A/N: The third and final installment was written for SoMa Week Day 3, Catharsis. Thanks again to Laura and l0chn3ss for the eyes.

Title and lyrics from the Etta James song At Last.

I found a dream, that I could speak to

A dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill that I have never known.

They'd been sitting together on the brown leather sofa, staring at the middle of her Dad's old, battered coffee table for at least ten minutes, unmoving, unblinking, jaws slack. Perhaps they thought if they willed it hard enough, they could make that other little word appear, if they willed it hard enough, their world wouldn't come crashing down on them because of that first little word.

There was no will strong enough to change reality.

Maka spoke first, snapping her mouth shut with a slight smack and letting out a long breath.

"How… did this happen?" she said, still staring at the little stick in the middle of the table.

This seemed to jolt Soul off of whatever planet his mind had disappeared to, because he barked out a short, rough laugh. "Maka, you have three kids. Pretty sure you know how these things happen."

Maka rolled her eyes. "I just mean–" she sighed. "Blake got cut years ago, and I just wasn't thinking–and then, I figured I was going through the change. I never thought, never would have thought–"

"Okay, first off, I really, really don't need to know anything about Blake's bits. And second, you're the one who said we should test." In truth, Soul was as stunned as she was, but it was easier to hide behind snark.

"To rule it out," she snapped. "I just never thought, at my age–"

"Well, guess my sperm is just that potent." He waggled his eyebrows at her, earning him an elbow to the ribs. "Hey!"

"Just–be serious for once, would you? It must be wrong. There's no way. We'll do it again. I bought a three pack, so we'll just–do it again."

"Yeah, alright," he agreed.

An hour later, they were back on the sofa, staring down three sticks where one had been before. The result was the same for all–one word, small and black and seemingly innocuous. So strange, how one word could hold so much power, how one word could turn their lives upside down. One little eight letter word.

Pregnant.

"It didn't change," Maka stated dumbly after staring at the third stick for several minutes.

"Nope," Soul agreed.

"What–what are we gonna do?" It was practically a whisper, and she felt 19 instead of 49.

"I have no idea," he said evenly. And yet–and yet–there was a small part of him that reveled in the thought of a child together. In spite of everything he knew it would mean, that small part was quickly growing.

"Our kids are grown," she sighed.

"Mmm hmmm," he agreed.

"We're too old for a baby–we should be pestering our kids for grandbabies not–not–"

"–having a kid young enough to be our grand baby?" he suggested.

"Exactly," she sighed again.

Soul didn't want to suggest what came next, the logical conclusion, but for her, he had to.

"We don't have to do this, you know. We can put it behind us. I'll accept whatever you decide."

She didn't say anything for a time, didn't look at him, her eyes still fixed on the center of the table. Finally, she let out another deep sigh and turned to look at him. "I know. I know," she sounded frustrated. "But I–I don't think I can do that, Soul. I–scary as this is, I don't think I can–I can't destroy something we made together, something that's you and me. It's–" she shook her head. "I just can't. So like it or not, this baby is happening. I know you didn't sign on for this, so–

"Maka," he grabbed her hand and squeezed, sensing where she was going with this before she even spoke the words.

"–so I'll completely understand if you–"

"Maka," he repeated, taking her other hand, trying to curb the flow of her words.

"–want to go our separate ways and–"

"Maka!" He finally half shouted, and her eyes, glassy and distant, widened as she met his gaze. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever. Not gonna lose you again. And you know what? Maybe we didn't plan this, but I want it. You were always the one I wanted it with, and I'll take it late over not at all."

She swallowed and nodded, her eyes meeting his. "Yeah, me too."

"So I guess this means we're having a baby?" The idea of it, the allure, was overpowering. They were going to have a baby–he and Maka–together. He was going to have a baby with the love of his life. Finally. Finally. It was a flood of relief, of hope, a cathartic rush of realization that it wasn't too late, they could still have everything they had always wanted. Soul let the wide grin stretch over his features, let the odd feeling of elation wash through him as she grinned back.

"Yeah, I guess we are."

Deciding that yes, they were going to keep the unexpected results of several months worth of vigorously making up for lost time was one thing–dealing with the consequences of that decision was quite another. This wasn't their first rodeo, and the prizes gained from past excursions would have to be informed, a tricky prospect at best since of the four children between them, only one even knew they were together.

Maka was dreading it, worried that her own children would be less than enthusiastic about Soul, about the baby, about all of it.

It was her idea to get their kids all together for a big family dinner to announce the pregnancy. Those plans were quickly pared down as she overthought, deciding instead that they would announce they were getting married since Maka's kids didn't even know Soul existed.

It was going to be awkward, but it had to be done.

Soul thought they should just spill it all, rip it off like a band aid in one go, but Maka refused. The kids had just lost their Dad–she couldn't saddle them with so much so soon. This was Too Much as it was.

He left it up to her. His own daughter already knew they were dating, and it wasn't his place to decide how to deal with her children. Announcing the pregnancy could wait.

To say the dinner was awkward would have been the understatement of the century.

The primary difficulty was getting everyone in the same place at the same time, since they were in Maine, Soul's daughter was in Los Angeles, and Maka's children were in and around New York. In the end, they decided that bringing Lila east and meeting in Manhattan was the best course of action. Soul got them a suite at the Ritz, made sure his daughter was similarly set up, and arranged reservations at a place so exclusive that Maka had to protest the frivolity, long and vocally, but he just dismissed her concerns since he was paying, and if they were stuck in the city, then he at least wanted to eat well, damnitall.

They arrived in the city two days early and fully utilized room service and a rather large hot tub; by the time they arrived at the restaurant for dinner, they were both relaxed, sated, and in Maka's case, more than a little tired–first trimester was always hell.

It didn't help that her fiancé–God it was strange to think that–had seduced her just before they should have left for the restaurant, leaving her spent.

It also did nothing for her churning stomach that all of their children had arrived before them, that instead of easing introductions, she and Soul were left to be greeted by four pairs of inquisitive eyes.

Soul squeezed her hand under the table as she glanced around at her children, eyes finally settling on Soul's daughter to avoid meeting her own children's' confused stares. She was just as gorgeous as her pictures with her porcelain skin, long blonde hair, and wide, piercing blue eyes.

"So, I'm guessing you're all–wondering what this is about. You see–well–actually, maybe we should make introductions first. I'm Maka. Maka Albarn-Barrett, and you must be Lila–"

The young woman across the table stood and held out a hand, her smile warm and genuine. "Liliana Evans–I'm really glad to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Maka smiled back, shaking her hand firmly before finally turning her eyes to her own children. "Liliana is–well–" she turned her eyes to Soul, who nodded at her reassuringly.

"This is Soul. Soul Evans, Liliana's father. Soul, these are my children, Marlowe, Austen, and Elizabeth Albarn-Barrett," she gestured to each in turn, and Soul rose to extend a hand and shake before they all sat and Maka cleared her throat. For his part, Soul hated seeing her this clearly agitated, but she had insisted she owed it to her kids to handle this, so it was her show. He squeezed her hand under the table again in a gesture of reassurance and she squeezed back, offering a small smile before turning her eyes back to the kids.

"Anyway, Soul and I–that is to say–" her gaze slid between her children as she searched for the right words.

It was Marlowe, her oldest, who interrupted. "Mom–it's okay. Lila already told us you two are dating before you got here." He looked concerned, guarded.

"Oh–well–that's good." She let out a breath. "Yes, Soul and I are–we're together–but that's not exactly–"

"We're getting married," his deep voice cut off her stammering. He couldn't take hearing her so out of sorts, and for as much as he'd wanted to let her do this her way, saving her from herself was more important.

Maka had no chance to react to the interruption as the dark haired girl at the table shot up from her seat, glaring down at her mother. "You're what?" she shrieked, drawing eyes from across the restaurant, her own green eyes flashing dangerously.

Maka took a deep breath, calming, felt Soul squeeze her thigh under the table. "Like Soul said–we're getting married."

"No," her daughter said, seething.

"Lizzie," the man across from her spoke, tone low. "We talked about this–"

"No, we did not talk about this, Mar," she turned her eyes to her brother, glaring, her tone lower but still loud. "We talked about the fact that our Mom is a whore shacking up with some rando when Dad's barely cold in his grave –we did not talk about her being a fucking gold digger, too."

"Lizzie," her brother's tone was a warning, his eyes glancing to their mother, who was scarlet, mouth working noiselessly, then to the man next to her who was quietly seething, looking ready to strike at anything that threatened the woman at his side, his hand reaching up to squeeze her shoulder in comfort. "Stop."

"Lizzie," Maka's voice was quiet, pained. "You need to understand–"

"Understand what, exactly? That you couldn't go more than a few months without getting laid? I sure hope he's good in bed, Mom, because he looks like a fucking creep. Guess the fact he's rich doesn't hurt either, right?"

"What the fuck, Lizzie?" This came from the man at Lizzie's side. "Calm the fuck down, you–"

"Fuck you, Austen."

"Sorry, not into incest," he deadpanned before shaking his head, ash blond hair moving to cover his deep green eyes. "Seriously, Lizzie, sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and apologize to-"

"Seriously, fuck you," she shrieked again. "No–you know what? Fuck all of you. I'm fucking out of here. But you know," her eyes swiveled to Lila, who was staring, stunned. "I do owe you an apology. I'm totally sorry your new step mom is a selfish, greedy slut. Sucks to be you."

Done, she walked off, not even sparing a glance behind, every pair of eyes in the restaurant gaping after her.

"I–" Maka shook her head, clearly distraught. "I think–I mean, I need to go, I'm–I'm really sorry. I'm not feeling–I mean–" she just shook her head and stood and Soul followed suit, steadying her by the elbow.

"Lila" He exchanged a look with his daughter. "Go ahead and put dinner on the card, I'm going to take Maka back to the hotel." He turned his eyes to the two men still seated at the table. "Thanks for coming, we'll be in touch about the wedding."

Soul didn't wait for a response, simply guided his flustered fiancée out of the restaurant, unsure how to comfort the woman he loved, the woman he knew had a backbone wrought of steel, as she cried in his arms the whole way back to the hotel and long, long into the night.

Maka left exactly three messages for her daughter–one trying to explain that they were in love, one asking her to attend the wedding, and one simply apologizing.

Lizzie responded to none of them, and Soul kept assuring her that her daughter would come around eventually.

The wedding itself was set to occur the next month. Both Soul and Maka had wanted to keep it small and quiet, but Lila had insisted that they deserved to celebrate what they'd found together and that she would take care of everything. Since Soul had rarely been able to deny his daughter anything and felt no real drive to do so now, and since Maka had no real objections, a big wedding it would be, with Lila handling it all, only asking their opinions on major decisions. It was a tight schedule, but with enough money, time was no issue, and if there was one thing the Evanses had enough of, it was money.

Maka felt a little absurd being fussed over like a blushing bride, 49 and pregnant, but made no complaints. Any distraction from Lizzie and morning sickness was pretty welcome at that point.

The wedding rushed up on them quickly, and as Maka sat at the dressing table in the church, eying her flawless hair, makeup, and couture dress with skepticism, she sighed. Lizzie wasn't there, hadn't showed. Maka had hoped she'd stand with her as her maid of honor; she had Lila stand with her instead, and for as much as she'd come to love Soul's daughter over the weeks she'd gotten to know her, it wasn't the same. She tried to ignore the hurt, let herself get lost in it all, in her new husband's adoring stare, in being his, in him being hers after so very long, in the lingering kiss that sealed their forever, but a small part of her still felt the absence of her youngest child keenly.

For his part, Soul sensed the melancholy beneath her genuine elation and sought to erase it with his mouth. He might also have been impatient to feel his new wife pressed against him, to peel away that maddening dress and mark every inch of her as his his finally finally his, but that was secondary at best.

It didn't take much convincing on his part to get her to agree to a walk mid-dinner, and the proper application of his tongue and teeth as they stood squirreled away in a dark corner had her panting for privacy as much as he was. The small utility closet tucked back in a dark hallway looked increasingly inviting as he pressed heated kisses to her neck, her cleavage, his hand moving further and further up her thigh under her dress.

"Soul," she gasped, palming him through his slacks and eliciting a low, throaty groan. "There's–a–mmm–closet. Down the hall."

He didn't need to be told twice, scooping her up and practically sprinting to the door at the end of the hall.

He worked open the door with his free hand and then, as it swung open, nearly dropped his new wife at the sight before them.

The closet was occupied, its inhabitants panting and disheveled as they sprang apart.

Inhabitants they knew well.

Inhabitants who should not know each other nearly so well.

"Shit," Soul swore as Maka dropped to her feet.

"Lila? Marlowe?" she gasped, incredulous. "You–no," she shook her head vehemently. "This can't–no. You two, we just–you can't–"

"Mom," Marlowe sounded deceptively calm for how flustered he looked, skin flushed, clothes askew, dark brown hair in disarray.

"No, Marlowe, you can't–she's your–I mean, we just got married, so she's your–your step sister–" she stammered.

"Maka," Soul said quietly, touching his wife's shoulder lightly to get her attention. She turned her eyes to him and he continued. "They're both adults, they're both good kids, and they aren't actually related. We should leave."

Maka swallowed thickly, but nodded. "Yeah, okay," she said quietly, letting her new husband steer her from the closet.

He paused at the threshold, spinning back around. "Have fun, be safe, and if you hurt my daughter, stepson or not, I'll fucking kill you myself." His grin was sharp as he clicked the door shut behind him and, the mood gone, the bride and groom returned to the reception.

If nothing else, the revelation of their closet crusading children got her mind off of her missing daughter, and they made up for the opportunity lost during the reception in spades afterwards.

Their honeymoon in the French Riviera lasted two weeks, and they saw far less beach than bed. Neither were sorry for that, and after the newlyweds returned home, they agreed it was past time they came clean. Maka had the big mid pregnancy ultrasound scheduled for a week after their return, and they both decided that, after that, they would tell their kids.

When it came time for the ultrasound, they were both exceedingly nervous. Maka was at the extreme end of reproductive age and, healthy as she was, they both knew there were risks. The blood work had been done and now was when they'd learn what they were facing.

As they sat with the genetic counselor before the ultrasound– a squat, kind looking middle aged woman with greying brown hair and far too much make up– they held hands almost instinctively.

"Well, then," she looked between them, face passive. "Your blood work shows some unexpected results."

The couple tightened their mutual grip, waiting with bated breath.

"It would appear you have the eggs of a nineteen year old," she looked at Maka, a wide grin spreading garishly across her powder cake face. "The blood work shows minimal risk for genetic disorders–congratulations. The ultrasound will be the final marker, but so far it looks promising. Who knows, we may even find another heartbeat–twins are more common among older mothers, you know."

Maka's grip on her husband's hand became almost painfully tight because the very thought was overwhelming. Still, even at her age, twins were rare. They'd be fine.

They weren't fine.

The ultrasound revealed two very important things. The first was that the baby was healthy, with no sign of issues. It was the second revelation, however, that left them breathless as the technician soon announced that the baby was, in fact, not one baby but two, just as the counselor had warned was possible–two thriving fetuses, a boy and a girl.

Maka's grip on Soul's hand could have cracked bone–she really did feel like shanking the woman whose words had seemingly cursed them to their fate.

Twins. How the hell were they going to handle twins?

It felt like the sticks on the table all over again, like they were shaky and sick on too many sweets.

"No," Maka shook her head as the bubbly young technician continued to work, pressing the ultrasound lead against her belly and blathering on about how cute twins would be. "That–can't be right. There must be, there has to be some mistake."

The tech shook her head, short blond locks flying. "I'm–there's no mistake," she said, all enthusiasm drained at Maka's outburst. "There are two. I'm–" she hesitated, shook her head again. "I'm sorry if it's not what you were hoping for. There are–options the doctor can give you when she comes in, but I need to finish first."

Maka just nodded numbly as the technician continued with the procedure, Soul squeezing her hand and brushing her hair from her face.

"It'll be okay," he said softly.

She just shook her head and stayed silent for the rest of the procedure, even as the doctor came in to review the tests and suggest that while they would do a thorough examination of all the information they had gathered, the tentative results were promising. As Soul led her back to her small Honda, quiet and numb himself at the news, a small flutter of joy appeared in his stomach unbidden because there were two little miracles, two pieces of him and her– of them– growing inside of her.

But her fear, her trepidation, was palpable, and because he still had fear of his own, he tamped down on the smile that threatened, schooling his features as he helped his wife into the car. Soul slid into the driver's seat but didn't bother to start the engine. The parking garage was shadowed, her face turned from him to the passenger window as he finally broke the silence.

"It'll be alright," he repeated his reassurance from earlier.

"Like hell it will," she shook her head, refusing to look away from the window. "I'm almost fifty, Soul. You are fifty. One baby was already too much, but two?" She was shaking her head rapidly. "We can't." The last was too quiet, and he reached a hand to rest on her thigh, squeezing it comfortingly.

"You're right. We aren't kids anymore," he began. "But Maka, that just means we know what the hell we're doing. We can get help, get a fucking nanny, we can do this. I mean, I'll stand by what you want, whatever you want, told you from the start, but I think we can handle this. You're the strongest person I know–I know you can do this."

Her swallow was audible, but Maka said nothing as she let out a long breath. A minute passed, then two as she simply sat, mute and impassive, and Soul felt anxiety claw at him in a way he hadn't experienced since he'd come to her on the steps of her father's home all those months ago. Not even when they'd stared down three positive pregnancy tests, when they'd faced their children, when they'd discovered their eldest two together in a closet had he been so concerned. Never since Soul gained Maka to begin with had he felt so close to losing her again for good.

The pain was overwhelming at the very thought. He couldn't lose her again, not after really being with her, not after he knew–really knew–what he'd missed all those years. He didn't think he would survive losing her again, yet she must hate him now, blame him–blame them being together for all of this.

"Maka," he said her name before he knew he meant to, voice soft and nearly pleading.

"Alright," she nodded once, firmly, before turning her gaze his way for the first time since they'd entered the car. Her green eyes were steel, strong and sure. "You're right, we can do this. We will do this."

The smile that spread across her face at that was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, fierce, determined, and his poor, beleaguered heart flooded with relief and adoration for the passionate creature he now had the privilege to call his wife.

If she had decided they could do this, then there was no doubt they would. Maka was ready to take on the pregnancy, the twins, the whole damned world; he could see it in her eyes, and for his part, Soul would always take her lead, would follow her to the ends of the earth.

As it turned out, he only had to follow her to Brooklyn, to the little Italian place they sat in a week later surrounded by their children.

Lila and Marlowe arrived together, holding hands–she'd chosen to spend her summer in New York, and there had been talk of him looking for work in L.A.

As strange as it was to have their children together, both parents were happy for them because the two seemed genuinely happy themselves, and Maka desperately hoped the announcement they were about to make wouldn't shove a wrench in the works. None of their children knew she was expecting, let alone twins–she was only just showing and dressed to mask it–and she was concerned about how they would take it.

Especially Lizzie, who didn't show.

Lizzie, who hadn't come to their wedding, who hadn't spoken to her since that night in Manhattan several months ago.

Lizzie, who she would have to leave a message for lest she hear the news from her brothers.

Lizzie, who was going to hate her even more now.

Maka took a deep breath after they ordered, willing her youngest out of her mind, willing herself to calm. Part of her wished Blake were here–he had always had a way with their daughter that she lacked, had been able to get her to see something like reason. Blake would have understood. Hell, Blake would have been happy for her, would have been the first to cheer them on.

Sometimes, she missed him terribly.

She took another breath, readying herself to speak the words that could very well cause a scene, when Austen's voice broke through her thoughts. He looked so much like her with his ash blonde hair and deep green eyes, yet he had always been more Blake than her on the inside, boisterous and charismatic, constantly seeking the spotlight. When he'd declared himself a theater major, Maka had been entirely unsurprised.

"So, Mom!" He looked to them with a wide grin. "And, uh, Soul–" it was an afterthought, but Maka appreciated the effort. "I have news!"

Maka blinked at him, a bit stunned at the usurpation, but nonetheless eager to know what had her middle child so visibly excited.

"What's going on, Austen?"

"I'm taking a semester off!" he declared happily. Maka frowned deeply at that and shook her head.

"Austen–" his brother's tone was a reprimand. "Tell her why."

"I was getting to that!" he snapped, then looked back to his mom, grinning like the kid who'd found the cookie jar. "I've been cast as the lead in a movie, Mom. We start shooting in L.A. next month–" He held up a placating hand though Maka was far from interrupting. "Don't worry, I already arranged for a leave of absence with the Dean of Students. Might still even be able to graduate on time, so–"

The grin that erupted on her face was contagious. "That's so great, sweetie–so great! I'm so proud of you! Your Dad would be too, you know."

"Yeah," he grinned back. "Yeah Mom, I know."

For a time, the whole purpose of their dinner was derailed as Austen chattered on enthusiastically about the role, followed by Lila and Marlowe revealing plans to move in together in L. A.

This had gotten off track fast and–happy as they both were for their kids–their purpose here remained unchanged. Finally, as food arrived and they still hadn't been able to find an opening to make their announcement, Soul ordered a bottle of champagne and suggested a toast–a move Maka appreciated since it wasn't exactly in his comfort zone–both knowing they had to get the undivided attention of their children some way.

As the champagne arrived and was poured, Soul cleared his throat. He wasn't nervous for himself-he doubted Lila would be upset–but he could feel his wife's nerves, and hoped they would soon prove unfounded. "To Austen's new role," he said, nodding to his stepson as he raised his glass. "To new love," he looked to his daughter and oldest stepson before taking a steadying breath. "And to new life," he finished, taking a deep drink of the champaign before setting the glass on the table with a clink. Maka noticeably abstained and Lila and Marlowe's eyes went wide as Austen just looked puzzled, glancing over at his brother.

"There–somethin' you aren't tellin' me, bro?" he asked slowly, receiving only a vehement headshake from his brother in return. "Then what the hell–"

"I'm pregnant," Maka finally blurted out, the words like a weight lifting even as she spoke them.

"You're–" Marlowe began.

"Pregnant?" Austen blinked, confused. "Like–with a baby?"

Lila just gasped as Soul corrected, "Two, actually. They're due in November."

"Oh my god, Dad!" Lila practically squealed. "That's–I mean–oh my god!" She shook her head but she was grinning.

"But how?" Austen's brow was furrowed. "I mean, you're–you're almost fifty–"

Maka colored, but held her ground. "I know you're aware of how this all works. And I know–" her eyes strayed to a Lila and Marlowe "–it's unexpected, but–I mean," she glanced at Soul, "while we didn't plan this, we are happy, and we hope–we hope you'll be happy for us."

Marlowe took in a deep breath and nodded. "I am, Mom. I really am. And if you need anything, I–"

"We," Lila cut in, her smile never faltering.

"We," he amended. "Are here, okay?"

"Yeah," she smiled at him and his face lit up in turn. "Okay."

Then she was on her feet and moving around the table to hug her oldest child, gratitude, relief, and love washing through her in equal measure. She felt slender arms hug her from behind, heard her son whisper "I love you, Mom. I'm just glad you're happy," and thought she might faint, her heart overstrained by sheer joy.

Her son and stepdaughter finally let her go, and she found herself being held by her middle son for a moment in a tight hug, before he let her go as well, smoothed a hand over her belly to feel the well masked lump, and then, looking between her and Soul still seated on the other side of the table, whistled.

"Damn, but you two do work fast!"

Maka colored, Soul smirked, Marlowe guffawed, Lila chuckled, and they all soon after sat and enjoyed the rest of their dinner, the lies between them cleared and only the dark cloud of Lizzie's absence hanging palpably in the distance like the harbinger of yet another coming storm.

Much like the wedding before, Lila insisted on orchestrating a baby shower.

The shower would be held in Los Angeles.

It wasn't even a question.

As Maka sat in her dad's old place packing up her life a few months later, packing away countless memories, her smile was bittersweet. With Austen off to L.A. for the shoot and, likely, eventually permanently, with Lila there and now Marlowe, with Soul's brother and his wife and grown daughter there too, it made sense to be close to more family.

Still, she'd grown up in Maine, in Death City; it was here that she had been born, here that she had met Blake and Soul, here that she had finally reunited and lived with her new husband, here that they had made the babies she now carried, here where her father had lived and died. Leaving it behind for a second time to start her new life was harder than she'd thought it would be, and as she packed away pictures of her children, of Lizzie as a toddler in her arms when they'd spent one of countless summers with her dad, the tears came unbidden, dripping freely onto her hands, onto the frame she held so tightly. They were bittersweet. Maka missed her Papa and Blake, she missed her daughter, but she loved Soul, their babies, the life they were building together, had always, always loved him. She couldn't have all of them together, she knew that, but losing her daughter hurt the most, and that was the one part she might be able to change.

Maka was trying. She had sent her daughter a birthday gift–tickets to Rome for summer break. She kept paying her tuition, had called and left a message, telling her about the twins she carried, telling her how much she loved her and missed her and wanted to see her.

Lizzie still wouldn't return her calls.

Maka felt a hand squeeze her shoulder–she hadn't even heard Soul come back from the store she was so lost to her thoughts–felt strong arms envelope her, heard his deep voice tell her it was going to be okay for the umpteenth time.

It was hard to believe him when she missed her daughter so much, but most of the time she forced herself to forget that grief, taking solace in his arms.

The day to move came, then the shower came and went.

Lila hosted, and it was elegant and tasteful, held in the back room of a popular bistro. Both of her new daughter's mothers attended, eager to know the person who had so thoroughly captured Soul Evans' elusive heart–they had also attended the wedding, but it had been such a whirlwind that she had barely spoken to them. Anya was smart and pleasant and looked like an older version of her daughter, and her wife Tsugumi was sincere and kind, and, being from Japan, someone Maka could speak to in that long unused tongue. She liked them well and thought they might become friends. Wes's wife also came, a squat, vivacious woman with mocha skin and a ready smile, along their tall, elegant daughter.

It was a small affair, but pleasant.

If Lizzie had come, Maka might have even enjoyed it.

Later that night, as she packed away the extravagant gifts, she blinked away the tears that threatened, her mouth flattening into a grim line, determined. She would be happy about her new family, whether her daughter liked it or not.

Pregnancy had been surprisingly kind to Maka. While the first trimester had been a time of queasiness and exhaustion, it was only for the first several weeks, and then she'd felt good for months. She kept up on her yoga, her swimming, her martial arts, and physically, she felt good–better, even, than her first three pregnancies.

She still felt pretty good, physically, as week thirty two rolled around and her new obstetrician, Dr. Sizemore, a high risk specialist out of UCLA medical center that Soul had insisted on, ordered her blood pressure to be taken for the third time.

His deep frown was troubling, and Soul finally snapped "What?" as he glanced over her chart.

"Well, Mr. Evans," he turned kind blue eyes to Maka. "Mrs. Evans' blood pressure is elevated. It's not high enough to rush things, but I think bedrest is in order, along with nonstress tests. Three a week should suffice, and you'll be seeing me weekly from now on as well."

"But the babies are okay?" Maka's brow was crinkled with concern as she felt her husband grip her hand like a lifeline, his fear almost palpable.

"Oh the babies are fine–strong heartbeat, no discernible problems. I'm going to have a new ultrasound done just to be certain, but I think we won't be seeing any issues. This is largely a precaution, you understand?"

Soul nodded slowly. "So Maka and the babies are okay?"

"Exactly, and this should help keep them that way. Now then, if you'll excuse me, I'll order that ultrasound and have Nurse Tatane make all the necessary arrangements. Barring any unforeseen complications, I should be seeing you next week, Mrs. Evans–take care."

He saw himself out, but the two left behind didn't really breathe until the ultrasound showed two healthy babies not too long after, and when they returned to the large penthouse apartment that Soul used to inhabit alone, he fussed over her more than usual, and Maka silently questioned whether she had married a pianist or a mother hen.

The weeks came and went, and bedrest or no, Maka felt fine and more than a little stir crazy. She wanted everything in order, the nursery Soul had commissioned in the third bedroom adorable and comfortable, but not organized to her liking. She wanted to continue her yoga, to swim, to do anything but lounge all day.

Lila and Marlowe visited frequently, Marlowe updating her on how Lizzie was doing–still dean's list, still an undeclared major, still as irreverent as ever. They avoided talking about her long absence from her mother, and Maka tried to content herself in the knowledge that her daughter was doing just fine without her.

Her induction was scheduled for thirty seven weeks–unlikely she would make it that long, but the doctor didn't want her carrying the twins for even a second longer than she had to. The afternoon before it was scheduled, her bags were long since packed. Maka had just gone to the bathroom and was climbing back into her bed to read when there was a sort of pop and a gush, and suddenly there was water soaking the floor beneath her nightgown.

Her water–had broken? But she didn't even have contractions. Maka had been through three pregnancies before and her water had never broken on its own.

"Soul…?" she called out shakily, the sounds of the piano in the room over telling her where he was. The melody was new, soft and sweet, and she might have smiled if the situation weren't so pressing.

"Soul." Her voice was louder, raised as she waddled her way to the door, still dripping warmth uncomfortably down her legs.

The soft piano played on.

"Soul!" she finally shouted from the door and the answering discordant crash of keys and rush of footsteps told her that he'd heard. He arrived at the doorway panting, red eyes ride with fear.

"I think–" she looked down at her soaked legs, at the newly accumulating puddle beneath her. "The babies are coming."

"Fuck," he breathed. "Now?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, next Tuesday. Get the bag, I'll call the doctor. We need to go."

And so they did.

Phone calls were made, troops assembled, and a crowd gathered in the labor and delivery waiting room at UCLA medical center.

Only Soul stayed in the delivery room with Maka, rubbing her back and holding her hand and reminding her to breathe. The doctor had warned that given her age and that she was carrying twins, a section was a highly likely outcome. Make was determined to make it happen the natural way. She had had three successful vaginal births and she would have a fourth as well.

Still, her blood pressure was spiking and she was stuck on her back on the bed, and as hours of painful labor came to a head in full blown pushing, as the babies' heart rates were dipping dangerously low, a section was looking more and more likely.

Maka was having none of it. She pushed like her life depended on it, long and hard, and a baby's head crowned. She pushed past the contractions, past everything, and one baby emerged, blue–the baby was blue–the baby wasn't crying, wasn't breathing, the doctor said as they whisked the newborn away and Soul wrung squeezed her hand, palpably distraught at her side. The world felt hazy as the doctor urged her to push again, as she gave her all and more, as she felt the familiar ring of fire as the second child crowned.

There was a lusty cry, the feel of something warm and squirmy on her chest, and then there was nothing but darkness.

Maka regained consciousness slowly, the outside light too bright behind her eyelids, her head throbbing.

There was a hand squeezing her own, warm, a little sweaty.

"Soul," she murmured around a mouth that felt too dry, her tongue thick. Maka struggled to force open heavy eyelids as she tried desperately to remember where she was.

"No, I'm sorry, Mom–it's–it's just me," a soft voice answered. It was familiar, achingly familiar, but decidedly Not Soul.

No, it was–

"Lizzie?" she gasped, her eyelids flying open to meet with the concerned gaze of her daughter.

"Hi," Lizzie looked down at her with a soft, almost sheepish smile. "I'm–I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now, but–"

Maka couldn't help the tears that flowed as she squeezed her daughter's hand for the first time in nearly half a year. "I'm so happy to see you," she breathed, smiling. "So happy."

"Me–me too, Mom," Lizzie said, looking pained. She had dyed her hair the same garish shade of blue her father used to sport, and she reminded her so much of Blake in that moment that her heart constricted.

But something tickled at her beyond the edges of her consciousness, something she needed to know–

"But–where–where are Soul and–and–oh my god the twins–are they–are they alright?"

Her eyes grew wide with panic, but Lizzie shushed her, moving a hand to smooth back her mother's ashen hair.

"Mom–Mom, it's okay, they're all okay. The babies–there were some issues with the boy, but the girl came out fine, and they got the little boy breathing fast and he's–he's gonna be just fine, Mom. S–Mr. Evans is in with them and the doctor. He thought–I mean, he told me I should be the one to stay with you until he got back. He's been so worried, Mom, we all have." She shook her head, and Maka could see her eyes brighten with unshed tears. "I'm sorry–I'm so so sorry."

And the tears came out in a flood, and Maka tugged on her daughter's hand and, weak as she was, she held her close as her daughter leaned over to nuzzle into her chest.

"I–I was such a bitch, so awful–I thought, fuck I thought–but then, a few weeks ago, Marlowe showed up at my dorm and he told me–he told me I needed to listen. He told me everything, Mom, everything. About how you and–and Soul knew each other as kids, and about how you were in love–everything. I didn't know. I came here last week–Lila and Marlowe let me stay with them–and I've wanted to talk to you so much–so much–but I was afraid you'd hate me, so I–"

"I could never, never hate you," Maka said fiercely. "You're my baby. You're always gonna be my baby." Maka stroked her daughter's hair, ignoring the tears that soaked into her hospital gown, ignoring her own tears.

"I–I'm sorry, Mom. I know Dad would want you to be happy, I know he would, I just miss him, I miss him so damned much, and–" She sniffed and raised her head up meet her mother's eyes "–I don't know if I'll ever be able to like your new husband, Mom, but I promise I'll try."

There was a throat clearing from the doorway and both women looked up to see a mop of disheveled white hair hovering above tired red eyes and rumpled clothing.

In spite of his exhaustion, Soul was smiling as he stepped into the room, as two plastic bassinets were wheeled in by nurses behind him.

Soul picked up the newborns one at a time, whispy tufts of red and white blonde just peaking out over their swaddling, handing one to his wife as Lizzie backed out of the way, while simply holding the other. Maka eyed the sleepy little red haired bundle in her arms, smiling down at eyes squinched shut against the light of the room.

"We need to name them," she said softly, holding the infant close.

"Well," Soul offered as he sat in the chair Lizzie had vacated only moments before. "Our little girl had the cord around her neck twice. She wasn't breathing at first, but when she finally did, her shrieks could have woken the dead. Seems like she got her grandpa's hair, but her mom's fighting spirit."

Maka nodded down at the little sleepy bundle, blue eyes just fighting to blink up at her.

"Then maybe we should call her Spirit, like my dad."

Soul nodded, smiling softly at his new wife and daughter. "I like that. And this little guy," he held up his own white blond bundle. "Shrieked for all of fifteen seconds, and has been content ever since, barely making a fuss even when he's got a full diaper."

"It sounds like he might be his father's son," Maka laughed, but Soul frowned.

"We are not naming him Soul."

"Well–what about Galen, then?"

"Galen?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It means calm."

"That's also perfect. Spirit and Galen it is."

"Those are pretty great names," the familiar voice of Maka's oldest son cut in, and the two new parents raised their eyes to see the other three children gathered just behind.

"Yeah." Soul nodded. They really are." He stood and kissed his wife, first on the forehead then the mouth, a sweet peck, contentment washing through him, through them both. After everything, after the years apart, after the difficulties with Maka's daughter, after all of it, the babies, their babies, all of their babies, were here and safe.

In the end, being together, here and now with their family healthy and whole around them was all either of them could ask for.