A little odd, a little disjointed, and quite a different angle than I've gone for on most of my other stories. However, the muse wouldn't go away, and thus this story was created.

SHOCK! This is actually going to have two more chapters: both of them short, which I will post in the coming days. I just feel like I need two more little side perspectives to get this right.

What is the point of a disclaimer? I'm on a FANFICTION site. It's pretty obvious that I don't own Soul Eater. If I owned Soul eater, I wouldn't be posting this story on a fanfiction site. I would be posting it on a site called Canon..com. (Note: this site does not exist) Sorry! Onto the story.


It was crying again.

Soul stared up into the blackness of his room, eyes mapping out the dim regions of the ceiling with no real interest. He could hear the distant wails as though they were coming into his ears through a filter, even though he knew the cradle was right next to the bed. It was always like this for him now: a sort of numbness through his entire body. He didn't really mind. The numbness filled up the gaping space in the middle of his chest; if he lost that, he probably wouldn't be able to function.

The crying was picking up now, a frantic call for attention. He narrowed his eyes, and then rolled over, slowly pulling himself to a sitting position. The action made him feel like an old man, his entire being protesting the action. Surely it would be simpler just to lie there? If he lay there long enough, he might melt into the sheets and cease to be able to think. That would be nice.

Tsubaki could take care of it. After all, she did during the day. It was only now that they left him alone with it.

Soul turned his head to glance at the cause of his numbness.

It was pink, small, unattractive, even in the darkness of the night. It's face was screwed up in petty despair, crying like it was the most important thing in the world.

Hold me, it cried. Hold me, love me, feed me.

No.

Why should he?


"Soul?"

That was what he had been looking for from her. That breathless tone, that heady haze in her eyes. He knew what she was asking, but he knew that they both already had the answer. They'd had it for a long time.

It was finally happening. The tension and pull between them that had started building way back when they were thirteen was finally exploding into this tangle of limbs and heat. It was inevitable, and they had both known it.

He kissed her. She was asking for it, and he couldn't hold back anymore. They'd just gotten back from a mission, and they should have been tired, should have just collapsed into their seperate beds and slept. Instead, they collapsed into his bed together, hips grinding together, knuckles turning white from clutching the other person closer.

They'd come into the apartment and she'd tossed the keys on the table. They were relaxed, calm. There would be no one there to surprise them, as Blair had moved out two years back. Maka had suggested they make food, and he had dazedly agreed. He hadn't even been thinking about anything even vaguely sexual. He'd sat down, watched her get out two boxes of Kraft Dinner—he ate enough to merit the need of two—and plug in the kettle to boil some water. He'd mentioned that he didn't feel like eating KD. She'd mentioned that he was free to make his own food.

He'd gotten up to get plates from the cupboard, and just as he passed her, she did this stretch. She pushed her hands over her head, her body curving smoothly, breasts pushing against her shirt as her spine arched, and suddenly he couldn't focus on anything else. He tripped, and recovered, but when she turned to steady him, off balance from being in mid-stretch, she slipped on the slick kitchen floor.

He lurched to catch her, and somehow he fell backwards against the refrigerator, his arms cradling her to him. She was between his legs, her hands brushing his thighs, and she had this look on her face as she stared at him. He had a feeling that he had the same face.

That was when she said his name, and he had answered by finally dropping his last pretense and smashing his lips against hers.

No words were spoken. The decision was somehow made unconsciously to go to his room—it was closer—and they stumbled there together, mouths still attached, hands pulling at clothing. His shirt was yanked out of his pants, the buttons ripped off. Her pigtails came out, her own hands undoing the clasp of her bra when he couldn't figure it out. The door to his room was pushed open and they fell onto the bed.

There was no conscious thoughts, like "I'll touch this now", or "I'll unzip my pants at this point". Thought was gone, replaced by sensation. It was all automatic, knee jerk reactions. Air was cool on bare skin, sweat sliding down his back underneath her fingers. His mouth never left her body, and she kept making these crazy noises. Before he even knew it was really happening—though he knew he was ready, he had been ready for this with her ever since he was fifteen—he was choking out a moan against her collarbone and pushing into her.

There was a tiny moment of fear when she tensed underneath him, a hiss of pain escaping her lips, but then he'd lifted his head, body shaking with the effort of holding himself still, and looked into her eyes. It was the first time they'd made real eye contact since this began, and those eyes took away what little breath he had left.

She nodded, and he knew it was alright.

He kissed her and started to move.

He didn't last for long. He couldn't, not when she was gasping and the most incredible heat he'd ever experienced was constricting around him. He didn't have any words to describe it, because everything was so damn inadequate. It was good. It was good. It was fucking yes good yes fuck amazing Maka

Maka

Maka

Maka

And he was growling into her neck and she was biting down on his shoulder and he was losing control of his hips and she was clenching around him and crying out and he was exploding inside her.

There was warmth afterwards, so much curled against him. They were dirty, and there was wetness leaking out onto the sheets, but he just swept the blankets over them and pulled her into his chest. He'd never slept like that before, but—

At some point in the night, the warmth left him. Crawled away and left him there, alone.


He was disappointed when he woke up and she wasn't there, but he wasn't worried at first. In fact, her absence gave him the time to throw on some clothes and run out of the apartment, heading down to the street to find a certain shop.

Jittery streaks of happiness were shooting through his veins, and he could barely resist the urge to yell down the street that he'd finally done it and made her his.

But no, he couldn't claim that yet, because first he had something to buy, and something to ask.


"Do you know where Maka is?"

Tsubaki jerked and tried to hide her face in the book she was carrying.

"Oh, hello...S-Soul," she mumbled, her face bright red.

She knew. She knew why Maka hadn't been at school or at their house for four days now.

"Tell me where she is," he said slowly, fighting to hold back the snarl in his voice.

Tsubaki glanced up, and stopped trying to pretend that she didn't know what he was talking about.

"She just can't see you right now," she said quietly. "She's asked for some time off of school, just for a few weeks."

Soul nodded automatically, his jaw clenching, even though his insides were twisting. Why had he done it? Why had he breached the unspoken wall between them? Now he had pushed her away completely, and he didn't think he could live with that.

"Does she—is she okay?" he asked, glaring off down the row of bookshelves, studiously avoiding Tsubaki's gaze. "Just tell me that."

The girl hesitated, then nodded.

"She's alright," she said carefully.

Soul gave another jerk of his head, then turned to leave, useless hands jammed deep into his pockets.

"Soul!" Tsubaki called.

He glanced over his shoulder, pausing.

"She—" Tsubaki closed her eyes, then said it all in a rush. "She doesn't regret it."

A strange feeling swelled in his throat, but he merely swallowed it down and turned away.

It was a lie. If she didn't regret it, she would be here now, with him.

He'd messed up, and this was his punishment.


"YOU BASTARD!"

Soul nearly leaped out of his seat when the door to the classroom burst open. He and...and her had been coerced into acting as Stein's substitute teachers for a month, so even though the last thing he felt like doing was teaching brats like he used to be, he was up here at the front. Shehad usually lead the lessons, with Soul only giving input when he figured there was something that the weapons needed to know that shecouldn't teach. It was sometimes a hectic assignment, but usually nothing happened that could surprise him.

Until today.

Spirit shot into the room and stormed up to where Soul was standing. There was a flash of black light, and suddenly Soul was forced to leap backwards, his arm transforming into a scythe to block the black blade of Spirit's arm slicing towards his head. Shocked, he stared up at the furious, red-haired man above him.

"What the—"

"You got her PREGNANT!" Spirit screamed.

Everything stopped.

Soul stepped back, his arm shifting to normal. The entire class was silent, avidly watching with wide eyes.

"What?" he said, numb.

Spirit surged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, slamming his back against the blackboard. Soul didn't even try to resist, body limp with shock.

"You got my Maka pregnant," Spirit spat, his words coming through gritted teeth. "You had no right to even TOUCH her, and you bastard—"

"Maka's pregnant?" Soul interrupted.

Spirit merely snarled, his anger apparently now reaching heights that surpassed words.

Soul felt as though life was flooding back into his limbs, a cold, terrified sort of life. He broke away from Spirit's hold, his hands clutching at his own head.

"Holy shit," he muttered, pacing back and forth. "Oh, fuck. Jesus Christ. What do I—? Pregnant? Fuck!"

He suddenly whirled on Spirit.

"She told you before ME?" he yelled. "She fucking HATESyou!"

He didn't even let the older man answer before he spoke again.

"Where is she?"

Spirit's face closed up, and he glared in livid fury at the younger Death Scythe.

"You don't need to—"

"YES, I DO!" Soul roared. "She's my—I need to see her. Now. Shit, I need to see her right now!"

Not even waiting around to see if he was going to get an answer to his question, he swivelled around and tore out of the room, leaving the class frozen behind him.


Running.

Running to wherever she is.

He's been running after her so long that he doesn't even know if it's even possible for him to catch her.


"Tsubaki!"

"Soul, what are you doing? I thought you were teac—"

"Take me to Maka."

"Oh, I don't—"

"I know she's pregnant."

"Oh."


When he opened the door of the apartment, his hands fumbling over the key that Tsubaki gave him, he stepped into a plain kitchen that looks so much like their kitchen at home that it almost shocked him. Why do all these apartments have to look alike?

"Tsubaki? Is that you?"

He stopped dead.

It was her voice, echoing down the stairs—their home apartment didn't have a second floor—and it was like he was hearing it for the first time. She sounded just the same as always, but he had never realized until now how much he'd needed that sound, how much of an anchor to reality it was for him.

He needed her, more than he could ever express.

"I thought you were picking up a mission with Black Star over at Shibusen," she continued, her voice flowing down the stairs like a waterfall. He followed it mindlessly, slowly, soundlessly walking up the steps. "What are you doing back home?"

There was a short hallway in the upstairs, with two doors. One was partially open, and it was that one that the voice was trickling out of.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he strode across the hall and pushed open the door.

She was sitting on the edge of a plain bed, wearing a tank top and tiny denim shorts, her yellow socked feet kicking against the floor. A book sat on her lap, her delicate fingers tracing over the words. Her hair was loose, hanging around her face, but it was tucked behind her ears, leaving him with a perfect view of her profile. A single rose bloom was in her hair, her favourite flower.

"Maka," he said softly.

Her head jerked up, and she stared at him. For a second she looked like she was about to run, and he cut her off before she could.

"I love you."

Her eyes widened, and he felt like his words were expanding, filling the room.

He crossed the room in two steps and crouched in front of her, pushing the book off of her lap and taking her hands.

"I don't care if you're pregnant," he said sharply, pressing his forehead to her knees. He couldn't look at her. His body was trembling. "Fuck, it's my fault anyway. But it's going to be our kid, right? I may not have meant for this to happen, but I'm sticking by you."

He released her hands and slid one of his under her shirt, pressing it to her still-flat stomach.

"Never run away from me like that again," he said, staring directly into her shocked eyes. "You stupid idiot!"

Her eyes flashed, and he belatedly remembered that she had a book within arms reach.

"MAKA CHOP!"

"Damn it, Maka!" he hissed, rocking back on his heels and clutching his head. "You never give a guy a break—"

Her fingers wound into the front of his shirt and suddenly she yanked him up and plunged her head down, kissing him.

His breathing stopped and abruptly they were melting together. He braced his hands against the bed on either side of her, pushing himself up onto his knees to kiss her harder.

She pulled away slightly and gazed down at him.

"I love you," she whispered, lips brushing his. "That's why I was afraid."

Soul closed his eyes and smiled, the cold lump of ice in his chest finally melting away.

"We're both idiots."


"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I know you thought I was on the pill. I was on the pill for a while, but then a couple months ago, I simply forgot, and it messed up my schedule."

"Don't see why you have to be sorry for that. Yeah, I did think that, but at the time, that wasn't on my mind at all. It's equally my fault, okay, so stop beating yourself up over it."

"...Fine."


There were moments when he was suddenly overwhelmed with panic.

She'd be sitting on the couch, flicking through tv channels, her left hand resting calmly on her stomach, starting to softly curve outwards now, and he'd feel it: this stark, black fear. He was in no way ready to have a kid! A living, breathing, crying baby! After it was born he knew that all of Maka's time would be eaten up by it. It would wake them up in the middle of the night, it would make her always cranky and tired, and their sex life would diminish to basically nothing.

But at the same time, he couldn't stop himself from picturing what it would look like: a kid with parts of both of them in it. Would his colouring win out, or would Maka's? Would it have the weapon genes? Would it be a girl or a boy? It was these questions that made him pause in front of stores of baby clothes, trying to imagine himself leading along a tiny person dressed like the mannequins in the windowfront.

Damn, he was getting sentimental.


"Where?"

"Right here, just rest your head there."

Soul laid his cheek gently against the rather large swell of her stomach, feeling her hand thread into his hair. He was about to ask if she was sure she had the right spot when suddenly he felt it.

"It moved!"

He glanced up and his eyes, astonished and ecstatic, met with Maka's. She laughed at his expression.

"That's because there's someone in there," she said.

"It's weird to think of that," Soul muttered, resting his face back on her stomach. "Whatever it is, it's going to be made of both of us."

"Two people in one," Maka laughed. Soul felt the vibration through his cheek, and wondered if the baby felt happy when it's mother was laughing.

"Two in one," he repeated. "I like the idea of that."

He knew he felt happy. It filled up his body like it was flowing through his bloodstream. The pull towards her hadn't lessened at all, even after her running away and being pregnant and shit, and he could feel it right now stronger than ever before. He wanted to blurt it out, to ask the thing he'd been planning to ask ever since that night, but he knew he couldn't do it now. She'd think he was asking only because they were having a kid, not because he wanted her, when really that wasn't it at all.

"Hey, Soul?"

He lifted his head, and abruptly caught the glint in her eye.

"Now?" he said, raising an eyebrow, a smirk curling his mouth.

Her hands slid underneath the edge of his shirt and dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, fingers teasing.

"Don't worry," she said, grinning. "I'll be gentle."


He would forever hate Kim.

Kim was too late to heal her.

He would forever hate Shinigami-sama.

He had sent him out on a mission with Stein that day.

He would forever hate himself.

He hadn't been there.

Something had gone wrong. She'd gone into labour in the kitchen. She'd been alone.

When Tsubaki arrived to check on her that afternoon, she'd come just for the end of it, just in time to catch the it that had clawed Maka up inside. She'd been scared, but she said Maka wasn't.

"Tell Soul I love him."

Last words spoken to the wrong person.

Last words that shouldn't have needed to be spoken at all.

When he came back, there was nothing for him there.

Empty rooms.

Silence.

A numbness.

And the cause of her death.

IT.


Soul slipped out of the bed and straightened up. He moved through the black until he was standing over the cradle. It's eyes were squeezed shut, so it couldn't hear him, but maybe it sensed he was closer, because it suddenly shoved it's little hands up out of the blanket, stretching them towards him, voice increasing in pitch.

For some reason, a picture flashed in his head: that photo album that Maka had been looking at one day, pictures of herself as a baby with her father. Why should it look so much like her?

Soul pushed away from the cradle, lurching across the room to the dresser. His fumbling fingers struck upon the black velvet box and he grabbed it, stumbling back towards the bed. He shakily attempted to open it, and abruptly it popped open, the contents flying out and catapulting into the air.

There was a sudden silence as the ring landed on it.

Soul took one step forward and kneeled down beside the cradle.

He'd never seen it this close up. It was staring, wide-eyed, at the small golden loop lying on it's chest. A tiny hand drifted up to prod at it, as though it was confused. A horrible feeling went through him as he watched—it was strange to use the word feeling, as he hadn't actually felt anything in what seemed like a very long time—because that was his secret, his regret, and it was poking at it like it was nothing.

"Hey," he growled. "That's mine."

The baby didn't respond, merely blinked at him.

What the hell did he expect? It was a baby.

He should just stick his hand in there and take it back, but he somehow couldn't move. Something was happening here, something weird, and he had a feeling that he needed to stick around for it.

The baby—the ittraced it's pink fingers clumsily over the gleaming facets of the diamond, accidentally knocking the ring off of itself and onto the sheets around it. But it didn't seem too concerned; it had already gotten bored of that, and turned it's focus onto Soul instead.

"Da...?"

His heart stopped. For a split second, he was back in the doorway, staring at Maka and about to tell her he loved her. This was the same type of precipice, the same type of choice. Fall or not?

How did it even know who he was? He hated it! It had taken from him the one thing he lived for!

It said it again, less clear this time, and he could hear the quiver of impending tears in it's tiny voice.

Maka flashed in front of his eyes, swollen with pregnancy, her hands resting on her stomach with a small smile as she dozed on their bed. Two in one, the baby and her, the two things he had once loved the most in the world.

The baby burst into tears and the picture flashed and distorted, breaking into little pieces and fading away.

The sound hurt his head, hurt the place shrouded in numbness that might once have been a heart—if it weren't for the fact that his heart had been buried alongside a girl with ashen blonde hair.

He wanted it to stop crying. He wanted to slap it, to shake it, only he knew he couldn't, because hate or no hate, he could never hurt it.

And suddenly the glacier in him was cracking and his hands were moving, reaching into the cradle and carefully picking up the baby. It weighed more than he expected, but he not more than he could carry, even weak as he was now, and he held it to his chest, awkwardly hugging it to him.

"Shut up," he muttered. "Stop crying. Stop thinking only of yourself—"

Maybe it was the darkness, or maybe it was the shock of finally holding his own child, but a ferocious longing welled up within him. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth opening in a soundless wail.

For the first time since he'd been told that she was dead, Soul Eater Evans finally cried for the girl he loved.


He wasn't sure how long he sat there, rocking back and forth with a baby in his arms, sobbing together with it, but eventually he was empty, drained of everything.

"If she could see me," he whispered. "She'd say I was so uncool right now."

He pulled back and looked down at the baby in his arms, somehow asleep even after everything that had happened.

"Two in one, eh?"

He'd never realized it until now, but right now he was holding the last piece of Maka he had left. Just like Maka had carried this child, this little girl, now Soul's daughter carried part of Maka herself in her. This was no it. She was his daughter.

A fragile, weak, glassy imitation of a smile cracked it's way across of Soul's face, and a tiny candle seemed to light itself in the hole in his chest. For a minute he allowed himself to forget about the ring in the cradle and the question he hadn't gotten to ask.

He lifted up the baby girl in his arms and studied her. She was far too old to still be nameless, but no one had wanted to presume and take that right from him, even though he didn't deserve it.

"How about Rose?" he said softly. "That's a good name."


I do not know what to say about this, except that I want to hear what you guys think. Next chapter is a short glimpse of Maka's side of things.

Note: Tsubaki has been taking care of the baby while Soul has been busy being all catatonic and stuff. Tsubaki and Black Star moved into the apartment next to Soul's, and she has a key so that she can come in to feed the baby whenever it needs feeding during the night. All of his friends are making sure that even though soul is going through some crazy shit right now, Rose is going to be okay when he comes back to earth.