A/N: This is the tale of Kami Albarn. It is not a happy one, though there are happy moments. You have been warned.

Neither the title Tainted Love nor the content of Soul Eater belong to me, as should be obvious.

Tainted Love

Kami Gishi had never planned to live this life. Half-Japanese growing up in Japan, the product of an American soldier and his Japanese lover, she had never met her father and had fully embraced her Japanese half. She wanted a traditional life, home, family. When the recruiter came from the DWMA she was only ten, small and thin and strangely out of place with her sandy hair and forest eyes amid a sea of chocolate and night. The man had simply watched her from afar for some minutes before approaching with a half-smile. She knew he was watching. She could see his soul, sense his motives. She told him no. He went to her mother, and her mother insisted, believing that in America she might reconnect with her long absent father. That had been the beginning of the path set before her. All that was left was for her to walk it.

In the end, that path had led her here. Kami Gishi, once Kami Albarn, once three star meister, now world traveler. Kami Gishi, who had left her husband and abandoned her only daughter. Kami Gishi was selfish, she knew that. She couldn't bring herself to change it. Finally, she was living a life that was her own, her choice. The thought she had wanted a home and family once made her laugh, a bitter, humorless laugh. Such dreams were only for those who knew no better.

When she arrived at Shibusen, she had been awed. It was huge and intimidating, and while she had always been happy and outgoing, she became quiet and withdrawn at first. Culture shock was difficult. Change was even more difficult. She did work hard, though. If she had to be here, she wanted to do well, be the best. She always tried her hardest whatever she did, wherever she went. Always feeling out of place, not the same as her peers in spite of desperately wishing to be truly, wholly Japanese, she threw her heart and soul into everything she did, needing to be the best, needing to shine, needing to prove she was not just some half-American bastard. Needing to prove herself. Here was no different. If she was stuck being a meister, she was going to be the best damned meister there ever was. She excelled in her classes, excelled in her training. She was well on her way to meeting that goal. It wasn't what she wanted, not really, but she would achieve it just the same. She would make a death scythe and they would be the top pair in school. Then, maybe, she'd have a choice and could go home.

She'd never found her father, never even looked. Instead, she had found a weapon partner. Her first partner was a girl names Alice Long, and she was a poleaxe. Quiet and unassuming, they got along well enough, but weren't exactly friends. Kami was far too driven to have friends, and who needed some shallow American girl who spent half her time drooling over boys as a friend anyway? They had a good working partnership, though, if a low resonance rate, and they managed to rise through the ranks of the EAT class together. Mostly, together meant Kami did all the work and Alice was free to quietly spend time with her friends and giggle over potential mates. It was better that way. When she relied too much on people, they always let her down. She had relied on her mother and her mother had sent her away. She was better off, far better off, alone.

Changing partners had never been Kami's plan, nor her wish. It had all happened so quickly that before she knew what was going on, it was done. Franken Stein and Spirit Albarn were both EAT students, long partnered. Spirit was in her class, Stein the class below. Had they shared a class, he would have been stiff competition. As it was, she tended to avoid both the strange, sadistic younger man and his friendly, flirtations partner, the same way she avoided pretty much everyone. She had only gone to their shared apartment that night to deliver a message from Shinigama-sama. That was another nudge down the path she was now on, though she couldn't have known it at the time.

She'd knocked softly, then loudly. She heard music from somewhere, muffled by the walls. Perhaps they couldn't hear her. Well, only one remedy for that. She tried the door. Surprisingly, it wasn't locked, so she went in, closing it with a soft click behind her. Unsurprisingly, she found herself in a mess. Black leather couch strewn with dirty clothes, mixed beakers of strange liquids anywhere and everywhere, old pizza boxes and soda cans scattered helter skelter, a severed animal head in a jar on the kitchen counter, it looked like a sick mix of bachelor pad and mad scientist's lab. She supposed that was what it was.

The main living area was empty, so Kami made her way back to the bedrooms, back to where the muffled music became louder with every step. She also heard something else competing with the music, a low whine and the occasional grinding noise that made her shudder. Just what the hell was going on here, anyway?

She tried the door where the noises came from. It wasn't locked, so she cracked it open and put her eye to the crack warily. The music and the whining became louder, almost overpowering. And what she saw, what she saw, made her turn her head and deposit her dinner on the floor next to her.

There was a large, metal table in the center of the room. Spirit Albarn was strapped, unconscious, to the table, sliced open from collarbone to belly button, his skin peeled back and hanging to one side. There was blood everywhere. His meister, Franken Stein, was working carefully, methodically, with a mechanical saw, working to saw off one of his ribs. Kami almost retched a second time when she returned her eyes to the door, but instead slammed it open and screamed,

"FRANKEN STEIN, STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!"

The younger meister stopped and looked up from his work, the saw going dead in his hands. He blinked once, twice, then put the saw down and walked casually over to a side table to click off the music. Then he approached her, gloved hands and lab coat still bloodied, and tilted his head to one side.

"Ah, Kami Gishi. What can I help you with?" His tone was casual, as if she hadn't just caught him cutting apart his weapon. Back then, there had been no stitches, no screw, but his eyes were just as cold, just as calculating. She grit her teeth as she responded, hands on hips.

"To begin with, you can go back over there and put your weapon back together. When you are done with that, I have a message for you from Shinigama-sama."

"I can take the message now, if you please," he said flatly, "I know you are a very busy girl, Kami-senpai."

"I am, but I can wait." Her tone was firm, and as if to emphasize her point, she took a seat in the only chair in the room, arms crossed defiantly. Stein just shrugged.

"As you wish," he muttered, and began piecing and stitching his weapon back together. For his part, said weapon was heavily anesthetized and dead to the world. Kami thanked Death for that. She might not particularly like the flirtatious demon scythe, but no one deserved what Stein was doing, let alone to feel the pain of it real time.

It took him over an hour, but Kami waited. She couldn't let this…this…madness continue, so waiting was her only option. When he was done, she ordered Stein to move Spirit to the wheelchair she saw leaned up against the corner and handed him the message curtly.

"Here is your message. Spirit will becoming with me."

"He's my weapon," Stein protested, "he stays here."

"No," she said firmly, threateningly, "he doesn't." Stein looked about to protest further, but thought better of it and shrugged.

"Whatever. He's a pain in the ass anyway."

With that, Kami wheeled out the still unconscious weapon. Not sure what to do, she wheeled him all the way to the DWMA through the dark streets, used the bottom entrance, and made her way to the death room. She needed to tell Shinigami-sama about this, to let him know so that he could take action. Once she got to the Death God and told the story, she could wash her hands of the whole thing, but this much she had to do.

Washing her hands of it was never really an option. Lord Death greeted her as cheerfully as he always did, pausing only a moment to stare at the incapacitated demon weapon before saying,

"Ah, Kami-chan. Is there something I can help you with so late?" He was seemingly wide-awake; as far as Kami had ever been able to figure out, he didn't sleep. Why he bothered with the nightgown and cap, black but for the pattern of white Shinigami-masks that covered it, she couldn't say. Perhaps it was meant to put others at ease by making him seem more human. That seemed to be the motive behind many of his odd mannerisms.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Lord Death, but this couldn't wait. When I went to deliver your message I found Stein… Stein… he was…" She had trouble forming the words, forcing them out; it was so sickening, so unbelievable. Finally she pushed them through, "…CUTTING SPIRIT OPEN." Lord Death just looked at her, head tilted inquisitively to one side. She took a deep, calming breath, then went on more slowly.

"When I went in to deliver your message, no one answered the door. It was unlocked, so I let myself in. I figured they couldn't hear me because of the loud music and I knew the message was important. So, I went towards the sound and when I opened the door…" She took another deep breath. Calm. Be calm. "Spirit was strapped to a table, unconscious, his chest opened up, and Stein was working on one of his ribs with an electric saw." She had to push down the bile in her throat as she relived the sight in her own words. She would not vomit in front of Lord Death, she would not vomit in front of Lord Death, she would not vomit in front of Lord Death. There was another pause, then a nod from the Death god.

"Ah, I see. I had feared something like this might happen."

"You…had?"

"Well, yes. You see, Stein is quite unstable. I originally paired him with Spirit because the scythe is a calming influence, but clearly not calming enough. From now on, Stein will simply have to work alone, or only use weapons on a temporary basis. Clearly, a permanent partnership is beyond him."

"Clearly," Kami said tonelessly, disbelief flooding through her.

"As for Spirit," he tapped the side of his mask with one finger for a moment as if in thought, and then raised that finger triumphantly, only to point it her way. "He will be your new weapon."

"But I already have a weapon!" she said incredulously.

"Alice will be reassigned. Spirit is more suited to your talents in any case. Well, then, why don't you wheel him to one of the spare dorm rooms. Send him here when he wakes and I will explain the situation to him. I will make arrangements for the change as well, don't worry. Goodbye, Kami-chan, and good luck!"

And there it was; she was stuck partnered with Spirit Albarn, notorious flirt. Perhaps it really was true that no good deed went unpunished.

Everything had happened rather quickly from there. That they were well suited as partners was true; their resonance rate was phenomenally high and with Spirit as her weapon, Kami was able to tackle higher-level missions. Stein had collected a handful of souls with Spirit, as Kami had collected a small handful with Alice, but together, Kami and Spirit mowed down pre-kishin at an almost alarming rate. Kami mastered first Witch Hunter, then Demon Hunter, able to tackle most foes. On the professional side of their partnership, things went very, very well.

The personal side, however, was the tricky part. As with most EAT partners, they were advised to move in together, so Spirit traded places with Alice in their apartment. They had settled into a routine fairly easily: she cooked, he cleaned (because she certainly wasn't going to put up with that messy bachelor nonsense she had seen at his former residence). At night, they usually spent some time together on the couch, reading or watching TV or studying. Initially, Kami attempted to maintain professional distance with him as she had with Alice. She didn't want to be friends. But unlike Alice, Spirit was persistent and friendly and had a way of getting under her skin. Soon, his company became comfortable, comforting, like an old pair of sneakers. Soon, it was hard to imagine her life before he had been a part of it, before they had been partners. She didn't want to imagine it.

Spirit annoyed her sometimes of course, a lot of the time, really. He was still a notorious flirt, though he earned a punch in the arm for it most of the time when she was witness. He was also affectionate with her, which could be annoying, and similarly earned him the occasional punch in the arm. However, in spite of his continued flirtation, he stopped dating when they became partners. He had been almost a serial dater before that, but that suddenly ended in spite of frequent invitations. When she had finally asked him why he didn't say yes, go out, have fun, he had just murmured that he knew she wouldn't like it. And it was true, she wouldn't. And he knew it because, through resonance, they knew most things about each other. That, that right there, was the heart of the problem.

There was something that no one ever told you when you came to Shibusen, a dirty little secret that wasn't common knowledge mostly because it wasn't all that common to begin with. Weapons and meister pairs did not often form romantic relationships, after all, so why should most notice this truth? For the truth was that most weapons and meisters had a low resonance rate at best, much like she had been able to cobble together with Alice. That type of resonance did not intrude, did not invade the mind, heart, and soul. Those who maintained it could remain whole in themselves, could manage to keep a distance from their partner. It was a working relationship. That type of resonance was the norm. High-level resonance, however, was rare. Very rare. And what only a few noticed and nobody ever bothered to tell Kami, was that among those with that type of resonance, where a romantic partnership was possible, it was the norm. If both of the partners' sexual preferences tended towards the sex of their partner, then they would inevitably end up romantically tied. If their preferences did not run that way, then the partners would be so close that they were like siblings but more, best friends but greater. They were as close as any lovers, only without the sex. Either way, a highly resonating pair always became inextricably bound. Kami was never quite sure if this was because their compatibility that way allowed for deeper resonance, or if the resonance was what led to compatibility, but whichever way it went, it was a firm truth.

If Kami had known that, then—not her future, just that high resonance would lead to strong attachment—would she have accepted the partnership? Probably. She would have seen it as a means to an end, would have figured she was the one who could resist fate. She would have been wrong, but she was sure the outcome would have been the same. Knowing, not knowing, it didn't make that bond any less compelling. She was bonded to Spirit even still. She would always be bonded to him, as much as that pained her.

For a long time, they maintained only a close friendship. Some silly part of her still wanted her traditional Japanese life and she'd never have that with Spirit. He could read that in their resonance and did not push things, though he still pursued no one else. Sure, he flirted, but it never went farther. Then they had captured enough kishin souls to move forward, then they had hunted the witch Sappho and their long-standing stasis was broken. It was yet another step down the path, yet another shove towards what she had become.

Sappho was smart, powerful, beautiful. A wolf-witch and something of soul collector. When they'd taken the mission from the board, Spirit had frowned at her. He rarely contradicted her choice in missions, but this time he seemed hesitant.

"Are you sure about this one, Kami? It suggests only three star meisters should take it, and it sounds like there will be kishin eggs everywhere."

"Sure, but we are the strongest student meister/weapon pair at this school. You're only a witch's soul away from becoming a death scythe and this is the first witch we've seen on the board in months. I've already spoken to Lord Death and he's given us special permission. You think we can't handle it, then, Spirit, when Lord Death himself thinks otherwise?" She raised one sandy eyebrow. Spirit put his hands up.

"It's not that, exactly. But there's no hurry, Kami. There will be other witches," his eyes were almost pleading. She hated it when he gave her that puppy dog look, his eyes big and blue-green as the sea, "I just don't want to see anything happen to you," he mumbled, "It's not worth that just to be a death scythe."

"Maybe not to you," she replied matter of factly, "but it is to me. Once I do this, maybe they'll let me go back home."

"Yeah, maybe," he muttered. His red hair had fallen in his face, obscuring those mesmerizing eyes. It made things easier. Kami already knew, through their resonance, that Spirit was none too keen on the idea of her leaving. She was his partner and he wanted things to stay that way. There was a part of Kami, a growing part, that felt the same way, but it had yet to commandeer her whole heart, and Kami clung to her first goal with a tenacity wrought of years of focus and pain. She had been forced to come here and had done so with the goal to prove herself so she could go home, and damnit, she would do it.

So they'd left for Paris. On the plane, Kami spent much of the flight reading up on their mission while Spirit flirted with the flight attendant before finally falling asleep out of sheer boredom. Kami kept reading, kept studying the mission notes until she was so exhausted she couldn't keep her eyes open. She finally fell asleep and somehow ended up curled up into her weapon's chest, his arms holding her, one of his hands pillowed comfortably on a breast, his drool stringing down to pool on top of her head. When she was awoken by the bump of the plane landing, she yawned. She felt so warm, so relaxed. Then she realized where that warmth came from and started, working to pry herself from Spirit's sleepy embrace. Then she noticed the drool and his hand and screeched, flinging his arms off her and exclaiming,

"Ugh, Spirit. Gross!" She punched him in the arm and he woke up, blinking at her through sleep-heavy eyes.

"Wha'd I do…" he mumbled, only half awake. She took her hand full of wet drool from her head and wiped it on his face to make her point.

"What the hell, Kami?" Oh, so he was awake now, was he?

"That came from you, so you shouldn't complain that I've returned it to you." He looked puzzled, then noticed her wet crown. His mouth formed into an impressively expressive O before he blushed slightly and mumbled again,

"Oh. Sorry." Neither of them seemed to know what to do next as the airplane taxied, and there was an uncomfortable moment of silence before the plane shuddered into its gate and Kami shot up, thrusting her hands towards the luggage racks to retrieve their carry-ons. They each took a bag and made their way out of the plane in embarrassed silence; he was ashamed that he had drooled on his partner like a sick child, and she was mortified at having fallen asleep in his arms. But they had been partners for a long time, best friends, and the embarrassment faded after a few minutes. By the time they made it outside the airport and to a taxi, it was gone, replaced by grim determination. They would check into their hotel first, but then, it was time to start this mission.

Their best information suggested that many of Sappho's conquests came from a small club called La Dame Doré, so after checking into the hotel and changing into appropriate attire, they decided to start there. The place was small yet packed, but that wasn't the part that surprised them. What had them both doing a double take was that it was filled to bursting almost exclusively with women. Most were scantily clad, many extremely attractive. Spirit's eyes almost burst out of their sockets at the feast of flesh before him, and his constant ogling made Kami roll her eyes more than once. He was one of the only men in the club and he didn't seem to mind that one bit. Figured. The tall red head was almost as pretty as the prettiest girl in the room. Kami had always both loved and hated that about him.

As the weapon/meister pair got their bearings and Kami, at least, started to examine their surroundings more critically, she noticed how many women were flirting with each other, or fawning over one another, so she was unsurprised when the first came to their table to ask her for a dance. She turned her down; she was here to work, even were she interested. When another came, however, and then yet another, Spirit's wide-eyed ogling switched to a decided frown. Noticing, Kami turned her soul perception on to him. Oh, he was agitated alright, almost seething. Was that jealousy? She almost colored at the thought. Surely not. They were friends; he had no reason to be jealous.

The fifth woman who approached was tall and curvy, with long blonde hair and wide brown eyes. She gave Kami a sultry smile, leaning down to tip her breasts so that they filled her field of vision.

"Dance?" she said in French, her voice as low and sultry as her smile.

"I'm sorry, but no," Kami replied, opting to speak English. This woman was just like the rest, so far, her soul human, though hers was a bit harder to read than most. The blonde's smile quickly turned to a pout and Kami did a double take as she muttered something under her breath. Her soul suddenly expanded, large and bright and purple, then contracted. This was their witch. She felt a sudden urge to go with her even as the woman purred,

"You're sure?" this time in heavily accented English. Instead of answering, Kami got up to go with her, failing to notice her partner's jaw drop to the floor in shock.

"On second thought, lead the way." The woman offered her arm and they made their way together to the dance floor.

The song being played was slow and mournful, and as the woman snaked her arms around Kami's waist, she found herself responding, her own arms around her neck, her body pressed against her tightly, her head on her shoulder. Part of her screamed that this was the witch, the one they were seeking—she needed to grab Spirit and end this, end her. Most of her, however, was under the influence of the magic and she found herself shivering with pleasure at the feel of the warm breath on her neck.

"Come with me?" Kami felt hot breath tickle her skin as the witch whispered it in her ear. She didn't respond, but as the woman led, she followed, through the crowd and out of the club. Her eyes met Spirit's scowling countenance as they made their way out the door. She hoped he had the sense to follow them. This was their target.

The woman led her through the streets of Paris, down side streets and back alleys, until they reached an old, six story building, squat amongst taller structures. The woman led her in and down instead of up, down several flights of stairs. Kami could sense Spirit following, just out of sight. She hoped he was able to figure out where in the building they had gone. While he did not possess soul perception, his connection to her own soul should help to lead him. At least, that was the hope. Most of her was too busy eagerly following the witch, compelled by the magic.

Down several flights of stairs, down a dark hallway, in through a door. Kami was surprised and relieved to sense no kishin eggs nearby. So that, at least, had been wrong. The witch snapped her fingers and lights flared. The room was large, with fabric on the walls, a soft, plush floor, and pillows everywhere. The red and purple color scheme made Kami wince inwardly. It was gaudy, almost eye-searingly so. The witch gestured to a corner of the room piled with heavily embroidered, fringed pillows, and spoke,

"Sit." Kami walked over and sat, unable to do otherwise. The witch followed, moving behind her, sitting with her legs around the meister. The witch began to loosen Kami's hair, combing her fingers through the long, sandy strands. She felt hot breath tickle her ear again as the other woman spoke.

"I think your lover has followed us, chérie. Perhaps we should give him a show…?"

"L..lover? No, he's not my…" The other woman scoffed and cut her of,

"Please, chérie, I could see how he looked at you and you looked at him. You think I am a fool, no? But Sappho, she is no fool." She chuckled, the sound low and musical. "You meister/weapon pairs, you are all the same, oui? Any who are strong enough to seek a witch, you are always lovers." Kami stiffened, fear stabbing through her. The witch knew who they were. "I have seen it many times, chérie. I have taken many lovers from your Shibusen. It is always a treat when the pair are lovers, to watch the agony of the man as his precious partner is stolen away from him. I will very much enjoy watching your weapon. He is, I think, the prettiest I have seen. Almost pretty enough to want to take him as a lover as well, but no man is that pretty, more's the pity." Kami wanted to pull away, to remove herself from the witch's grasp, but that part of her was not in control and the witch's magic compelled her, urged her. She leaned back into the woman instead, and her soft laughter purred against her back.

"Ah, he is here." The witch snaked her arms around Kami's middle just in time for the door to slam open and Spirit to come charging through, panting, face red with anger or exhaustion or both, scythe arm glinting menacingly in the garish red light of the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" His voice was cold and angry. Very, very angry. "Kami, get up," he commanded. "It's time to end this." Kami tried to obey, but her body wouldn't listen. She managed to force a choked "Spirit!" before she felt the witch's hands all over her, caressing her, fondling her. Spirit's face flooded with pain, sorrow, as he stood frozen in place, watching. For a long time, he made no move. The witch ignored him, satisfied. He would make no move with his precious meister in her arms. She had seen it a dozen dozen times before. Kami could read the smug belief in the witch's soul and despaired. It was over.

There was a flash of blue, unexpected, and before the witch could act, Spirit was in Kami's grasp, caught up almost reflexively, his soul thrumming uselessly against hers, seeking resonance. Kami laid the weapon across her lap, her mind screaming at her to take him up and kill the witch at her back even as her body leaned further into the woman, basking in her touch.

"You see, do you, weapon?" She laughed. "It is useless. She is mine now." The smugness of witch's soul grew within Kami's perception, dark and hard. This one had some spunk, it pulsed, but it was done now. Done. He would never do what must be done. None of them ever did, none of them ever could. Kami knew that they were both going to die. She knew it, and her real regret was that the witch had been wrong. They weren't lovers. They had never been lovers, but they should be. Only when it was too late did she realize how much she wanted that. She didn't need a life in Japan, didn't need the approval of a woman who had long ago pushed her away. She only needed him. Too late, too late.

"Like hell she is!" Spirit screamed, startling her, and suddenly, two fists materialized out the scythe blade, one connecting with each woman's head. Kami cursed, the witch shrieked. Kami began to rise, catching her scythe up in her hands. Her head pounded, but her body was her own again. She was ready to end this. As she rose, she felt a hand smack her leg, heard the witch shout strange words, felt as the pain began to arc through her.

"KAMI!" Spirit's metallic voice screamed "Soul Resonance, NOW!" She didn't argue, but reached her soul out for his. Their joint scream filled the room. The pain was total. She felt as if every cell in her body were on fire. But she had to focus, to end this. She felt Spirit's calming wavelength, soothing, urging. Fight. Fight. And she did. Against the searing pain, she did. She called on witch hunter, screamed it out, hurtled towards the panicked wolf-witch, and then, cut her in two. The pain overwhelmed her. She could no longer stand as she saw the witch's body dissolve into nothing, a pulsing purple soul all that remained, felt strong arms surround her, before her world went black.

When she awoke, she heard the beeping first, then, taking in a breath, almost gagged as the sharp, sour smell of antiseptic assaulted her nose. Hospital. She was in the hospital. Alive. Alive. Where was Spirit?! Her eyes fluttered open at the same time she noticed the warm, almost pleasant weight on her chest. She saw red hair sprawled out in front of her, felt a warm wet spot forming on her breast. Her breast! He was using her breast as a godamned pillow! She had the urge to punch him in the head and almost did. Almost. But she remembered, remembered they had almost died, remembered that more than anything else, she loved this man. Remembered, and her clenched fist relaxed and lowered to stroke his hair. She could suffer through a bit of drool if it meant he was alive and she was alive and they had a chance together. Gladly.

He began to stir then lifted his head to look at her with a tired smile.

"Kami," his voice was still groggy. "You're awake." He sat up, and his smile became radiant as sleep left his weary mind. "I was so worried! At first, the doctors didn't know what to make of it. They said it was like some sort of… full body cancer…like all of your cells had gone to war with one another, but that it had ceased, somehow, and you were suffering the after effects. When I told Lord Death about what happened, he said it must have been the witch's spell and that it ended when she died."

"That's right," she interrupted, "we won! So you're a death scythe now, Spirit!" Her voice was high with excitement.

"Not yet," he said warily, his face falling. "I saved it. Thought you deserved to see my transformation, seeing as how you were the one who made it possible." She nodded happily, confused by the sudden gloom that surrounded him.

"Are you…okay?" she blinked at him.

"Yeah, it's nothing," he mumbled. The gloom deepened.

"Nothing my ass. Your emotions are like an open book, always have been. What's wrong? Tell me. Please?" She was worried. They were both alive, both safe, and he was about to become a death scythe. What could possibly be wrong?

"I don't want to bother you, okay?" he insisted sulkily. "So just drop it."

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about Spirit, just spill it already."

"No."

"Spirit!" she was gritting her teeth now. He was really starting to piss her off. Catching her tone, he sighed.

"Fine, you asked for it. Remember that. I just…I don't want you to leave, Kami. I want you to stay my partner, but I know you want to go back to Japan. I'd rather not be a death scythe if it means you leaving." Kami just laughed, her relief flooding through her. That same thing. Those same feelings. Only now, Kami recognized what they meant, recognized it and rejoiced. He looked almost angry at her response.

"What the hell, Kami? I know you never wanted to be my partner, but I thought we were friends. I thought we were… I thought you'd care a little."

"I do," she said, a wide smile plastered onto her face. "It's why I'm not leaving. It's why I want to stay with you."

"You…do?" Hope lit up his face. She grinned back at him, feeling giddy.

"Yep, I do!"

"You mean…" She cut him off by leaning over to kiss him. He seemed startled, but returned the motion gratefully, their lips moving together for several moments before she pulled away. His mouth was warm and soft and she didn't want to do pull away, but she needed to. His face was pink, his eyes downcast, as she said softly,

"I mean, I want to stay with you." She returned to kissing him as understanding settled between them, another step along her path, another step that led her towards her future.

Kami was released from the hospital a week later and given a clean bill of health. She was weak, but stable. The doctors advised she put off traveling home for at least another few days to finish recuperating. Kami and Spirit had no objection; it meant a few days in their hotel, alone, and they took full advantage of it. They made love for the first time the day she was released, eager, reckless, both awash in their new awareness of shared love and in the certainty that they had almost missed their chance. Their joint touch was like flame, warm and searing, and as he sank into her, their resonance thrummed to life reflexively, neither quite able to tell where she ended and he began. They were wholly one, as they were meant to be, as they should have been long ago, and neither could imagine anything better, anything greater, than this. They used no protection. Even had they thought of it in their haste, neither would have been willing to put such a barrier between them. Neither cared for the consequences. All there was was us, we, together.

They came together again and again in those few days and in the days after. They couldn't get enough of each other, couldn't find a reason not to bask in their mutual need. When they returned home, Spirit finally ingested Sappho's soul in front of the Death Lord and the faculty, and was declared a death scythe. The first true death scythe in years, he was informed he would become Death's weapon upon graduation in a few months. Weapon and meister were both elated and saddened. It meant he would spend less time with her, that they would spend less time partnered. But they were together now. They would be okay. They would make it work.

It was only a few weeks before graduation, after spending several consecutive mornings retching into a garbage can, that Kami Gishi realized she was pregnant. She was frightened. She was elated. They were young, but he was a full death scythe, she was a three star meister; they were ready. She would have the family she had always dreamt of. Maybe not that traditional Japanese family, but something just as good, something even better because it was with Spirit, because their child would be her and him, them. When she told him, he gushed ridiculously in true Spirit fashion and she only cringed a little behind her indulgent smile. By Shinigami, how she loved the idiot.

They married shortly afterwards and Kami Gishi became Kami Albarn, and her path was chosen and her fate was sealed. She was going to be a wife and a mother.

For awhile, weeks, months even, things were perfect. They graduated. He was Death Scythe now, and her meister duties were put on hold while the baby grew inside of her. He was away from her often, far too often, but they still came together every moment they could because that was life, as necessary as breathing and far more fulfilling. But something began to niggle at Kami, slowly at first, but gaining strength. She could read the baby's soul inside of her, gaining strength from her, siphoning vitality from her own soul. She felt it stealing a part of her very being and it bothered her, felt it there when she and Spirit joined, coming between them, disrupting their perfect resonance, and it angered her. She began to think of the baby less as her child and more as an object, a parasite who stole her strength and made her body feel alien, foreign. Her increasing bulk made her angry, despair and frustration driving her.

Spirit could read her distress when they were together and tried to soothe her. He had gained from Sappho's soul the ability to calm and connect with anyone. It didn't help, couldn't help, because every time he doted on her belly, gushing over their unborn child, she read his attempts to placate her as a lie. Kami was important to him, sure, but that thing, that thing, had become everything. The thing inside of her took from her, it stole her unity with her husband from her, it even stole her ability to go on missions. It was stealing everything from her and she hated it. She wanted it out. Now.

Sometimes she had moments of lucidity, moments where she reasoned everything would be different when the baby was born, moments when Spirit got through to her and she remembered this was their child and she could not help but to love it. Those moments were not many, but they helped to see her through, helped her to keep her sanity. Soon, very soon, the nightmare would be over and she would be herself again.

That, of course, was a lie. Eventually, the baby was born, as it had to be. The pain seared through her loins, she heard gasps and a squalling cry, the child was placed on her chest. The loathing did not dissipate.

"Take it away," she gritted, "now."

Spirit took up the baby, a girl he named Maka. Kami wanted nothing to do with naming her. Her weapon, her partner, her husband alternated between trying to ease her, coax her, convince her, and gushing over the new baby. Kami just wanted to go home

The first few months were hell. Kami had to pretend that she loved her child, pretend that this helpless little leech was her precious little girl when all she wanted to do was smash her against a wall, to get rid of this thing that bound her, that forced her into this constrained existence. They still wouldn't let her go on missions. She was stuck here. Taking care of Maka, that was her life. Sometimes, only sometimes, she felt the sparks of love hiding beneath the hatred, when she caught Spirit's eyes in those of their child, when she saw his smile in the baby's own, but those times were rare. Oh, she wasn't cruel to Maka. She walked the walk. She always tried her hardest and she would be a proper mother if it killed her. But it was only a mask, her motherhood mask. Inside, she was seething.

After the baby was born, she refused to make love to Spirit. She could not abide the thought of bringing another helpless parasite into this world, of being forced to care for another child. They could use protection, but even with that there was risk. Any risk, any at all, was too great. Spirit tried sometimes, but gave her space, seeming to believe she would come around. He was wrong.

When Maka was a year old, they started assigning Kami missions again. At first, they were always with Spirit. When they resonated, she tried to hold back all those dark emotions that had driven her for over a year, but she could only hold so much, and again, he tried to soothe her. After a mission, they always made love, their resonance reminding her of how much she ached for him. Now they used condoms. Even still, it was only when resonance overwhelmed her with need that she joined with him. She couldn't take the risk of another child. Wouldn't. As always, Spirit soothed but did not push, convinced she would change her mind. She still spent most of her time with Maka, still hated every second of it.

Eventually, she had missions with other weapons, missions that were both a relief and a frustration. Every second she wished it was Spirit, every second she was glad it wasn't. She took as many missions as she could get, was rarely around. Maka spent a lot of time with Sid and his adopted son Black*Star. It was a relief to be away, but it was not enough. Still, she had to come back, still she was forced to care for this child she didn't want, still she was kept from being whole and one with her husband often and always because her fear of getting pregnant overwhelmed even her need for him. But in their missions together the need still won and it terrified her.

Maka was four when she finally went to Lord Death and quietly asked not to be assigned missions with Spirit. The Death god didn't comment, though he seemed troubled. He agreed to assign them joint missions only in the most dire circumstances. He promised not to tell Spirit and Spirit simply assumed it had been Shinigami's decision when their joint missions nearly stopped, that he had seen the discord between them. He despaired but said nothing, powerless to change it, powerless to stop his wife's downward spiral. He still tried, though. He still tried, but as she went on more and more missions with others, he hardly saw her. He focused on his daughter instead, doted on her, unknowingly fueling his wife's jealousy as she saw their child receiving attention she felt was hers by rights. She hated them. She hated herself.

Their missions together were few, but still, they always made love after a mission. It was wonderful. It was terrible. Kami both loved and hated it. She could read in her resonance that Spirit had long since taken solace in his own hand, but despairing of her ever wanting him again, he was beginning to desire other women. Not just look, but desire.

When Maka was six, drunk and overwhelmed by their increasing distance, he acted on it. He sought what he had when he joined with Kami. He cried out his wife's name in his empty ecstasy. Then he sought it again and again with woman after woman. It was a pale imitation; what he wanted, needed, was his wife. Kami could read his infidelity in their infrequent resonance and remained silent. They still came together, but now there was a new pain mixed in it, the pain of betrayal. She knew she had driven him to it, knew he sought her in woman after woman. Her own fault could not remove the sting and the distance between them grew.

When Maka was nine, Kami was looking through their most recent family photo album and something nagged at her. Her daughter was growing, changing. She reminded her of Spirit. She reminded her of herself. Some part of her loved her, some part of her was beginning to admire her strength and determination, but most of her still resented her. The child still tied her here, to this life. But didn't you want this life? Wasn't this what you dreamt of? another voice, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Spirit's, screamed at her from the inside. Yes, she thought, yes, I thought I wanted this, but I was wrong. I was wrong. She realized what had nagged her about the album; there were no pictures of her. None. Every important moment, Maka's school functions, her birthdays, holidays, Kami was never there. Spirit was, though, comforting, supporting, doting, loving. Spirit was her father and he was a good father. Kami was her mother and she knew her child admired her, adored her, but she was a ghost; she may as well not be there. It pained her, but she wouldn't change it, couldn't. The missions were the only thing she chose, her only escape, her only freedom. She could not be tied.

The final shove down her path came when Maka was twelve. She had long known about Spirit's infidelities, but she confronted him about them only rarely; he always kept them out of her sight so she kept them out of her mind. When she came home early from a mission and caught Spirit in their bed, in their bed, with another woman, that was the end, the final push. She didn't yell or scream or cry. She told both of them to get out. She packed her things; she went to a hotel; she didn't look back. The next day, she called a lawyer and asked to file papers. That night she called Spirit and asked him to her hotel room. She was beyond tears. She was broken, they were both broken, she had broken them, Maka had broken them, they had broken each other. But she still loved him. She would always, always love him. That had never been her choice to make, not really. So she wanted to say goodbye, needed to say goodbye. She took him into her room wordlessly, sat him down, straddled him, sank down onto him. In their resonance, they shared everything. He knew it was over, he knew what she planned, he begged her to stop, to reconsider. He would do anything, anything. Just don't leave him, don't leave their precious Maka, don't. When it was over, they both knew it was the end. She conveyed it all in their resonance. She rejoiced, she despaired. He cried and pleaded and finally left to drink and to find comfort in the arms of another, as she knew he would. It was a pain she had learned to live with.

Kami Albarn, soon Kami Gishi once more, left without saying goodbye to her daughter. Maka was on a mission with her partner, and she would not wait, was relieved she wouldn't have to be the one to face her. That task was left to Spirit. She kept in touch with Spirit, called him periodically to keep tabs on their daughter. For Maka, she left only sporadic postcards, too afraid to face her, too afraid that she would come to see the truth. Maka was angry, not at her, but at him. She blamed his infidelity just as he blamed himself. He was wrong, as was Maka, but she didn't correct him. Spirit's infidelity was only an excuse, a final catalyst. She had planted the seeds, watered them, nurtured them, watched them grow. Her cold indifference, her independent madness, that had been the true cause. In the end, perhaps, neither was blameless, but she had left for herself. But if Maka blamed her father, if she truly believed that Kami had left due to his many conquests, then so be it. Let her think that, let it give her strength and resolve. Let her think that so she didn't hate her. Kami was too selfish to want her daughter to hate her. She needed, craved, her love, needed to believe that that love would continue in spite of everything, needed to believe that in spite of her utter uselessness as a mother that her daughter would be strong and would continue to love her. That she hadn't failed her. That she would be fine.

Maka would be fine. She had to be. She had been living with her weapon partner for months by then. He was a scythe, like Maka's father, and Maka was a scythe meister like her. She wanted so very desperately to be like her. Kami hated it. She still resented her daughter, an old reflex, but there was love there, too, and she wanted better for her. She wanted it, but saw her child barreling down the same path her parents had taken before her. She could see it when the two were together. Their resonance was high for two so young and was only getting stronger. Eventually, their feelings would become undeniable, and the two would join as such pairs always did. This boy, this strange weapon with the white hair and the red eyes and the sharp teeth, this boy who wore a brash mask over a calm interior, a mask of antipathy over a heart of lonely need, this strange, caustic child, would someday become her daughter's lover. She could read the inevitability as plainly as she could read his loyalty, even if both were too young to see where their hurtling train was headed, too young to see what would eventually smack them like brisk air after a warm bath. Yes, Kami could read her fate in her daughter and left her a letter warning her of the dangers of men. It was the best she could do. At least, she thought, Maka had chosen that life. Perhaps that would be the difference, the way to avoid the taint that had ended her marriage with Spirit. Perhaps Maka and her weapon could succeed where she and Spirit had failed. Maka had chosen to attend the DWMA, had chosen her own partner. Perhaps choice was the key. Kami had never had a choice.

At thirty, for the first time in her life, she did. For the first time in her life, Kami Gishi had a choice and she had chosen to leave. Forced to the DWMA, forced to take Spirit as a partner, driven by their resonance into love and marriage and family, Kami's entire life had been dictated for her, and she had struggled against those forced bonds, her soul wanting nothing more than freedom. And finally, finally she had it. It was painful. She missed Spirit, longed for his touch, longed to feel whole with him once more. She even missed Maka. But that pain was overcome many times over by the sheer exhilaration of freedom. Kami was finally, finally free and she loved and hated every second of it.