Here's the second part. (Maybe I'll end up just making this fan fiction a series of loosely connected one-shots, I don't know. They're awfully fun.) I've also realized that Maka is very enjoyable to write.

Even as such, though, I don't own her. That privilege belongs to Square Enix.

Somewhere in the time it took her to move from the door to the beaten body of her friend, Maka Albarn started praying.

When was the last time she'd prayed? Not since she was five or six, at least, that kid's prayer Mom had taught her. ('Angel of God, my guardian dear.')

Did it even count as prayer, this frantic bargaining? Heck, who was she even bargaining with? Who would possibly hear her right now? No clue.

All Maka knew was that she was willing to defeat Noah and Medusa and Asura, to never be angry with Dad or fight with Soul or goad Black Star, to never tell lies or slack on her homework ever again, anything.

Just so that whoever was listening knew, she was willing to do anything.

("Knew this was coming" Gopher had cackled, choking on his own blood. "Figured I'd take your shinigami friend with me.")

Anything, if it meant the boy slumped against her would live.

"...Maka?"

Anything but to get this far, to give this much, and lose him anyway...God, the whole floor felt tacky with dried blood. Shrapnel of magic was embedded in his wounds. One arm bent at a funny angle. He was an asymmetrical disaster and it didn't seem to bother him; that last, silly thing was somehow worse than the rest.

None of this would have happened if she'd come sooner. She was the one they'd wanted anyway, wasn't she? It was her fault, hers. Needling warmth gathered behind her eyes and squeezed her throat.

No way. No, no, hell no, she was not going to cry right now. Maka dry-swallowed the sadness like a pill.

"Who else would it be, idiot?"

In a flash of light, Soul reverted from weapon form and crouched alongside them. The scythe put an arm out to support Kid while Maka yanked off her blazer. He gave the shinigami a wide grin. "Oi, Kid! Guess who came to save your hoity-toity ass?"

Kid took a few strained breaths. He even managed an answering smile around the grimace. "...Who would...that be?" Good. Still coherent enough for banter.

"Pfft! Only Shibusen's newest Death Scythe and Technician pair! See what you miss, vacationing in demonic cubbyholes?"

"Ah. Con....gratulations."

Maka spread her blazer over the floor, motioned Soul to lower their friend onto it. (She'd used a countdown, had him brace for the movement. Onetwothreefour, which had earned an appreciative smile.) Kim would be here soon, but until then they had to make do. Get things ready for the healer witch, because there was no time to spare.

She began undoing Kid's ruined dress shirt. At least her hands were steady... That was an essential part of fooling people into thinking you weren't scared. Usually, it worked.

Soul's tone remained upbeat, which helped more than he probably realized.

"Not so crazy about the name they gave us, though. Spartoi? Seriously? Couldn't they do better than some obscure reference to Jason and the Ogre Nuts, or whatever Maka called 'em? We waited for you before we threw the party, even if God knows we'd have to keep you away from the decorations... be old and gray before the cups were even stacked right."

One last pull to an embossed button opened the shirt. Maka willed herself not to turn away once the damage was exposed; if he could handle the pain of it happening, she could certainly handle the pain of seeing it.

She spread the cloth aside.

A hemorrhage of bruises fanned across his chest. There were gashes, things poking against the skin that might have been broken ribs. Something raw and charred that looked like a burn took up his left side. Tendrils of black lightning were creeping over-no, out of-the wounds and trying to pull everything back together.

Maka allowed herself a small burst of fear before wrestling it under control again.

('Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here.')

"Hey," Soul's voice dropped a notch. He was a little pale under his motorcyclist tan now, and started slipping out of his jacket too. "Hey, forget what I just said, okay? You can decorate if you really want to. Coordinate the streamers to match our socks or whatever. But it'd way uncool to have our first rescuee to kick the bucket, so you hang in there. Kim'll patch you up. You remember Kim, right? Witch? Turns out she's not so bad after all. Healer. How 'bout that, huh?"

Soul wadded the coat up and nudged it behind Kid's head- for a bizarre moment, he became a parent fluffing the pillows of a child.

"Others? Who...how did you get in...." Kid seemed ready to ask.

He was interrupted by the far-off staccato of gunfire, which caused Maka to exchange glances with Soul before responding.

"Guess Liz and Patty found Giriko," she said. "Black Star is still fighting Justin, I think. Ox and Harvar were running interference when we last saw them, but they volunteered to handle the Clown if they ran into it. I tried to warn them off that, but you know Ox."

Her scythe partner's grin was back in place. "Ah, those two nerds have got bricks for brains, insanity's the last thing they have to worry about. They'll cook that freak like a toaster pastry."

"And we entered the Book of Eibon because I stole it from Noah. And got instructions from the guy who made it in the first place," Maka finished succinctly.

Kid's golden eyes went wide at that, if they hadn't already been wide with concern for his weapon partners. " You... what? Eibon? When..."

"Long story. I promise to tell you later."

There was a scuffle of feet in the doorway. All three glanced over to find Kim Diehl standing there.

Jackie's light threw her face into flickering contrast. Her uniform was singed along the hems, short hair disheveled, but she seemed remarkably composed as she walked over. Soul hopped up and dusted his knees off to let her take his place at Kid's side. After a moment, Maka got up as well.

"We'll stand guard. Kim, was anything following you?"

"Was. Not anymore," the witch snorted in satisfaction. Ah, that explained the delay. Pretty weird stuff crawling around this book-black hole-whatever it was.

Kid raised his head up to try and look the scythe technician in the eye. "Watch....the one who came after you before, he...."

Maka turned. Her mouth was set in a line. "Soul and I ran into him on our way here." A pause. "He's dead."

A dark thought scurried through her then: that had she known the mess waiting here-she looked again at the charred skin of Kid's torso, remembered the blasts of energy Noah's henchman had fired- her killing stroke might not have been so neat.

Soul gave her arm an insistent tug. "Come on, we'll let Kim do her stuff. Pull through this one, you neurotic weirdo. Hear me?"

Another grimace-smile. "Un....under...stood."

Both partners took up sentry positions in the doorway, then turned to look back into the room lit by Jackie's fire.

Kim hadn't seem to notice the conversation around her. Face drawn, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the tanuki witch raised her arms out in front of her.... and the incantation came all on one breath, tripping off the close walls and doubling back on itself. "Tanunucoon Raccooncoon Ponpon Ponkitanu Pon Pon Pon."

A spark.

Then the rosy glow of her magic flared to life.

She lowered both hands to place them over the shinigami's heart. Once the magic made contact with flesh, it snaked out to wrap around the black lightning and pushed into the broken skin.

Up, down. Up, down, Maka watched Kid's chest slowly rise and fall. Memorized the rhythm, tried to match her breathing pattern to his as if she could give him extra air. Stupid, of course, but she found herself doing it anyway: did the same thing whenever Soul got hurt.

Some of the smaller bruises began to shrink away, but the big scorch mark on his side didn't look any better. Hell, now that Maka searched for it underneath the dank and the rot, an acrid scent of burning was everywhere. Yes, it would have definitely been a sloppier killing stroke.

Up, down. Up, down.

Could shinigami die?

They could, Dad had told her. Especially before their powers were fully awoken. Anything created, even Death itself, could die; Dad had gone very still when she asked him that, and Maka had gotten her first true glimpse of the duties her father carried.

But then, they were an extension of Shinigami-sama's duties. Of course they would be heavy. And, she figured, they were the duties Kid would assume when he came of age... whenever that would be. But was he even a full shinigami, to look and bleed so much like a human when his dad didn't? Did that mean his mom was a human, then? Who was she? When was Kid's birthday, assuming he'd come to the world in a usual manner? How old was he?

Watching the magic gather in her friend's injuries-the friend who'd protected and helped her so many times in battle-it occurred to Maka Albarn that she knew very little about Death the Kid.

The revelation hurt, hurt enough to bring the hot prickly sensation back to her throat. So she added another bargain to the pile on her imaginary altar: that she would learn more about him, the life that had shaped him, the life that had become so important to her. Anything, anything, anything.

Up, down. Up, down.

Sound broke through the tranquility and made them all jump in surprise. A few more distant shots, coupled with a clap of thunder that was no doubt Ox and Harvar.

"Oi," Soul called into the room, "Don't mean to tell you how to do your job or anything, but we gotta hurry it up."

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Kim gritted. Now she was worried on top of everything else. "You think this is as easy as it looks?"

Maka noticed a thin sheen of sweat on the witch's face.

The burn still wasn't closed all the way.

The ribs weren't sliding back into place.

The rise and fall of Kid's chest was slowing.

No time, no time, no time.

Anything.

Maka hung in that eternal moment of indecision for a second more.

('Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side.')

Then, squaring her shoulders, she walked back into the cell. One, two, both gloves were stripped off. She hunkered down by Kid again.

Maka leaned in to whisper confidentially-why bother whispering? It just seemed like something you should do around injured people, as though noise could hurt all on its own.

"Kid."

His golden cat-eyes opened a bit wider, gaze pulling in from its wandering to focus on her. And on the two hands she was offering him.

"Maka," he stated. Testing the word for its syllabic symmetry, Ma-ka.

She drew another breath. For his strength or her own, she didn't know. "Do a Chain Resonance with me."

It was quiet while he turned that idea over in his head, then his face broke into a tired smile. He placed a hand between her own.

"Genius. You're a... genius."

"Every once in a while, yeah," she allowed.

"What are thinking of?" Kim asked, sounding slightly out of breath.

"A Chain Resonance," Maka repeated. She could feel Soul's eyes on her from the doorway. A side-glance confirmed that his face was very serious and still. "Like what we used fighting Mosquito. Just enough to amp up Kid's powers and help speed the healing. Liz told me BREW increased them enough to reattach his arm, so this should be perfect."

Kim's green eyes looked very sharp when they narrowed like that. "You can control it that much? If your soul takes too much energy away, he'll...."

"She can do it," Kid broke in. More sounds of battle came from somewhere outside their little oasis of firelight. Their hands tightened around each other.

"Ready?" the shinigami asked. He said it so quietly, it was a wonder she heard him at all.

No. She wasn't. What a ridiculous question.

There were too many things at stake here (what 'here' was she even thinking of?), and she wasn't ready for any of it. But then things would never wait until she was ready, would they? That wasn't the way being a warrior worked.

Come to think of it, that wasn't the way life worked either.

Maka closed her eyes.

"Yes."

('Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side, to light and guard.')

She'd read about Soul Resonance techniques in at least a dozen different textbooks, and none of them ever described the experience right: like your heart was swelling up inside your ribcage. Beyond that, she'd only done this to prepare for fights. Never for something like this, for healing.

How were you supposed to heal a soul?

No, this felt more like her spirit was pulling open- a raincloud breaking or wings unfurling-in order to reach out and encompass something else. She heard a few experimental snaps, pictured the two souls sending test lines of energy out to each other through the gap between them.

His familiar wavelength gave a stronger tug.

The gap closed.

And she loosed the spreading feeling into the soul of Death; much of what she found there was expected. Because in this way, at least, Maka knew him to the last detail.

Dignity. Patience. Logic. Solemnity. High regard for those around him. A want for balance, order. Drive and loyalty, persistence and strength. Alone-not lonely, just alone. Separated from everyone else by the thin veil of an inexorable future, something to do with the dark energies brooding in the corners of his being.

But that was not her business right now. Because threaded through everything was a bright ribbon of pain.

How were you supposed to heal a soul?

Maka thought back to all the times she'd wanted to give someone a certain feeling when they were hurting like that, open their hearts up and just plunk it in to fix everything. It was the feeling of being safe, cared for, guarded, meaning something; it was what she had tried to put into that embrace around Chrona's frail body. What she'd learned and borrowed from so many people.

Because really, Maka didn't have anything that was her own. She knew that. The courage, kindness, whatever other good things she possessed: all learned and borrowed from people stronger than she was.

People she would have to be strong for as repayment.

Maka opened her eyes just a bit then. Kim was nodding. Her distant voice was telling them to keep that up, that was great, it was working.

She wrapped their hands tighter.

Looking at Death the Kid now-his own eyes closed in concentration, the sharp line of his jaw set, blood flecking his face and still managing to look noble-Maka thought she saw a quick shadow of the man he would become some day. He'd carry those burdens with absolute grace, when the time came.

All Kid needed to heal was her willpower. Her energy. Not her courage, because there was no fear in him...not like she had expected any.

What she had expected even less, though, was for his life force to gently tap against her own plain little soul for a millisecond; and have all her twisted, frenzied thoughts be narrowed down into a state something like peace.

Brought to order by his complete faith in her.

Or in his own words, made 'precise and neat'.

Jeez.

"Only you," she laughed under her breath.

('Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide.')

"Hey, Maka! Maka!"

She pulled back to reality. There were a few more crackles of light, then the connection between them vanished as she up looked at Kim. Her soul receded, work done.

The witch was grinning. She wicked her forehead on a sleeve, but kept the triumphant look and rose to her feet with Jackie in hand.

"That was great! It worked better than I thought it would. He'll be sore, sure, but other than that he's completely healed."

Kid sat up smoothly. He turned to closing his shirt again, or what was left of it. He seemed more embarrassed by the display of indecency than anything else. Hoity-toity indeed.

Maka peeled Soul's coat off the floor along with her blazer, and they were all moving about as though nothing had happened. There was still no time to spare, of course. (Like there ever was, right?)

"Eh, give it to Kid." Soul waved the leather jacket away when she offered it to him. "He's the one wearing a shredded napkin."

Yup, that was definitely a blush on the shinigami's face now. All hints of the future Reaper were gone, replaced by the familiar, spindly, obsessive-compulsive boy she knew.

He brushed his hair into place, then put the motorcycle jacket on with a pained expression. A Harley Davidson patch was sewn onto the left breast pocket; and only the left breast pocket. He bit back the apoplectic fit such an imbalance might have caused. A crinkling of zipper teeth, then all four Shibusen students nodded.

Soul phased into his scythe form, and the weight landed even and familiar in his partner's hands.

"Let's go."

Kim ran out. She looked better now, seemed to be recuperating quickly from the drain. Maka made to follow her.

Until she realized that Kid was staring at her.

Something had slipped into his features, a bit like awe. Surprise. But subtle, almost hesitant.

She frowned.

"Is something on my face?"

Dumb, sure, but the look he was giving her right now....The only thing Maka could compare it to was the one he'd given her when she first barged in. When he'd been anemic and delirious and had asked if she was an angel. It was strange then. It felt awkward now.

"You truly care that much about me?" Kid said after too long. Belatedly, he remembered to turn it into a question.

She cleared her throat and turned towards the door. "Sure. You're my friend, aren't you?"

"Most people wouldn't pour their soul out to save a friend."

Point for him. "I guess I'm not most people. And I'll bet you'd have done the same for me, right?" Soul's wavelength bubbled with amusement in her hands.

She didn't need to look back and see the expression on his face; it was in his voice as they took off running.

As he replied, "Yes. Of course I would."

('Amen.')

A/N: As is obvious, I had to improvise a bit on how they got in, and what was going on. Let me know what you think!