HAHAHA I bet you all thought I was dead in a ditch somewhere.

Well, no, I wasn't dead or lazy or anything, I just... wandered into other OTPs and lost my mojo. But now that things have changed in my personal life, I'm regaining it! And this will get finished! And then I will do other fic!

Hopefully.

Check my profil for other places I can be found lurking on teh intarwebs. Feel free to ask me things!

Chapter 14: Rain Wash Away

"Maka, wait!"

Soul stopped for a second, panting, then sprinted forward again, trying to keep up with his Meister. Behind him, Death the Kid kept pace, golden eyes narrowed. She had told her partner not to wait for her when she had gone to visit her father, but he hadn't felt right about leaving her behind – and his gut instinct had proven to be true. When Kid had discovered where she had gone, he had strangely insisted on waiting with him for her. His only comment had been that 'nothing good would come of this.'

That had been an understatement.

Maka stumbled and clutched the wall to steady herself; Soul and Kid jogged up to her side, the former putting a hand on her shoulder. She was sobbing for breath, her face red and streaked with tears. As soon as Soul touched her she whirled on him.

"Hey," he began. "Maka, what's wrong? Did you g-"

A sob escaped her; she buried her head in his chest , crying. "... Maka?" Soul asked, hands in the air around her uncertainly before placing one carefully on her back. Behind them, Kid slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing around the empty hallway before refocusing on the pair. "What happened?"

". . . Papa," she strangled out in a miserable cry.

"You overheard the deposition, didn't you."

Soul looked up at Kid, who was staring at Maka with a carefully controlled expression. "Deposition? What are you talking about?" he asked.

". . . Father and Sid went up there to take an official statement from DeathScythe about the events that transpired the night he was . . . attacked . . . by Professor Stein." Kid's eyes never wavered from Maka, who curled up a bit tighter at his words. "It turns out that much more happened that evening than what we were initially told."

"I just w-wanted Professor Stein back! I kept asking Papa w-why nobody wanted the professor back even when I knew it was hurting him! I asked him why he couldn't forgive-"

Kid let out a long breath, eyes softening in pity. "Maka, you had no way of knowing the truth."

The young girl let out an audible sniffle, rubbing her hand over her eyes. "Professor Stein was going to come after me," she whispered. "Papa went through all that to protect me and I – I just wanted the professor back."

"Maka-" She shoved Soul away before he could comfort her, shaking her head violently, then turned and fled. This time, Kid put a restraining hand on the Weapon's shoulder before he could follow her. "What the hell, Kid? We can't just leave her like this!"

"I don't think we can help her right now." Frustration warred with hopelessness on the young Reaper's face. "She needs to work this out for herself. Besides, she's probably gone to find her mother – I think that's for the best."

The white-haired scythe scowled. Red eyes narrowed at him, a lingering suspicion. "Just what the hell happened, anyway? Stein kept saying some pretty fucked-up things when we were fighting him in Medusa's hideout – he kinda implied a few things – you don't think he tried to . . . you know?" He made a vulgar gesture with his hands.

Kid sighed. "He didn't try to." He looked back at him. "He succeeded."

Soul cringed, looking as sick as Kid felt. "Kid, that's – that's not supposed to happen to guys."

"Really?" Golden eyes narrowed in sudden anger. "Tell that to DeathScythe. I'm sure he'd take it quite well."

He threw his hands to his sides as Kid stormed off. "I didn't mean-" Soul rubbed the back of his head and heaved a sigh. "Dammit." The halls, empty and cold, echoed his curse; shaking his head, he turned and went to go find his Meister.

". . . I'm not pressing charges."

Shinigami's lower extremities had long gone numb, sprawled as he was on the floor of the makeshift recovery room; the cold tile had drained what little warmth could be found in his legs. Spirit was curled up in a loose fetal ball against him, propped up against his side with his one remaining arm crossed over his knees and his chin resting atop his arm. The Reaper had draped his massive cloak over both of them to ward off the chill. The deathscythe looked almost childish tucked underneath it, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, bare feet crossed below him.

How many hours had they been sitting there now? The sun was long set, a lamp across the room providing a dim light across the little room. Forcing the deathscythe to relive his violation had been a difficult decision, made even more so when the man had dissolved into a mass of self-loathing and anguish, of fury and tears. Shinigami had sat it out with him, letting him rage and cry and berate himself until he had practically collapsed from the effort. Now there was nothing left in Spirit but exhaustion, a tired sort of resignation.

"Spirit?" Shinigami ventured, unsure if he'd heard the other correctly. "What do you mean? He could have killed you. We've already charged him with aggravated assault-"

"-and that's fine," he said. The emptiness, the hollow tone that bespoke how utterly weary he was now – hearing it hurt. The deathscythe tilted his head to look over at his Meister, his eyes shaded and unreadable in the faint light. "The other . . . just let it go, Shinigami-sama."

His golden eyes widened in shock. "Spirit, Stein-"

"St-" He swallowed hard. "S-Stein raped me."

Shinigami's breath caught in his chest. Somehow part of him had hoped that actually naming the trauma would somehow make things better – that saying it would help the younger man gain strength. There was no strength or power in the word, and he knew he'd been a fool to think there could ever be. Only acceptance, the defeat of someone no longer trying to run from the truth, and it was the most hollow of victories.

The dim light was enough to reflect the glimmer of fresh tears sliding down Spirit's cheeks. His quiet voice did not waver, and that somehow made it even worse. "He raped me and I was too weak to stop him."

The Reaper looked away, concern creasing his brow. "Spirit . . . I know it's hard."

"No. You don't." He slouched down, his hand clutching the edge of the cloak around his scarred shoulders and pulling it tight. "If charges are filed, there will be a trial. That means it'll go public. The news outlets will pick it up, and it'll be international news within days. I'd have to testify-" A shudder ran down his spine; Shinigami shifted closer to him, even though he could offer little warmth. "I can't do it. I can't relive it all again – tell a bunch of strangers everything he did – you really think they'd believe me?" He barked a laugh, the sound completely devoid of humor. "You're the only one who's believed me, or hasn't blamed me for it. The rest of the world isn't as forgiving. No matter what the verdict was, public opinion would find me guilty." Long red hair shadowed his eyes. "And they'd be right."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, DeathScythe had a point – and it was a bitter, bitter pill to swallow. "Not everyone blames you-"

Spirit rolled right over his weak objection, his voice becoming more and more hollow. "I'm your head deathscythe. For me to be this weak . . . the Academy is already under a lot of scrutiny from the international community. This would make things a lot worse. My ability to fulfill my duties would come into question if they haven't already – don't shake your head, you know I'm right. I've failed you, the Academy, my daughter . . . I failed myself, just look at me! They have every right to question my abilities!" The bandages that wrapped the stump where his left arm had been were now splotched with fresh blood; his fingers dug into the still-healing flesh, drawing the emotional pain out by physically inflicting it. Faded blue eyes glared back out over the room. "My life would be hell if they knew. Maka's life would be hell – I can't do that to my daughter. It's bad enough she's going to find out about this, but to be put in the public spotlight because I fucked up?"

Shinigami turned to face him. Spirit's thin body trembled next to him; beneath the crumbling facade he could see his battered soul splintering further along the cracks, tearing at himself from guilt and self-hatred. Reaching over, he pulled the younger man's hand away from the shoulder wound before he could do himself further harm. His other hand slipped under the cloak and laid gently on the nape of his companion's neck, kneading at the tense muscles there. "Spirit, you have to stop blaming yourself," he said gently. "None of this – Medusa, Ashura, Stein – none of it is your fault. You have to believe me."

". . . I can't." His voice cracked. Beads of water rolled in a flood down his hollow cheeks, trickling along the curve of his chin to drip onto the cold tile floor. "My daughter had to finish the job with Ashura because I couldn't do it! I slipped up with that witch and – if I hadn't screwed that up, the Madness wouldn't have . . . S-St-Stein wouldn't have – I begged him, Shinigami! I gave up! I was too weak to stop him and it's my fault it ever happened-"

"Stop right there." He brushed the Weapon's long red hair back from his face as he tilted his head up, running through the tangles and trailing down to the back of his neck. "Yes. It happened. But it wasn't your fault, and there was nothing you could have done to stop it." The Reaper's golden gaze softened; long fingers reached up and brushed the tears from Spirit's cheek. "Don't let the darkness drag you down. Not now, not after all we've been through."

"What am I supposed to do?" Spirit begged, desperation lacing his voice. "I can't even stand to look at myself anymore! Every time I close my eyes – every time I see something out of the corner of my eye – every shadow or noise is him, it's like he's there again and I can hear him – I can feel him-" His fist thumped limply against the floor. "I am so tired of being weak."

"You are not weak, Spirit Albarn." Shinigami tilted Spirit's chin up enough so they could see eye-to-eye. An odd, tight little smile spread on the Reaper's face; warm golden eyes regarded his partner fondly. He stroked his hand through long red hair, letting strands fall and gathering them up again in a soothing motion before resting his large palm against the other man's high cheekbone. "Don't even think it. You have been there for me for so many years now, and you have no idea how much I have relied on your strength to get me through it all. Raising Kid. Dealing with politics. Fighting witches, training our students. Ashura-" and there was a hitch in his voice on saying the name.

The deathscythe bit his lower lip and tentatively reached out, withdrawing his hand once before finally letting it settle on his Meister's wrist. The warmth of his touch was like fire. "Shinigami-sama . . . ?"

Shinigami slipped his hand into Spirit's, interweaving their fingers; he brought the younger man's hand up to his face and nuzzled it briefly. "You have been my friend, my confidante, even when you have suffered your own demons, and I . . . . Oh, Spirit," he breathed, cool lips tracing the syllables against the other's feverish skin. "You don't . . . you don't know just how strong you really are."

For a long moment Spirit sat there in silence, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest and the steady flow of tears.

Then slowly, hesitantly, his fingers closed around the Reaper's hand and squeezed.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Let's make this brief, shall we?"

The courtyard in front of the Academy was full to the brim with reporters from every nation, all of them jockeying to get a better position near the front podium. The early morning sun cast long shadows from still-broken buildings, homes and towering pieces of construction equipment scattered throughout the city. Azusa stood behind the microphone stand with Nygus at her side; black-suited guards, marked by their wraparound shades, kept the rabble from pushing around too much or trying to go further than the courtyard. Above them, Academy students congregated, eager to hear the first official press conference since the defeat of Ashura.

This would be so much easier if the Reaper's words weren't still echoing in her mind.

There's something I haven't told you . . . the truth of what happened between Spirit and Stein . . . .

"My name is Yumi Azusa, and I am the deathscythe in charge of East Asia and Oceania. I am also temporarily the head deathscythe for the DWMA." She adjusted her glasses, watching the reporters scribble their notes. A few cameras flashed; video cameras adjusted their angles. "We at the Academy wish to thank you for your patience in waiting as we reconstruct our city, and we thank our allies with NATO and the UN for their continued assistance. Now, I believe some of you have questions. Let's get started. You, in the back?"

"Lee Johnson, New York Times. Miss Azusa, some say that the Academy should have been more proactive in trying to stop the kishin Ashura-"

And, as Shinigami had predicted, the questions weren't exactly friendly. The DWMA hadn't tried hard enough to stop Ashura. ("We expended every available resource towards stopping Ashura, and we did so as safely and expediently as possible. Our goal of promoting the safety and wellbeing of the souls of humanity was at the forefront of that mission, as it is for every mission.") Would they be compensating those who lost homes and loved ones in the last battle to defeat Ashura. ("Shinigami-sama has set aside funds to assist any who were displaced; there has always been a compensation fund at the DWMA for the families of those Academy members who sacrifice their lives in order to maintain peace.") What were they going to do about the more frequent appearances of kishin and witches. ("The Academy is well aware of the increase in kishin, and is deploying extra staff worldwide to combat this before it becomes a serious threat.")

One younger man waved a pad of paper in the air. "You said you were the temporary head deathscythe, miss Azusa – can you give us an update on the health of Shinigami and his primary DeathScythe? There are rumors-"

Azusa shifted her gaze, her insides going cold. "That question would be best directed at my coworker here. I'll let her answer it."

The demon knife's gaze was entirely unamused as she stepped forward to the mike. "I'm Mira Nygus, head nurse here at the Academy." She slid a notebook out of her pocket – there were a few notes written down in Shinigami's meticulous handwriting. "I'm pleased to report that Shinigami-sama is completely healed after his encounter with the kishin Ashura, as are the students who defeated him. Of the wounded, the majority are either healed or expected to make a full recovery."

"What about DeathScythe? Can you comment on the rumors that he's been permanently disabled as a result of the fight?"

". . . DeathScythe Spirit Albarn placed himself directly in the line of fire to protect his Meister and innocent bystanders from being killed by the kishin." Nygus took a deep breath, gripping her notes. "He was critically injured as a result, including the loss of one arm. He is currently in stable condition. It would be premature for us to make a prediction at this time as to whether or not his injuries will make an impact on his abilities as a deathscythe."

The crowds stirred uneasily; Nygus and Azusa stood calmly, waiting for the buzz to die down. Another reporter, this one with a BBC cameraman behind her, popped her head up when they signaled they would take questions again. "What of the injuries he sustained from the attack by his former Meister Franken Stein?"

The desert sun suddenly didn't feel quite as hot. "DeathScythe is in stable condition," Nygus repeated. She glanced over at Azusa, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Shinigami had been extremely explicit about what details could be leaked to the press and what couldn't, and this was coming quite close to the edge. "That includes any injuries he sustained as a result of that attack."

"Miss Azusa, is the Academy going to charge the professor with a crime?"

An almost unearthly silence fell as the students above them refocused on the tableau below. The reporters waited eagerly; the attack on Spirit and Stein's subsequent disappearance had been the talk of tabloid news outlets for weeks. Azusa shut her eyes for a moment and adjusted her glasses.

They can't know the whole truth, Shinigami's voice echoed in her mind. For Spirit's sake, they can't know.

She crossed her arms across her chest briefly, then lowered them to her side before clasping them behind her back. "Professor Stein is being held in Academy custody after pleading guilty to multiple counts of aggravated assault." The muscles in her jaw rippled as she bit back what she wanted to scream – that Stein was guilty, guilty, guilty. "The final results of the investigation are in and . . . and there will be no further charges pressed against him."

Sighs of relief and rushed whispers ran amongst the students; the journalists began snapping photos and waving their hands. Raking her gaze over the crowd, Azusa tilted her head at the guards, who stepped forward in unison. "Those are all the questions we will be taking for today. I thank you all for attending. This press conference is over." Immediately reporters began shouting further questions; she turned smartly on her heel and stepped away, Nygus keeping step beside her, as the guards converged to escort the journalists off the campus. The students began to drift away in small groups, their hushed conversations carrying over the breeze.

"You almost slipped there, Azusa."

The deathscythe bit her lower lip. "I don't like lies, Nygus."

"Neither do I." She put a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "But remember who we're protecting. Is it better to lie now and let it go, or to let the truth out and ruin him for something he couldn't help?"

For a moment – a brief moment – those cold blue eyes seemed to shine with emotion, before she turned and walked away.

". . . I can't say I'm that surprised, Maka. Stein was always . . . fixated on your father."

Kami rubbed the bruise on her cheek as she spoke, her other hand kept up in a fist in her lap. Maka sat across from her, red-rimmed eyes flicking up in surprise at the comment. She'd spilled it all when she'd found her mother, everything she'd heard, every horrible detail, until she had sobbed so much she was choking. Kami had listened, stroked her hair, never interrupting once until it was all out.

The elder Albarn gestured to the glass of water by Maka's elbow; she dutifully took a drink. "What do you mean, Mama?" she asked. "They were partners before-"

"Stein has always been a monster, Maka." Kami sat back with her arms crossed over her chest. "He never saw your father as anything but an experimental subject. A lab rat. He's insane, and I don't know why Shinigami would have ever trusted him to teach any student after what he did-"

"But he cared about us!"The exclamation was out before she could stop herself. "I – I mean, Professor Stein, he . . . he taught us so much, he tried to protect us . . . he and Papa got along so well, so why . . . ."

"Stein used to drug your father and cut him open for fun!"

"Papa forgave him for that . . . ."

"That's because Spirit's always been a softhearted fool!"

Kami clapped a hand over her mouth; Maka stared at her wide-eyed. "Mama," she whispered.

There was a moment's pause before Kami spoke again. "I can't tell you what to think, Maka," she sighed. "Maybe Stein did change. I don't believe it, but what do I know? I haven't – I haven't been here. I can't tell you why. It would be nice if I had answers, but . . . sometimes there just aren't any." Getting to her feet, she stepped over and put her arms around her daughter; Maka leaned into the hug, sniffling back tears.

"So . . . what happens now?"

"I don't know, Maka. I really don't know."

"Stein?"

Marie's gentle voice echoed through the hall before the cell door creaked open just enough to let her slip through. "Stein? Are you awake?"

The Meister lay still on the uncomfortable cot, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Yeah," he said, his hoarse voice a monotone. Normally he never moved, not even for Marie, but the erratic pulses of her soul wavelength were a warning her could not ignore – even if he no longer cared about himself, he still cared about her. Glancing her way, Stein pushed himself up to a sitting position on the low cot. His head drooped from his shoulders; his arms rested loosely on his knees, hands limp, fingernails chewed down to the quick.

Damn, but he wanted a cigarette.

"Stein?" Marie knelt in front of him. For a split-second he saw another figure kneeling there, one with red hair and tearful red eyes, a bruised throat, and he flinched back away from her with a sudden guttural moan. "Stein?"

"Sempai," he whispered, hands covering his eyes like a child would do. "I'm so sorry-"

Marie sighed and rose to sit beside him on the little cot. "Stein," she said gently. "Stein, look at me."

". . . I don't want to."

Still, she laid her hands over his and gently pried his hands away until his grey-green eyes were staring to her side, not quite looking up at her. "I spoke with Shinigami-sama just a few minutes ago. They've finished the investigation."

His hand reached for the screw; blood crusted his hair where he had cranked it too much. He had spoken for years on the whole incident, it seemed. Sid; Nygus; Marie and Joe; an official statement to the Reaper's elite task force; even a miserable four hours with one of his old professors, a meister and psychologist who had taken her time in picking his psyche apart. Spoken until he felt empty inside. He was hollow, all his words taken away, his mind a wordless ocean of bitter loathing and regret. "And?" He cranked the screw back a notch. "I know Death City invokes the death penalty for rape."

Marie's lips pursed for a second. "They're indicting you on five counts of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon." She placed a hand over his – so small, yet so soothing. "They aren't charging you with rape. Not officially."

"So it's a cover-up to protect Spirit? Smart." Crank. Crank. Crank. "So what will they do with me, then? An 'accident'? Life in prison?"

". . . Shinigami-sama is convening a meeting tomorrow night to decide." Marie's grip on his hand tightened. He stared down at her, worry worming its way into his bitter heart. "It'll be just four of us. You, me, him . . . ." She took a deep breath. "And Spirit."

Stein's heart nearly stopped.

"Sempai?"