.

It was her hair I noticed first since I had expected it cascading across the pillow but instead it was cut close just behind her ears, dramatically parted to the side as it swept across her forehead. She was absolutely beautiful, even with the rings around her eyes, the loss of her usual rosy glow in her skin. I had to clutch the doorway, my heart threatening to give up, to break or burst. "Maka…" I couldn't help myself and found myself searching for her soul. It was there, like a faint waft of her scent, but it felt distant as if she were still hundreds of miles away.

Kid ignored my stricken behavior and continued into the room, restarted the conversation of Maka's rehabilitation. Her limbs needed to be exercised. Her body needed to be moved and repositioned to prevent bedsores. They hadn't had to resort to a feeding tube since she seemed to still swallow on her own but it was a slow process. To be honest, with the gruel Mira was feeding her I was surprised she'd swallow at all, but I guess nutrient-packed didn't equal delicious in most cases.

I'd have to be ready for people in and out constantly, from Stein to Mira to anyone with a solid theory and some ideas to heal her. Maybe I'd even have to be ready for her to never wake up. No one said that explicitly, but that's always a nagging in the back of your head in these situations and from the look on Kid's face, it was not just in the back of his head.

Mira had packed up her things and left, reassuring me that she was a phone call away and that she'd be back around dinner time. Kid dawdled, his hands jammed in his pockets, watching Maka but more so, me. "She didn't tell me why she wanted to leave without you."

Oh, boy, here is it. The question or inquisitive statement I always dreaded, some incarnation of what ever happened to you and Maka? "No offense, Kid, but I'm not going to tell you either."

He smiled wanly and shrugged at me, "That wasn't a probing question, Soul, more of an absolution of my own guilt. I had always assumed you hadn't known either."

I felt gutted, raw from the day and knew it was only going to get worse from here. "I know."

"Then is this going to be a problem?" He leaned against the wall, appraising my face.

I raised an eyebrow, "Wasn't that a question to ask before you brought her back here?" I only paused for a second before jumping back in, waving my hand at him. "It's done, Kid. She's here. I'm taking care of her. I still… care, if that's what you're worried about."

Again, the assessing, the probing stare, "You'll tell me if it becomes a problem?"

"Sure." The lie of all lies right there. I think I'd rather let this kill me than admit that it was killing me.

His sigh told me he didn't believe a word I said, and I didn't expect any less from Kid. "I'll be back sometime this week. Manage until then." I gave him a thin smile and watched him walk out of the room, listening to his receding footsteps and the clack of the door.

We were alone and I was terrified to look at her again. "Why should I care?" I asked the floor, clenching my fists so hard I could feel my nails digging into the skin of my palms. I stood, plunging my hands into my hair as I started a lopsided circle in the room, pacing around the bed as if that was going to clear my head. It only aided in building up the terror, amping it until my heart felt like it was going to burst up through my throat.

That's when I felt it, that little lapping pull of her soul like a whisper from across the room. My eyes shot to her, seeing her still and statuesque. "Hi, Maka."

I stupidly waited for her answer.

Nothing, not even another whisper from somewhere in my mind but I still managed to stumble towards the bed, taking a seat next to her. "I like your hair this way." Oh, jeez, Soul, get yourself together. But no, I had to make this normal if I could. "It looks like too much work, though, so I can't vouch it'll stay that way. Maybe Mira will be better at it."

Could I touch her? Was that OK? I looked to her hand and put a tentative finger on hers, feeling the radiating warmth. "I…" If she hated it, I assumed she'd still find some way to let me know so I clutched her hand between mine. "It's nice to have you home." I waited again, feeling my fingers tighten on hers. "Damn it, I'm pathetic. You're not home and I'm just talking to a body for all I know."

It was like a rubber band snapping at the soft flesh of my neck, just below my ear.

I ran my hand over the ache, a small, trembling laugh exiting my lips. "OK, I don't know what you disagreed with, but message heard, loud and clear." I drifted my thumb over her knuckles, still somehow hopefully staring at her face for a change. But this wasn't some fairy tale, wasn't a magical moment and dread started to close in on me again, strangling any of the normalcy I had created. "I missed you," choked out of my throat. "I feel like I both do and don't deserve to say that but that doesn't make it any less true. I missed you so much." Crying came easily then.

The first night I couldn't sleep until 3 AM, finding excuses to get up and to look in on her. There was never any change as if I had expected any, but I continued it anyway. That finally hour I laid there, wondering how I was supposed to feel. You couldn't be angry at someone in a coma, could you? You couldn't argue, you couldn't reason, you couldn't rehash the past. Instead, you had to just swallow all of it down and either let it go or let it eat you alive. I was starting to feel gnawed at.

I can't even tell you how or when I fell asleep, but it was one of those dreams that you swear you could feel. The ivories were under my fingertips and I tested a note, hearing the sound reverberate as if I was in an empty concert hall. Maybe I was, but all I could see was the single illumination of light that shone straight down on my hands, giving a circle of vision that didn't even include the whole piano, just the keyboard itself.

For a second, I was relieved. I had assumed tonight would be plagued by one of my many common Maka dreams or a distorted version of my current reality. Playing the piano wasn't so bad in comparison. But it didn't feel quite right as if my hands weren't really matching the keys and when I hit a second note it was sour compared to the first. I half expected to suddenly realize I was in my underwear and we were actually in the middle of one of my elementary school recitals, my family and friends laughing at me.

Or maybe it wasn't that kind of nightmare since the next thing was an icy cold hand running down my arm, closing over top of mine on the keys. I thought about screaming but it stuck in my throat, the only sound another tone of the piano as the disembodied hand pressed me into the keys. It sounded melodic, the right sound for the right key, and when I narrowed my eyes at the fingers I realized why. The scar on her middle finger from a battle with a witch in Italy, another just peeking under her thumb from a dishwashing accident, a rogue knife in the sink that she hadn't remembered was there.

"Maka?"

Another press, another note, beautiful and fluid. But it was sluggish, the process not really creating a song, just disjointed but lovely sound. After a few more notes, the hand clutched mine as if to squeeze the life out of my fingers. It should have hurt, but it somehow felt anxious. As her hand moved up my arm I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but instead found myself staring at my ceiling, my hands clutched desperately into the sheets.

I was out of bed and across the hall before I could breathe again, flipping the light on in her room. She was still there motionless like a princess under glass.