Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater.

The eleventh!

"resented polaroid"

"Maka-chan, please," he begged, collapsing to his knees. He reached for her hand. "I'll do anything."

She jerked her arm away. "Go away, Papa."

"Please, anything..."

Her green eyes were cold, dark, and empty. She gave him a scathing look, and I shuddered from my spot in between, off to the side of the asphalt, caught in the middle of her family tragedy for the umpteenth time.

"You want to prove that you love me?" she said harshly, her voice barely louder than a whisper as she glared down at her father. "Then bring Mama back."

The man in the dirt looked at her, his face distraught. "You...You know I can't do that."

This was the answer she expected. She didn't show any sign of weakness, though I knew there were many, as she turned her back on her father. "Don't ever talk to me again," she whispered just as darkly as she had earlier. Then she moved, walking off down the road, leaving him behind.

I cast one glace at the wretch of a man that had fallen to the ground, his face disfigured by the empty sobs his body heaved, before following her, because I had nowhere else to go, nowhere else I wanted to be but with the one person who was stronger than anyone I knew. I had nothing to say to him, nothing to offer the man who had caused her so much pain.

I don't know anyone who deserves a dysfunctional family. All I do know is that she, of all people, didn't. She never did, but somehow God decided to give her that whore of a father, the man who tore her life apart and was trying to make amends. Wasn't it obvious that he could never even begin to repay her for all the crap she's been through because of him? Wasn't it obvious that she'll never forgive him?

Apparently not.

So when we finally reached our apartment, as I put myself in charge of dinner (bento it was, then), telling her with my actions that she should rest, I could tell that this fight was all from over. Not that I have much of a family either - I'd been the one to run, to escape from the dull life of luxury that my family had set up for me, in favor of this, hunting demons with the one person I trusted with my life - but at least my parents were always together, with no big arguments, let alone a separation. But when a fight started, even a small one, I always knew the moment it ended. Call it intuition or whatever, but I knew. I knew that her father would try again to patch up his mistakes. He would fail, of course, sending my partner into even more emotional turmoil.

That night I ate my dinner alone, covering hers in weak hope that she'd come out of her room (to which the door was firmly shut) and at least attempt to eat it. I was too preoccupied by her troubles. Part of me urged me to back off, to not worry because she could handle it on her own, but how could I? It was kind of my job, you know, to look out for my technician. This was within my range of priorities.

Time passed slowly. As the sun vanished beyond the horizon, the last bits of orange fading to black over Death City, I leaned on the windowsill and watched the stars slowly speckle the sky with their light, my mind restless but my body exhausted. I couldn't tear my thoughts away from the girl just beyond that door, even as the night ticked away, plunging the living room into darkness.

I've never liked to be alone when it was dark, never liked the deep silence that suffocated me when no one else was there to break it. Even if the only sound a companion made was a yawn, or gentle snoring, at least they were there. I don't think I could have lived alone here without her. Just another thing to add to the list of things I'd be at a loss at without my partner.

Tonight was different, though. The night was comforting in a way, not a signal to fall asleep or turn on a light. I liked this kind of darkness. I guess this was what home really felt like; just another day blurring into another. Or something. She'd think of a better way to say it, I'm sure, but right now it was just me and my own crazy, dark thoughts. No one else.

Which was weird. Usually she'd ask me what I was thinking. Tonight, nothing.

This is what made the dark terrifying.

It was quiet now. There was no sign of her gentle breathing, no rummaging around her shelf in a vain attempt to find comfort in a book she's read a thousand times. When the silence was too much, I pulled myself away from the window, tearing my eyes away from the night sky's hypnotizing view and wandering towards the kitchen for a midnight snack, checking for the cat I knew had gone out for the night. As I passed her door, I paused.

It wasn't shut as firmly as I'd thought, but cracked slightly, letting the tiniest bit of moonlight shine in the hallway. I moved closer, straining my ears, but it didn't help. I couldn't hear anything. Cautiously, I eased the door open with my foot, remembering with startling clarity what she'd done to me the last time I'd entered without permission.

But there was no yell of surprise, no book chucked at me from across the room as I peered past the dooway.

I froze, taken aback, because she wasn't cross-legged at her desk with a book like usual, but curled up in a tiny ball on her bed, shaking with what could only be silent little sobs and cluthing something tightly. Her back was to me, facing the window, and she was crying, hard, but quietly.

For some reason, seeing her so broken like this, knowing that after all she'd been though - countless wars and battles against the shadows that haunt the alleyways - it'd been her own father that had caused her to finally succumb to tears, it made me angry. Too angry to control myself, to stop myself from creeping closer to her, to ignore the tugging feeling in my chest.

As I approached her, her tiny body shaking violently, I could see the thing she was gripping like a vice. It was an old photograph, and I could make out a much younger version of her, curled up in a woman's arms - a woman that looked so much like her that she had to be her mother, her blond hair tied back in a single ponytail and green eyes crinkled in a smile. Next to her was my partner's father, her stupid, groveling father, who was much, much younger. His red hair was tied back as well, and his arm was around the woman beside him, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

The picture unnerved me. It was like a glance back into her past and a terrible lie at the same time, like some kind of sick joke at what my partner could have had.

I exhaled, stepping slowly towards the edge of her bed. The old boards creaked beneath my feet, and her head snapped around, her eyes violated and vulnerable. In that second, she was so breath-taking, painfully so, and all I could do was stare at her, watching the tears run down her pale cheek, catching the moonlight as they dripped off her chin. And as soon as I saw her like that, so bittersweetly beautiful, I knew I wouldn't forget it for the rest of my life

"Soul...!"

I didn't give her the chance to speak again, closing the distance between us as I wrapped her in my arms, cradling her head against my chest. She went rigid, shocked by the situation and God knows what else. I held my breath, the weight of the world hanging on my shoulders for that fraction of a second before she relaxed, still not leaning into me.

"I'm sorry," I said, unable to stop myself.

I felt the slight pressure of her forehead touching my chest. Electricity shot through me as I felt her heartbeat.

"For what?" she finally rasped back, so quiet that I had to strain my ears to hear her.

"For your dad. For what he does to you."

She didn't say anything, just let herself rest in my arms, tears still streaming down her face, still unmistakably stunning even when her face was hidden from me. I leaned my cheek on her hair, taking a deep breath, the scent of her shampoo lingering in my nose. Her body shook with a tiny sob.

"Thank you."

I felt the familiar poke of her soul against mine, the rush of its tiny wings surrounding my entire being. I poked hers back, and she laughed softly against my shirt, her petite arms moving to rest around my waist. She raised her head just a little bit so my chin rested on her head, giving a little sigh. Because her father cannot, could not, will not hurt her as long as I'm still standing in the space in between.

And guess what?

I'm never going to move.

The theme for this one was "Photograph".

Because I love your thoughts,

-datt