Author's Note; I'm alive! Wooo! So, where have I been you ask? Not in the depths of hell as I anticipated, but moving from crappy hotel to crappy hotel because our house is being varnished or something, and the fumes are toxic. So I have pretty much been moving about, and not had time to write. When I finally got back to the house, I found that all my inspiration and ideas had left me, and almost gave up on the story. It was my very first case of writer's block involving this particular story, and to put it bluntly, I dug myself a hole and instead of climbing out of it, I just dug deeper.

Now, it was actually a review that kicked some inspiration into me, and got me back into writing. So a really big thanks to Bushin1996. It was just what I needed! Thank you so much!

On a completely unrelated note, my grades weren't that bad, (almost straight As), but I find it incredibly ironic that essentially, my lowest mark was in art. :P I had one of those old fashion teachers who firmly believe that digital art is not art, and anime is not art either. XP

More importantly, I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I can still hardly believe I hit 300 reviews! It's amazing. This chapter will push the word count over 100,000 so I want to thank every single person who made it possible.

Thanks to Inugami-chan, Drew Secrets, Alik Takeda, omgpear, bunannza, bluenian98, Philoctetes, Thatguyuare, RedRosesTea, and Bushin1996 for reviewing my last chapter. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Disclaimer; I do not own Soul Eater in any way.

Maka sits with a thoughtful expression, staring blankly at the multitude of bandages covering her hands and forearms. Red stains dot the cloth, but for the most part, her wounds have stopped bleeding. Soul is in the next room, having that bitch attend to his. Although it pains her to admit it, while the older woman was fussing over her wounds, it caused a long lost feeling to bubble in her chest. How long had it been since she had received the care of an adult like that? Since her mother was alive? No, even before that. There's only so much care a bed ridden mother can give. But then, just as the warmth began to overtake her chest, she was reminded of what the woman before her had done. What she was. Then the blinding hatred returned, and she refused to lock eyes with the woman again.

Soul had shot her a concerned look, but not voiced any of his thoughts on the matter. Maka was both relieved and frustrated at him for that. A part of her wants him to question her actions, so that she can explain to him just what kind of a woman "Medusa-sensei" really was. The other part of her didn't want to drag him further into her own troubles. Protect him if you will. Either way, in Maka's mind, Medusa was guilty.

And then Maka remembers the look on the older woman's face when she spotted Crona. There were varying emotions that splayed across her features, only a few of which Maka was able to name. There was recognition there. Relief, too. But there were so many more, all of which remained a mystery.

Now she had to sit in the waiting room – alone – as Soul was still being 'treated' and Crona was still unconscious. True, she could have stayed, but then again she didn't know how much longer she could control her emotions around Medusa. A part of her knew, even then, that there would come a time when her blinding anger and reckless hatred towards the older woman would fade, leaving her to deal with the bitterness and agony of the sense of betrayal that lay beneath the maelstrom of other emotions. It was not a joyous revelation, but none the less, Maka knew she would have to be prepared. She needed to be more mature than give in to the anger and hate. She needed to step up, and deal with this head on, instead of ignoring it like she wanted to. She wouldn't run this time.

Medusa digs hurriedly through her countless drawers, in search of a suitable pain medication she could prescribe to Soul. He sits patiently, watching her out of one eye, all the while staring blankly at Crona. He hasn't said a word since Maka left the room, but Medusa can see as clear as day that her behavior has affected him. His brows are creased, his fists are clenching and unclenching and his mouth is set into a grim line. Whatever he is thinking about, it is nothing to snicker at. She wants to tread lightly, not wanting to provoke a negative reaction out of the boy.

"Can you speak, Soul?" she asks softly, as her fingers finally make contact with the bottle she was searching for.

He nods, before whispering "Yeah, but it hurts." She immediately feels horrible. She should have made him write his answer down, instead of put him through even more pain.

"I'm sorry." She says with a downcast expression, handing him the bottle of pills, while forcing a small smile to grace her features.

"Take two now, and with every meal for the next few days. That should ease the pain a bit." She explains, moving to fill up a small plastic cup full of water for him to swallow. He follows her instructions without complaint, offering her a tiny smile before bowing his head and leaving the room without another word.

Medusa screws her eyes shut, and more than anything, wonders if she is dreaming. There is a part of her that wishes, hopes and prays that this is all a horrible dream. But her heart is screaming that this is reality. That her only child, the only person who she ever truly loved with all her heart, had returned to her.

She doesn't want to believe it is true, because if she does, she is only setting herself up for a pain even more unimaginable than before. Because if Crona is torn from her once more, just when she finally got her back... she doesn't know if she would be able to withstand another blow like that. Every person had their limit. And no matter what hideous and heinous acts she has committed in her past, she is still human.

She allows her eyes to open as she slowly forms a new resolve. She will fight harder. She will not lose again. Crona would stay safe, and once and for all, the horror of her past would stop haunting her everyday life. Asura... she thinks to herself as a dark expression slowly spreads across her face. I will take you down.

Stein watches with an emotionless expression as the Evans boy passes him without a word. They bump shoulders and make eye contact before heading their own way. Stein can see as clear as day that the boy is in pain, but he is dealing with it in his own way. The door before him is a mystery, and yet it is still nothing compared to the enigma that lies behind. "Medusa Gorgon", the name tag says. Yet he knows that is not her name - her real one, at least. He informed Shinigami-sama of this development, and he didn't find it particularly surprising that he already knew. That guy knew everything.

Which brought him back to the inevitable problem at hand. If Shinigami-sama knew, and still didn't do anything about it, then was Medusa not a threat? Or was there a reason behind Shinigami-sama allowing her to stay without question at Shibusen? Everything that was happening around the grey haired professor appeared too methodical, too coincidental and too planned. There was someone behind the scenes pulling the strings. Stein hated the blank that came with this "puppet master". What did they know about this man / woman? Absolutely nothing, other than they had rather sadistic tendencies. But, if thought about carefully enough, Stein was sure that even that tidbit of information could be more important that he first thought. He sighs heavily, not having moved 2 steps from where he stopped outside the door. His thoughts were going in circles today. Perhaps a visit to his favorite - or most interesting- nurse would clear his mind? Although her true motive and name remained a mystery, he would admit that she amused him. Her mind was a great adversary, almost topping his own. He would never admit that she bested him in mental trivia more than once.

As he pushed the door open, just enough to see a small fraction of the room, he immediately spotted the centre of his thoughts. She was seating, staring blankly at an unconscious figure lying on the bed. Stein frowned very slightly when he expression began to morph into something he was familiar with. It was more than anger, and yet it was calm at the same time. A contradiction in itself, yes, and if anyone had asked if Stein could describe it he would use the words 'indescribable', as well as the closest thing to "pure evil".

There was a tiny bubble of disappointment growing in his chest. He had sincerely hoped that she was not responsible or involved with any of the tragic events occurring all over the place. But after witnessing that expression, he had his doubts. He closed the door with an almost inaudible click, and left without anyone ever knowing he was there.

When Soul finally makes eye contact with Maka once more, there is relief apparent in her eyes. He briefly wondered why, but dismissed the thought as soon as it arose. She smiles at him, but it feels forced. They walk out of the room together, without a word.

The sun is no longer shining bright, gone the warm afternoon sun and replaced with the twilight. The sky almost appears a deep purple in places and the lack of stars, and even the moon itself makes it seem almost surreal. The silence that lies between them is not of an awkward sort. It is comfortable. He does not talk because he does not feel the need. She doesn't because she knows that it will still cause him pain to form a response. They are both drained from the day's events, but they still have to face their dorm mates when they get back. Maka's eyes fall from the sky, where they rest on the cobbled ground slowly scrolling by before her. The Thompson sisters and Tsubaki were the closest thing to 'girlfriends' she had ever had in her life, and yet there was always this distance between them. An infinitely large gap, formed from the lies and secrets that shrouded their everyday lives. There is a part of Maka that wants to let it all out. To tell them... everything. She wants to be able to share her feeling on what's happening, to someone other than Soul. Not that Soul was not a reliable shoulder to lean on, or anything like that, but it was because he was too reliable. The closer she grew to him, the more dependent she became on him. And she hated it, but there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. So, she may love the guy in a less than platonic way. Whoop-dee-fricken'-doo. It wasn't like he felt the same way. By opening up even further to him and only him, she was also opening up who she really was. And the more he became imbedded so deeply in her life that she could not imagine a life without him by her side, the more these thoughts scared her. Simply because there would be no eternity walking hand in hand with him. Besides, at the rate they were going, he would be in heaven and she would be in hell in only a couple of weeks.

She almost snickered at that. Flirting with danger seemed to be all she did these days. She smiles to the moonless night, and wishes upon an invisible star that, in 10 years time, she would be able to look upon the same sky and smile right back.

Soul fidgets with his pockets as they walk. They smell like shit. Literally. Trudging through sewage has a tendency to do that to you. He wants a shower, and he wants it badly. He doesn't think Maka has taken the time to smell him - or herself, for that matter. She is much too caught up... doing whatever she was doing. Staring at the night sky? He shrugs her weird behavior off without a second thought. She is anal about hygiene, where as he was pretty much classified as a slob. So if he was desperate for a shower, then he didn't even want to imagine what she would be like when she took a whiff. Actually, he predicts that it will be amusing, and waits while the blank look on her face remains as she gazes at the stars. What is she looking for? He doesn't know the answer to that question, just like he doesn't know the answer to a lot of questions about Maka. He could tell you without the slightest flaw how she would react if he left his dirty clothes around the house. He could predict the exact curses and number of bruises he would receive, too. But she was enigmatic in her feelings. She could be furious, before placid, before grieving all in a matter of minutes. He wonders if all girls are this damn complicated, or it is just this one.

He is surprised when she turns to him, with a look he cannot fathom.

"I'm going to tell them..." she says, confidence lining her voice and expression still a mystery. He squints at her, seeking clarification, as speaking is too much of a hassle.

"The dorm..," she explains as his jaw falls open. "I'm going to tell them, everything."