Her: 1

She could do this. Really, it wouldn't be that hard. All she had to do is lean forward, off center her balance, and then let go of the railing. Gravity would do the rest, easy, and then the rapid currents would finish the job. Just lean forward, put all the weight in her upper body, and let go.

It is the last step she seems to struggle with.

It would appear, despite her body's near-unanimous decision to jump off Death City Bridge, her left hand is too stubborn to follow through. It is like the thing is arguing for a recount of the decision. Surely this isn't her only option.

But it is her only option. All others would never be able to offer the same sweet satisfaction that death could. All loose ends would not need to be tied up, she would never have to think about her father ever again. She wouldn't have to take a blind eye to any thing he did anymore. The bastard.

Her body shakes at the thought of him, and she leans even farther over the edge. That two-timing man-whore. She isn't the type to cuss, but after everything he had done to her—to her mother—anything less than colorful profanity would be too nice. The girl cannot forgive him. Every day he cheated on her mother, flirting shamelessly at work and meeting floozies late at night. It was almost like he wasn't bothering to hide it, and maybe he wasn't. The man is an obvious moron. Why her mother ever married him is a mystery to her, and apparently her mother had forgotten the reason too.

Her parents' divorce had broken her more than she wants to admit. Although there was joy that her mother no longer had to suffer at home, girl felt betrayed. Her mother had left both child and ex-husband behind, disappearing into the world with an airy promise of coming back for her daughter. But she didn't. And her father just continued his filthy was, ignoring her every day of the week just to fuck some harlot. Men are disgusting. They just have one thing on their minds, her father has proven that much. After ten years of this, with no other options, the daughter of a missing woman and a man-whore has decided to solve all her problems with one jump.

If her left hand would just get with the program.

She closes her eyes, deciding she should count backwards. Her left hand will let go in ten. Just ten. Now nine, eight, seven, six, fi—

"W-wait!"

A gruff voice, almost lost to the night wind, interrupts her. She glances over her shoulder to see a guy about her age, bundled in a leather jacket, his pale hair waving like mad. He stands in a defensive and cautious stance about ten or so feet from her. He looks upset, eyes flashing under the street lights.

"Don't do it," he continues, realizing he has her attention. "For Death's sake, just don't let go of that rail."

She wants to ask him what he is doing here. It had to be close to three in the morning. She chose this time because she knew her father would be asleep, and no one would be around the bridge to see her misery. Except for mister tall, bleached, and leathery, it would seem. Instead, she asks him what time it is.

He looks a little lost at the question, but gives a quick glance at his wrist, before his vision bounces back up to her. It's like he is afraid she would jump if he took his eyes off her. "Something like four."

Apparently Left Hand had been stalling.

She twists herself around the ledge to stare at him. He advances towards her a few inches, eyes honed in on her own and motions slow. "Actually, I have no idea what time it is," he admits with a pause. Another small step forward and he holds up the wrist he had just glanced at, using the other hand to reveal nothing up his sleeve. "I don't have a watch."

Despite the whole oddity of the situation, she snorts out a laugh. He's such a dork.

His body relaxes a bit at the sound, shoulders dropping as a small, hesitant grin comes across his face. She notices his teeth, which seem much more pointy and canine than what teeth should look like. "Was driving home, so it should be close to four. I get off work at like three forty-five, well it's supposed to be three but the other—" He stops his ramble with a head shake. He then tilts his head a bit, and he seems to be trying for something more comical. "Why the hell else would anyone want to be up before the sun?"

The answer she thinks of blindsides her. She had almost forgotten that she is trying to commit suicide at four in the morning. "To jump off a bridge." Her voice is soft, hesitant. It would seem mystery guy and Left Hand are gaining some votes from the rest of her, because her right hand has reached out and secured itself to the railing. She's leaning forward, but this time it's to rest against the supporting metal.

The man frowns at her comment. "That doesn't seem like something you should do at any time of the day."

"No one was supposed to be here." It is all she can think to say.

He doesn't respond for a moment. Instead he surveys her, examines her face for any sort of clue. It feels like he's looking right through her everything in an attempt to see just her. "I'm here." And somehow those words are enough to make her want to cry. She's never been the type to cry, but she can feel something wet streak down her cheek, just once. Her shoulders shake as her head ducks because she's absolutely miserable right now. He is right, he is here, and the thought is far more comforting than it should be. For Death's sake, he is a total stranger—and male too— but she wanted to believe that he is on her side. Well, her left hand's side, anyway.

Darn it, Left Hand is totally winning this.

"What's your name?" She looks up to see him much closer than before, and she can see his eyes are a nice shade of burgundy. They look warm, comforting, saddened but also a little hopeful. Maybe that last bit was her own feelings.

"Maka."

"Maka, huh." He grins, and it looks more confident now, like he is aware that almost every part of her body has switched sides on her and is joining Left Hand on the vote for living. She doesn't like the idea that he could be smug about it, but he seems to also have some genuine happiness about her change of heart. "I'm Soul Eater." His voice almost sounds like he's bragging about it.

She huffs at his new found cockiness, her arms crossing. She wants to tell him to shut up, and to ask what kind of name "Soul Eater" could possibly be anyway, but she loses her balance now that her hands are crossed. She slips backwards.

That's right. She's standing on the edge of a bridge. She was going to jump off before her left hand and mystery guy interrupted. Now, just when she thought otherwise, she's falling.

She's such a stubborn idiot.

"Fuck!" She feels two large clamps attach to her wrists, and her head snaps up to see that it's mystery guy's hands. He's leaning over the other side of the rail, body bent and eyes panicking. "Maka, my God, you idiot!"

She feels a little panic at the situation, but she feels more anger at his insult. It's kind of weird, but she decides that she can't be made to judge herself at this moment. "Shut up, Soul!" She secures a replicated hold onto him as he slowly starts to raise her up. His eyes are squinting, his jaw is hard; his whole face looks tense. She suddenly wonders how much she weighs.

He gets her up high enough that she can push her knees up onto the edge. His hands switch to new positions as she raises up as cautious as she can. Soul doesn't loosen his grip for a moment. She stops once she is back to the same position she had been standing before, but he doesn't let go of her upper arms.

"Oh no," he pants out. "Get on this side of the rails."

She scowls at his demand, but finds she has little choice but to comply as he moves his hands to her waist and begins to lift. This close, she can tell he's got quite a few inches on her, plus enough muscles to probably do the job himself, so she might as well help out. She gets over the rail with little incident, boots hitting the concrete with a solid thump. She stares at the firm surface for a moment, then looks up to Soul. "There, happy?"

Her vision fuzzes for focus a bit, because he is far too close. His attempt to get her to safety left him mere inches from her. She tenses, eyes going wide. Warning signals go off in her brain, telling her to get ready for something sleazy. She is very much aware that both his hands still have a firm attachment to her waist.

He seems to be aware of it too, because he tenses seconds after her. Then he releases her and steps clear out of Maka's personal bubble. She feels much calmer, and a little surprised at his embarrassed reaction. "Sorry." His voice is not so confident anymore, but he's looking her in the eyes. "But, um, yeah. I feel much better." He regards her with a reserved look. "What about you?"

She opens her mouth, prepared to spout out her misery. But she doesn't feel all that sad anymore. The adrenaline rush has her feeling bright-eyed and alert. Much more aware of how stupid she was just being, of how stupid it is to try and kill herself over her father. The shock of everything that had just happened has hit her like a ton of bricks, but one glance back at him and everything is fine. "I… I feel better too."

He grins those sharp teeth at her, the news appearing to please him way more than she thought possible for a stranger.

"Want to get some breakfast?"

There is a pause. He looks just as shocked as she feels about his question.

She blinks, finally realizing how weird the situation is. She had just about killed herself, only to change her mind. Then she slipped, only to be saved by a stranger—who is male. There are many reasons for why she should not follow Soul to get breakfast. Many logical reasons. Many logical, important reasons. But she is already moving towards a stranded car down the road that is not hers. Maka isn't even shocked by it. Her brain cannot seem to think of even one, single, logical, important reason. It seems she really isn't in her right of mind, but somehow that's okay with her. She just wants to get away from this bridge, and Soul doesn't hesitate to help her into the car when she motions to get in.

"Yeah, okay."

It seems her body's vote is unanimous.

(` ~ `)

Hello.

It's nice to meet you.

I've never really published or posted any of my writing before. If we're being honest, I've never been one to write fan fiction before. Yet, I caved for this story. It just plagued me and I had to share it. There is still a lot more to come. I plan to post in pairs, as the chapter titles may reveal. Prepare for lots of internal struggle and trust issues to the max. Also, I don't know how to write humor on purpose, but maybe some natural comedy will occur anyway? It is Soul and Maka, after all (plus all their friends and enemies I can manage to add.)

Anyway, please bear with me. And review, if you think you can help. I'm a stickler for grammar, so please do let me know if I made a mistake.

Thank you; I'll try to cut down on Author's Notes from here on out.

SunnyD545