Title: Lull and Storm
Rating: T
Summary: Maka tilts her head, chews on her lip, and effectively decimates his mind and soul with just a few words.
Pairing: Soul and Maka.
A/N: Written for some random (probably old) prompt on LiveJournal. The idea for this came from how I've seen countless fics where Soul leaves Maka for some mission, and she's just sitting around collecting dust. I wanted to try the reverse.
Prompt: 10. Lull and storm.
Notes: Manga-based, not too long after Soul became a Death Scythe. Currently no plans for a sequel.
Disclaimer: Soul Eater? What? No, man, I don't own that.
Oneshot.

Lull and Storm.

Soul hated the rain with a chilled indifference.

It just wasn't cool.

Rain had the tendency of pouring down on the days one would not want it, hindering you when traveling, during a funeral, or happening on the day someone's heart was breaking or already broken for the cheesy added effect Soul saw in chick flicks that the Thompsan sisters loved so much.

It also had the infuriating tendency of raining when one felt excruciatingly alone; which, by the way, Soul was totally not feeling, and just hated the rain and its cliché timing on principal. Its heavy downfall created a constant thundering noise on their roof, making the near-empty house sound almost hollow.

And it annoyed Soul, because the young weapon didn't need to be reminded. Not that he was lonely or anything, because, really, cool guys can just shrug off being pretty much alone for a few months easily. Totally. And wasn't as if he wasn't exactly alone, because technically, Blair was still there. Though admittedly, the cat had been rather busy with work as of lately, and didn't come home very often.

Soul tried very hard to drown the sound of the rain; pillows piled upon his head, loud music blaring in his room, TV turned on.

To his dismay, none of it worked.

She's smiling, all wide and happy-like, perfectly genuine and forever saved within time, thanks to a well-timed photograph. The smile was for Soul and Soul alone, and because of that, and that truly made him give a smile in return — not just give a grin or a smirk.

"Rain rain, go away. Bother me another day..." Soul groaned, and tried to get into a more comfortable position on the couch. It was bit of an odd feeling, having so much room to stretch his legs and not have practically curl up so someone would get off his case about hogging the entire couch. His leg's muscle memory made it hard for him to find any other position than nearly curled suitable, even though the couch was all his now.

And it would continue to be until she came back.

Soul's eyes rested on the calendar stationed behind the TV.

Five more weeks to go.

She's screaming at him, and he's yelling back. So oblivious, so dense, and Soul wanted to tear his hair out because she was all that and more. He sent those wanna-be 'admirers' who got too close to the infirmary. Again. Which apparently, Maka didn't like, and was berating him for it. Again.

For her sake, he repeated with force. Hers!

The argument ended with a book getting intimate with his head, the anger in her face fading while his held barely contained amusement, carefully masked with annoyance.

Black Star dropped by, intent on cheering the lonely Soul.

What he did manage was a heated argument between the two over some silly topic, while Tsubaki took the time to cook some food in Soul's kitchen. Though thoroughly annoyed, Soul was rather distracted, basking in the emotions of irritation, and consumed by the murderous force that wanted to strangle Black Star, but dutifully refrained from doing so like a cool guy. He didn't bother to notice that at least, his loneliness had blown to the back of his mind, utterly un-noticed for a while.

Until he noticed three plates being casually set at their dinky little table. Such a small detail he shouldn't have seen, capitalizing on something his friends were desperately trying to make him forget.

So Soul pretended he didn't care, and continued his banter with the blue-haired idiot and his proclamations of his 'godly-self' as Tsubaki did her best to play peacemaker, all the while knowing as soon as they were gone, he was going to be blindsided by stupid, un-cool emotions.

Sure enough, when Black Star was somehow convinced Soul had his healthy dosage of annoyance, he took off through the window, with Tsubaki making a hurried apology and farewell as she chased after him; Soul was dragged into the pit of isolation. He tried wondering why Black Star didn't bother using the door like any normal person, but found he didn't have the energy to even care, so the weapon flopped back onto the couch, arms hanging down and legs folded up.

The TV was droning on about the weather.

Rain for the rest of the week.

He's yelling at her, and she's not too taken with the reversal of roles.

Not her choice, she tells him. Not her fault!

He doesn't care; she's about to be out there doing lord-knows what — literally, because apparently the mission is confidential, even to him, a Death Scythe. Which, naturally, pisses him off to no end.

Stupid, he cries. What kind of meister leaves on a secret mission without their weapon? A dumb one! And Maka wasn't dumb.

She doesn't answer.

Soul got a call from Kid, a two weeks before they were set to return.

"There's been a... problem. We have to—"

"Is Maka okay?"

"Yes, she's fine. But—"

"Can I talk to her?"

"She's busy. Soul—"

"What's going on?"

"I'm trying to tell you! Our mission has come up with a rather unexpected turn... We're going to be delayed for a while longer."

"...How much longer?"

"A week, at least. Soul, I—"

Soul hung up before his friend could finish.

She's looking over her shoulder, peridot eyes expressive. She was reluctant to go. Sad, too.

Go, he tells her. He'll totally be fine after all, he'd be cool — was she expecting any less?

She rolls her eyes, but there's a fond smile upon her lips as she climbs into the car. Kid makes his promises to ensure her safety, while Maka firmly states that's she's not the one he should be worrying about. Soul sticks his head through the window and threatens Kid with asymmetry should Maka get so much as a broken nail.

Maka makes a face while Kid's already pale face loses what little color it had, and Kid begins scratching the number eight on one of his papers (the ones stamped with 'CONFIDENTIAL' in big, bold letters at the top) to sooth himself.

She pushes his white-haired head away and gives a small wave as the windows close up, and he's left standing on the sidewalk, watching his meister be driven away, taking with her something he'd taken for granted and immediately missed.

Soul detached himself from the couch, and decided he's been too cupped up for the past few days. Nothing to do, and Soul was getting rather tired of doing nothing but wallowing in emotions he'd rather throw in an incinerator. And the rain. Really tired about the constant showers.

Said water was pouring now. Flood warnings all over the news, advising citizens to remains indoors. Soul gave it little thought. Screw the rain; he was going out. Now.

He ignored the umbrella stationed by the door, and strolled outside, watching the sky suddenly light up as lightning struck across it. A storm; perfect.

Soul walked around, unconsciously visiting what feels like old haunts and places he went to often before Maka left. The streets naturally deserted, sounds drowned by anything but a constant downpour, and considering the time of day, rather dark. Street lamps dimly lit the roads, enough for Soul to make his way to the outskirts of Death City without slipping on something.

He found himself at the basketball court. Drenched, unhappy, and head filled with too many thoughts, Soul stared up at the dreary sky, blinking as rain attacked his eyes.

Thunder was rumbling, growling down at the people, as its partner lightning lit up the sky.

And then Soul screamed.

Screamed out obscenities, pent-up feelings of aggravation, and everything else he could find wrong with the world. Black Star's stupidity. Kid's OCD problem over symmetry. Patty's seemingly insane actions. His brother. His parents. Spirit's over-protectiveness. Stein's actual craziness. Black blood. Medusa. Every fight he's ever been in. Lord Death's not-telling-him-about-Maka's-mission.

Maka's departure.

The storm just drowned it all out, its low booming masking his cries.

"Stupid, stupid bookworm! Why'd you leave, you idiot!"

Rumble.

"I'm so tired, so friggin' tired of being left in the dark, all alone, while you're out doing something possibly dangerous, and I can't do a damn thing because NO ONE WILL TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!"

Booom.

"You're not the weapon! You're not supposed to put yourself in danger without me to back you up, Maka! I should be there! I should..."

He stood there for an eternity, alone and wishing he wasn't. It's only when he noticed a hand on his shoulder, did he pull himself out of the depths of his mind, and turn to whoever brought him back to equally cruel reality. Tsubaki held up a large umbrella, shielding them from the rain, as Black Star wore a strangely solemn expression, hand firmly clasped on his shoulder.

We're here for you.

She was late.

Maka's late and if it was Kid's fault, good friend or not Soul was going to murder him.

Sixteen minutes, thirty-three seconds past, Soul was standing by the curb, checking his watch every few moments. It wouldn't bother Soul if it wasn't Maka he was waiting for. Maka, who was finally returning after nearly being gone for nearly an entire year, and was so ridiculously punctual about being on time that if it was any other time, like getting up for school that he'd be annoyed.

But this is more important and she's finally coming home.

Home. With him. Not out on some secret mission. Safe. Where he can see her.

Protect her.

Her radiant green eyes, ashy blonde hair, simple smile. Polite, easily angered, occasionally violent. Smart, reads too much, hardly ever left home. That Maka. His Maka.

She was coming home.

Just, it didn't end up the way he envisioned it.

Five hours, forty-two minutes, thirteen seconds.

Soul doesn't care about Maka being late anymore. He found she'd actually gotten back to Death City early, despite everything. He'd been waiting at the wrong place.

He fixed that the moment he got word from a shaken Tsubaki and a disturbingly silent Black Star.

He made it there in five minutes flat, having pushed his bike to its limit and then some. It'll probably be covered in dings and scratches when he gets back to it since he did even bother to put the kick stand up in his rush, but right now, he could care less.

Looking creepily serene, Maka had been hooked up to a breathing mask, looking pale and un-nourished. Her healthy, once well-kept hair was a tangle of knots and dirt, mixed in with blood.

Blood.

Copious amounts of it layered her, over her clothes and body. Soul couldn't tell if all of it was hers or not. He didn't want to know.

Kid was in the bed two rows over, nursing similar wounds, but apparently due to being the son of a Death God, he's recovering faster than the average Shibusen student. He's barely coherent and babbling apologies to Soul about broken promises, or broken bones. Considering Maka's state, Soul thought it may be both.

He wanted to beat Kid to a pulp for not protecting Maka properly, like he said he would. He had been trusting Kid on that. But Kid's already been beaten to a bloody pulp ten times worse than Soul would have done, and since Soul still has little to no idea of what's going on, he figured he should probably get the whole story once he's calmed down and reasonable enough to see if Kid was at fault or not. He'd still probably punch him in the face, but it's a better compromise and Soul's relatively sure Kid will understand.

But for the time being, Soul wanted to concentrate on Maka, so he told his injured friend to shut up and get back to resting, because seriously, he looked worse than shit. Kid continued to mutter a little to himself after that, but soon closed his golden eyes and drifted off somewhere probably full of delightfully symmetrical designs and buildings.

Thankful for the silence, Soul's eyes darted to Maka's right arm, on the opposite side of the bed. Attached to her arm was an IV, hopefully giving the meister painkillers, nutrients, medicine, or perhaps a safe combination between the three. Whatever it is, Soul fervently hoped it'll help wake Maka up. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to see her eyes. Maybe to assure himself that Maka didn't change while he was gone; that she was still the plain, smart, temperamental bookworm he remembers. The one that left nearly ten months ago.

The one he fell in love with.

And he was hoping the feelings he's suspected Maka of possibly holding for him haven't vanished or dwindled.

He looked around at the medical equipment after a while, unable to stare at her bloodstained face without forcing himself to also suppress the sudden urge to hack something to pieces. The numbers and acronyms all over the machines mean absolutely nothing to him, yet he's looking for something that'll explain her current condition. Kid was still dozing, and no doctors had reported in to check up on them since Soul had arrived.

He was starting to get tired, actually, but his mind was buzzing while his body was declining, which didn't make for all that great of a combo. The simplest cure he could come up with was knowing what's going on, but since that wasn't happening anytime soon, with the eerie lack of activity at the Nurse's station and the whole wing in general oddly backing this claim up, Soul just simply shambled to the bathroom, obtained some paper towels, soaked a few under a running faucet, and returned to his partner. Slowly and carefully, almost terrified of somehow making things inexplicably worse, Soul cleaned up her face, arms, and whatever other bit of skin he could reach from blood, dirt, and what looked like rubble from a collapsing building.

She looked only marginally better when he finished. He could only do so much, but it was satisfactory enough. He absently tossed the wad of bloodied crumpled up paper at a nearby trashcan. He heard the sound of it softly crashing to the ground, but not the metal bin. Damn. He missed.

He gave the idea of going and picking it up some thought, but when he tried to stand, the room suddenly started to get all blurry and unstable, so he sat right back down. Not a good plan, apparently. It took a long, headache induced moment, but it cleared up, and Soul found that along with a sudden urge to yawn, that his eyelids were becoming extraordinarily heavy and - screw it all, he's tired...

Dimly, Soul managed to squirm his hand into hers, and then let his head crash onto the clean white sheets besides her.

Damn it all.

Damn it all.

Soul leaned up against the wall, pounding his fists into them. It's an old, dirty concrete wall, covered with graffiti and crude writings in black marker, now complete with smudges of blood, curtsey of a pair of knuckles leaking red fluid that were pressed firmly against it.

All those months, he had waited for her. Suffered severe loneliness without her (not that they got to spend much time together anyways, with him being a Deathscythe and Maka trying to find something important to do, to feel useful). He finally just got her back.

And then his world just got kicked in head, stomped on, broken, and finally blown up with a storm that rained down sticks of dynamite.

"...Damn it all to hell...!"

She's awake.

A single phone call, a single sentence. Words he's wanted to hear for two weeks. Sheer happiness and surprise blinds him; he doesn't notice the odd tone of the doctor as he spoke those words. All Soul cares about now is getting back to his meister, right then and there.

He practically makes record time back to the hospital. That, or he had such a horrible case of tunnel vision that time simply slipped away, as the world made the smooth transition from one scene to another.

She's sitting up straight, talking to the doctor who's making furious notes on a clipboard. Soul pulls the brakes on his breakneck speed, turning his run into a calmly paced walk, strolling into her room, hand tucked into his pockets. Gotta keep his cool, even though he's nearly bursting with poorly hid joy.

Maka's green eyes shift to him, and Soul almost falters at how... dull and blank they look. Hesitantly, he decides it could be medication or exhaustion.

Still, the weapon found it unsettling that Maka was so silent at his entrance. He wasn't expecting a grand explosion of fireworks, but had been hoping for a more... lively reaction. A shout of his name, a smile... that's all he wanted.

Instead, Maka's face contorts to one full of confusion and concentration.

"Maka...?" Soul doesn't want to trust his voice, how suddenly tiny and weak it sounds. Something is off, something is wrong, and Soul is on the verge of discovering it. Intuitively, he knows he doesn't want to.

And then wishes he never had to.

Maka tilts her head, chews on her lip, and effectively decimates his mind and soul with just a few words.

"Do I know you?"