The first year of their partnership, Christmas rolls around with little to no fanfare. Neither one of them are particularly religious, and they both agree that the Christmas carols that have been playing in the stores since Halloween are tacky at best and mostly just grating. Soul is particularly offended by the musical massacre that accosts his ears everywhere he goes. Maka spends less time being offended by the music and more time growing more and more irritable at sappy lyrics and declarations of love and family and home. Every store they step in is a glaring, persistent reminder of her parents and all the fights that she can't seem to get away from. Soul knows that Maka hadn't hesitated when given the option to live at home or share a living space with her new weapon. She hadn't explained it to him, just showed up with her things. He didn't ask why because even that early in their relationship, he'd known.

She doesn't ask that they put up a tree, and he doesn't suggest it. For a brief moment, she wants to ask if he's going home for the holidays, but she stops herself because it's a stupid question. He doesn't mention his family, doesn't mention his last name (though she knows what it is); she doesn't know why he is so adverse to his family, but she doesn't question it. They buy each other gifts, but they're small, just tokens, really.

Instead, that first year, she drags him back to her parents' house. It is, she tells him, because she wants an excuse to leave early if things get too awkward, and she doesn't want to be alone with her parents as much as she loves them. She doesn't mention that the idea of leaving him alone for Christmas seems foreign and wrong to her, despite the fact that neither of them really celebrate it. Christmas is about family and spending time with loved ones. The least she can do is make sure Soul knows that he's cared for, even if it does mean he has to sit through her father's mediocre bread pudding and intense death glares and her mom's dry turkey and forced cheerfulness.

They leave early, Maka insisting that Soul is terribly tired and needs to rest, even as he tries to express thanks without seeming any more uncomfortable than he is. The entire experience is awkward, and when they get home, Maka seems even more depressed than before they'd gone to her parents'. Even still, there's a part of Soul that's glad his meister dragged him along. The way her expression clears up when he mentions it makes the completely uncool confession seem pretty worthwhile.

The second year of their partnership, he has to force Maka into any department store they visit during Christmas time. Kami had left that summer with not much more than a hug for her daughter, and a pat on Soul's head. He doesn't tell his meister of the stern look she'd given him and the imperative to "Take care of her." Tch. Like he could do anything else.

For Maka, every Christmas carol is a painful reminder of happier days, of warm mugs of cocoa and early mornings full of laughter and presents and family dinners with just the three of them. It hurts, and she doesn't want to think about it, so she avoids Christmas like the plague. She buys gifts on principle, but mostly she's just going through the motions. She gets Soul some weapon polish that her father had had, figuring if it's not a good gift, at least it was practical. She's sitting in her room wrapping presents when she realizes that she'd bought a book for her mother. She stares at it for a minute, feels something in her chest clench and then break. She finishes wrapping the rest of her gifts methodically, and stacks them in a neat little pile. The book she shoves into the top of her closet.

Soul spends the holiday trying to cheer up his meister. It seems to work to varying degrees, as long as he doesn't actually mention Christmas, or anything about last year. He does his best to keep her obnoxious failure of a father away from her. He doesn't know if he should get her anything, but buys her a small set of bookmarks and a pencil case covered in little black cats anyway.

In his own way, he's kind of glad for the distraction Maka provides. It keeps him from thinking too hard about the fact that he hasn't heard anything from his own parents since he came to Shibusen. Part of him cares that they don't seem to care; the rest of him wants nothing to do with his family, and their enforced radio silence feels like a relief. He doesn't want to deal with them, and they make it very easy.

On Christmas Eve, they stay in. TV is out unless they want to torture themselves with the plethora of Christmas films littering the channels like little ticking time bombs. Soul pops in the only Christmas movie they want to deal with and Maka makes grilled cheeses and tomato soup for dinner. It's satisfying, Soul's learned over the last two years. Doing stuff like this, sitting with his meister and watching movies and just vegetating, and he's more than a little grateful for the girl sitting next to him and the holidays that mean they get this spare time to just chill.

It's almost 10, and they're well into Die Hard 2 when there's a frantic knocking on their door. Maka groans and gets up. Her Soul Perception isn't very strong, but she's known that signature her whole life.

"What do you want, Papa?" She barely bothers cracking the door, and Soul notes that she leaves the security chain on.

"Maka! It's Christmas Eve, aren't you going to let your Papa in?" For a long moment, she stares at him. With a heavy sigh, she closes the door and pops the chain off the lock.

"Just for a minute. It's late, and I told you I'd come by to see you tomorrow." Spirit helps himself to their kitchen and makes mugs of hot cocoa. Maka gives him a glare, and reluctantly, he hands one of the mugs over to Soul and retreats to the kitchen to make more. He ends up staying for the rest of the movie, curled up on the couch with Maka. Soul relinquished his seat to lean against the bottom of the couch and against Maka's right leg. Maka stares at the TV and tries not to think about how nice it feels to have Soul leaning against her, or how comforting the cocoa and her father are. It feels normal, like Christmas Eve is supposed to feel, like it used to feel.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks, barely through the door once the movie finishes. Maka just nods, and closes the door. The deadbolt and chain are slid back into place on habit. Soul's already reclaimed his half of the couch when she sits back down. He pops in Die Hard with a Vengeance and pretends not to notice that Maka's lower lip is quivering or that her knuckles are white as she grips her half-empty mug of cocoa.

Maka can't understand why her heart hurts worse now than it did earlier.

The third year of their partnership, they spend Christmas covered in blood and laughing. Neither one of them particularly care; they're growing in leaps and bounds in terms of their skills, and the kishin egg they slaughter is number 25 for them. Maka's thrown them both into training and single-star ranked missions.

In August, her mother returned long enough to give Maka a smile and a hug and to serve Spirit with a thick packet of divorce papers. She's proud of her mother, because she doesn't take crap from anyone, least of all Maka's philandering father, and she respects that. It still hurts when Kami spins right back out of her life again. Maka can't help but think that there's something she's missing, but she soldiers on, and knows that she's going to be the best meister out there; to make her mother proud, to show up her no-good Papa (to prove she's ok).

Soul follows wherever she leads; his hand in hers, he transforms, eager to gather souls, to get stronger, to prove that he is worth something, if only to himself. He doesn't talk to his parents. He doesn't tell Maka that they tried to contact him, other than to tell her he's been cut off, and that they're going to have to move out of the student-approved housing and into a cheaper, smaller apartment across town. Maka shrugs.

Their third Christmas together, they come home to their barren apartment, exhausted and still covered in blood, still giddy with the feeling of success. They kick off boots covered with a thin layer of frozen mud dust, neither particularly caring where they land.

"Dibs on shower!" Soul calls before Maka even has the door shut.

"Soooul! Noooooo!" He laughs at her pathetic whine. She whips her heavy winter coat around and sends it flying straight towards his head. He yelps as it smacks into his face, and Maka's running past him.

"Oh, hell no, I called dibs!" She doesn't even bother to turn around.

"Not if I get there first, Soul!" He spins, her coat making a plopping noise on the tile floor. He reaches and manages to grab her hand and tug her back.

"I'd like to see you try." She struggles, but he's got a good grip, and she's dragged steadily away from her goal, socks offering no traction on the floor. Soul has enough time to register the frustration on his meister's face morph into something devious before she stops struggling and rushes at him instead. Soul stumbles back, releases her hand in surprise, and she's gone, running down the hallway again.

"Loser makes cocoa!" With a yelp, he's after her, and she's almost to the safety of the bathroom when she feels two hands grab her by the waist. "Noooooooo," she whines, scrabbling at the door.

"Yeeeeessssss." He digs his fingers in, and Maka shrieks, mortifying girlish giggles. Her fingers spasm, and she lets go of the doorframe. Soul swings her around, and deposits her back in the hallway. He slips into the bathroom and Maka can hear the soft clickof the lock.

"Soul, dammit!" She pounds her fist against the door once or twice, but her heart's not really in it. She hears the water cut on.

"Sorry, Maka. Can't hear you over the sound of my nice hot shower!"

"JACKASS!" she yells before stomping into the kitchen.

Soul is greeted with a hot mug of cocoa being thrust into his hands as soon as he steps out of the bathroom. Maka seems unperturbed by the towel wrapped around his waist as she flounces past him.

"You better not have used up all the hot water." He has, but despite the age of the apartment, it's got a pretty good hot water heater. He figures she'll probably forgive him eventually. He bakes up a batch of sugar cookies from one of those pre-made dough rolls he finds in the fridge just in case she doesn't.

The water freezes her about halfway through washing the blood from her hair, and Soul winces at her shriek. He holds the platter of soft sugar cookies up as she exits the bathroom and a mug of cocoa. Maka glares, but she can only hold it for a moment before she grins. They split the cookies for dinner because they can, and Soul pops in Die Hard, and they find that they don't really care if their couch is really an ancient lumpy futon, or that their coffee table consists of two milk-crates and a couple of pieces of plywood Soul scavenged.

Maka doesn't call her father, nor does she admit that she'd chucked his Christmas present at his front door earlier that day and hadn't looked back.

The fourth year of their partnership, Maka has finally begun to get used to the idea that they're now sharing their tiny apartment with a cat who's greatest delight seems to be in tormenting her weapon with her over-sized rack. It annoys her, but she still finds herself not minding so much when Blair curls up behind her knees in the middle of the night, or how she'll bring home extra groceries now and again, or pay the power bill. Unfortunately, it also means coming home to things like a human Blair laying on the couch in nothing but a tiny red Santa negligee.

"Blair?" Soul chokes out as he walks in..

"What has she done n-" Maka's right behind him in the doorway, and she smacks into his back when he stops. "Soul?" She leans around her weapon, then rolls her eyes. "Oh for the love of...Soul, move." She doesn't wait for his response, but shoulders past him brusquely, trying to ignore the twinge of jealousy that courses through her veins. On the couch, Blair stretches luxuriantly, and Maka glowers.

"Mmmmmyaaaah, welcome hoooome~"

As much as she's come to enjoy the magical cat's company most of the time, there are moments where she wants to grab Blair by the scruff and kick her ass to the curb. Primarily, when she acts like this. At the heart of the matter, Maka understands that this is just how Blair is, and she can't really help herself. Instead, she takes it out on Soul. She feels a little bad for it later, but not enough to stop seeing green every time Soul's face goes red when Blair's tits come out.

In the kitchen, she puts away groceries with a vengeance. She can tell that Soul's finally moved from the doorway, but she doesn't look up and doesn't acknowledge him. As far as punishments go, Soul can't decide if he prefers the silent treatment to her usual one-and-done Maka-chop. For now, he decides that he'll take the fact that they still move around the kitchen seamlessly as they put away groceries. Right up until Blair saunters her way into the kitchen and Soul doesn't need soul perception to know that Maka is still seething.

"Maaaaka~" she singsongs.

"Yes, Blair?" His partner doesn't look up from the vegetable drawer.

"Aren't you guys getting a tree?" She pulls her head from the fridge, puzzled.

"A tree? What do we need a tree for?" She doesn't slam the door, and Soul breathes a small sigh of relief. "Is this some kind of cat thing? Cause if it is, I'm pretty sure you can just find a tree outside-" Blair looks confused for a moment, then laughs, high and tinkling.

"No, silly. Not for climbing, for Christmas!" Maka glances at Soul. He shrugs.

"Why would we do that?" She shoves a box of cereal in one of the cabinets, and when she turns back, Blair is there, and Maka is eyeball to red-clad tits. From the other side of the kitchen, Soul makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Maka frowns and glances up at Blair. For a moment, she's taken aback at the upset look on the cat-woman's face, but as soon as she registers it, it's gone, replaced by a calculated pout.

"Nya! Don't tell me Maka's a Grinch!"

"I'm not a Grinch, I just don't see the point of decorating for Christmas." She pulls away from Blair, shoulders tense. Undeterred, Blair follows her. "Christmas stuff is everywhere. You can't go outside without being assaulted by it. Why should we put it up in the apartment?"

"If you're not a Grinch, then you won't mind if Blair decorates?" Soul can see Maka's jaw clenching.

She looks over at him again, and he's at a loss. He doesn't particularly care for Christmas. It reminds him a little too much of stuffy formal dinners and disapproving stares and the piano and judgement. Christmas meant expensive gifts with no feeling or meaning and awkward family portraits. Christmas in the Evans household was the definition of "going through the motions." But he doesn't live there anymore, and hasn't in some time. Christmas still means family, but for Soul, that means Maka and Die Hard movies and hot chocolate, and the occasional holiday meal with Black*Star and Tsubaki. So she might be mad at him, but he shrugs. He expects her glare, but is pretty sure that she'll get over it. Maka sighs.

"Yeah, whatever. Knock yourself out...just. Keep it simple, please." Blair squeals and jumps, crushing Maka to her generous bosom. Soul makes a hasty exit before either woman can notice the fact that his face is on fire.

They come home from school the next day to a fragrant Douglass Fir decked out in an explosion of multicolored lights and tinsel where their dining room table used to be. There's a box of little glass balls sitting on the coffee table, and this time, it's Maka's turn to stop dead in the middle of the doorway. Soul peers over her shoulder and manages to hide his smile as he pushes her inside.

"It's not going to bite." She shoots him a nasty glare, but he shrugs it off.

"I don't know. Blair bought it, so you can't be too sure." He snorts and takes in the tableau. It's...nice. He slings his school bag into room and finds Maka still staring at the tree, head cocked to one side. Unobtrusively, he slides the strap of her bag over her shoulder and puts it next to the couch.

"Here." Soul's holding up the tray of ornaments in front of her. "It still needs decorating." She shoots him a panicked look, grabs her bag from where he'd set it, and retreats into her room with a faint,

"Maybe later." Soul shrugs and starts to decorate. It's soothing in a strange way, and when he's done, he has to admit that the tree doesn't look too bad, if a little haphazard. He leaves a single glass ball in the tray for his meister and starts dinner. Maka emerges from her room at the smell of food, and Soul pretends not to notice the way she sidles up to the tree and eyeballs it for a minute before cautiously taking the ornament in her hands. She turns it over in her hands a few times, then stares at the tree for a good five minutes before she gingerly places the ornament among the boughs.

Soul smiles to himself, dishes up the spaghetti, and very carefully doesn't say anything about the soft smile on his partner's face.

The fifth year of their partnership, they're sitting at home when Blair bursts into the apartment, Christmas tree floating merrily along behind her. Blithely, she sets the whole thing up with her magic, humming banal poppy Christmas music under her breath while Maka and Soul look on in fascination. The whole process takes less than five minutes, and even for a cat, Blair is looking pretty pleased with herself.

"No decorations?" Maka asks, puzzled. Blair smiles, and bounds over to the couch, wrapping warm hands around the girl's wrists. "What? Blair..."

"Come on, Maka! Everyone knows that decorations go on by hand."

"Do they now?" Maka raises an eyebrow.

"Decorating is its own special form of magic. Maka ought to know that." She still looks suspicious, but Blair's shoving a string of those little lights into her hands, and tossing another one at Soul.

"You know, for a cat whose gimmick is pumpkins, you are extra obsessed with Christmas," Maka grumbles, rearranging herself on the floor. She doesn't know who came up with the idea of these horrible little lights, or why they persist on remaining ridiculously tangled, but Maka has accepted the challenge, and dammit those lights are going to be untangled and on that tree if it kills her.

"Nya, Blair just loves the season," the cat says happily, returning with a couple of mugs of cider. "It's such a good time to spend with family and friends and Blair is so excited to have both! Decorating is part of the Christmas magic~" She says it unselfconsciously, a smile still on her face. Maka flinches and glances at Soul. He looks just as startled. Neither had really thought much about the magical cat, or what her life had been like before she followed them home. To think that she considered them family...Maka redoubled her effort on the lights.

Much to her irritation, Soul finished untangling his string first and started to loop them on the tree. Maka makes a frustrated noise and finally manages to violently fling out the last couple of snarls. Blair and Soul both shoot her concerned looks and she flushes faintly.

"Wh-what do I do now?" It's been so long since she's thought about the kinds of things that people usually do for Christmas, and her muscle memory is a little shaky. Soul reaches out his hand and she grabs it as he pulls her to her feet. She hands over her end of the lights, and they gleam merrily when he connects them. Soul begins to haphazardly drape them over the tree again, and Maka takes a moment to step back. She frowns, her brain superimposing years of Christmas decorations over top of their tree. "Wait, Soul...I think you're doing it wrong..."

"Whaddya mean? Lights go on the tree, right?"

"Yeah, but not like that! Here." She takes the string of lights from him and restarts at the base of the tree, tucking the lights in amongst the needles. It's been years now, but she can still remember the way her papa used to wrap the tree with lights, how her mama would go behind him and fix it by poking and prodding the lights into some semblance of order. Soul scowls a little bit.

He'd never really put lights on the tree before. Before Shibusen and Maka and being a weapon, the Evans would come home to a house that had been meticulously decorated already; the tree perfect, presents mystically wrapped and arranged in an aesthetically pleasing arrangement, the house covered in flashy, but still classy light displays.

"A minute ago, you didn't know what to do; now you're suddenly an expert?" It comes out a little harsher than he had anticipated, but for once, Maka doesn't seem to mind. She shrugs and smiles at him.

"My parents used to do this the same way every year. C'mere." Soul shuffles over to his meister and watches the way she carefully structures the strings of lights. "See? This way it's more even and the lights will shine out on the ornaments and make it all brighter." He wants to be irritated with her, but she actually looks engaged in what she's doing, and he can't really bring himself to ruin that. "Go round the other side, and I'll pass the lights to you." He complies and they actually manage to get the lights on in reasonably short order.

"Ooooh! It looks so good! Blair is impressed!" The cat-woman claps her hands together, and grabs both Soul and Maka in a bone-crushing hug. Smooshed between Blair and each other, Maka thinks that they might end up dead, smothered by over-enthusiastic cat boobs and the scent of gingerbread that seems to follow the cat around, but Blair seems so genuinely happy that she can't really be upset. "Nyaaaah~ it's even prettier than last year's!" Soul squirms out from under Blair's arms and takes another look at the tree.

"You think?"

"Of course," she gushes. "It's much better when we all decorate! Christmas magic~" Maka shakes her head at the cat's enthusiasm. She doesn't really think that there's anything to this whole "Christmas magic" thing, but she does feel kind of warm and fuzzy in a way that she hasn't felt in years.

Kid, Liz, and Pattie invite everyone over for Christmas Eve dinner. Soul finds himself strangely reluctant to go, but Maka seems to really be looking forward to dressing up, and he's not sure it's really worth the fight. If he's being honest with himself, it's not so much that he doesn't want to go and spend time with his friends as he'd rather stay home and spend this Christmas like the last few-(mostly) alone with his meister. Instead, he puts on his slacks, button down, and vest, and prepares for whatever Christmas in symmetry-town will hold.

It could be worse, he admits. Dinner is delicious, and while Soul occasionally has flashbacks to the mansion he lived in with his parents, the oversized fir tree is too much of a mix of Kid and his weapons for it to be anything much like the cold beauty of the Christmas trees he remembers from childhood. The lights are too evenly spaced, and Kid brags about how he went through and rearranged all of the lights by hand so the colors line up perfectly. Pattie's made little paper giraffes and hung them everywhere, and Liz's touches are all over in haphazard glass balls and little bows. Soul's not entirely sure how Kid is dealing with asymmetry of the tree, but the reaper appears to be fine.

"Liz says he's too focused on his lights to pay attention to the ornaments. At least for now," Maka whispers in his ear. Soul starts at the sound of her voice; he hadn't even heard her come up next to him. He looks down at her, and for the first time realizes that he's actually having to look down a little, even with Maka in a pair of sensible heels. It's a strange sensation, and he can't help the small smirk. She glares at him, green eyes reflecting the tree lights,

"I know what you're thinking, and you're only a little taller than me, thank you very much. It's not that impressive." Soul's smirk turns into a chuckle, and then a wheeze when his meister elbows him in the ribs. Despite the sting, he keeps smirking.

"You ready to go home?" Maka thinks about the tree waiting for them, and what's become their Christmas routine. She thinks about home and what that entails, and she smiles.

"Yeah, I think so." She leans closer to Soul as he puts his hand on the small of her back, and together they go say goodbye to their friends.

Their apartment is dark when they get back, except for the glow of Blair's tree. Soul makes a bag of popcorn, and it finishes in time for him to hear Maka's soft voice from the living room.

"Yeah, Papa. Merry Christmas. Yeah. Yes. I...I love you, too." He hears the soft beep of the cordless hanging up and Maka turning on the TV for their usual marathon, and starts the water for the hot chocolate. By the time he brings the tray out, she's got the movie in, and she's curled up on one side of the couch, flannel pjs on. If she notices that he sits a little closer than normal, she doesn't say anything; as the movie progresses, she might even have scooted a little closer to her partner.

Content and exhausted, she falls asleep in the early hours of Christmas morning, head cushioned on Soul's chest, Bruce Willis yelling in the background.

The sixth year of their partnership, Soul gets his meister a little charm bracelet for Christmas. He agonizes over whether or not to buy it for a full month before steeling his shoulders and marching into the jewelry store. It isn't much, just a delicate little silver thing with dangling charms that look like souls, but he'd seen it and immediately thought of her, and as a Deathscythe, he's certainly got the money for it. He's never bought jewelry for someone before (Soul doesn't count the things that his father picked out for him to give to his mother), and as much as he tells himself that it doesn't mean anything, that it's just another Christmas gift, it feels like something much, much more. The box burns a hole in his pocket the whole way home, past streetlights ringed in garlands and twinkling lights. He tosses the box under his mattress as soon as he gets in, and tries not to think about the implications of small velvet boxes and how it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Their tiny apartment smells of pine again, and this year it's accompanied by a wreath on their door, and a few extra strings of lights around the front windows. Soul had raised an eyebrow, and Maka had shrugged.

"Blair," was all she said, smiling sheepishly, wrist-deep in cookie dough. She's started trying to bake from scratch recently, and while Maka's skills on the battlefield are unparalleled, her baking skills are still a work in progress. Soul and their friends have been the test subjects for sugar cookies, snickerdoodles, chocolate chip cookies, gingerbread...they've tried just about everything regardless of how hard or crunchy or funny tasting.

"Geez, Maka. Who taught you how to bake?" Black*Star says after being called in to test one particularly strange batch of oatmeal raisin cookies a few days before Christmas. Tsubaki immediately elbows him sharply, but the damage has been done, and Maka's hackles are up.

"No one, jackass," she spits, and stomps off into the kitchen, cookie sheet in a white-knuckled grip.

"What? What's her problem?" Tsubaki sighs and shakes her head.

"Come on, let's go home, Black*Star." Soul gets up with them and sees them to the door.

"You guys still coming over for dinner?" Tsubaki nods, even as Black*Star opens his mouth again.

"I dunno, is Maka planning on ba-mmMPHphm." He glares at his weapon, who serenely ignores him, despite the ninja's slobber on her palm.

"We'll be here." Soul locks the door after them, and meanders into the kitchen where Maka is scrapping cookies into the garbage can. He leans against the counter and waits.

"I really hate him sometimes," she says after a moment, using a spatula to pry at a few of the cookies that are stuck on the baking sheet. Her voice is quiet, but he can practically hear her teeth grinding against one another.

"You know Black*Star's strong suit isn't thinking." Maka snorts and throws the pan into the sink.

"That's an understatement." She scrubs fiercely for a moment, then sighs, shoulders slumping. "Mama wanted to teach me how to bake, but then Papa and the separation...and then-"

"She left."

"Yeah. She used to make the best Christmas cookies, too. I can't even come close." She rinses the pan and sets it in the rack. She's hunching in on herself, and the thought bothers him because this is Maka, and that defeated posture is antithetical to his meister. Soul lets out a small sigh and straightens, joining Maka by the sink. Gently, he bumps her hip with his. She grunts softly, but lets herself be turned. He takes one arm and positions it around his waist, then the other one. Soul wraps his arms around her shoulders and she thumps against his chest, unresisting.

It's extremely uncool how telling his actions are, but Soul decides that, in the long run, he doesn't really care.

It takes a minute or so, but he can feel her arms begin to tighten around his waist of their own volition. Maka sighs, and it's as though all of the air and tension has left her body in one warm breath that ghosts along Soul's neck. He tries not to shiver and fails miserably, goosebumps prickling along his arms.

Maka can feel the tension in his soul, but his arms remain tight and comforting around her. She breathes in, but can't quite seem to grasp that same feeling of melancholy. Instead, she gets a noseful of the unique combination of deodorant and detergent and boy-not-quite-a-man funk that is intrinsically Soul to her heart and brain, and something in her gives. Her fingers dig into the worn, loose cotton of her weapon's t-shirt, and she buries her face into his chest.

"Merry Christmaaaaaas!" Maka jerks back at the sound of their roommate, but Soul's arms are reluctant to release her. And by then, it's too late because Blair's in the kitchen and grinning deviously. "Nya, I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" Maka feels Soul sigh into her hair as he mumbles,

"No," in the kind of tone that makes her think maybe she's missing something. Blair's smile widens and Maka squirms under the cat's knowing gaze. Soul sighs again and lets his arms drop slowly. Maka steps away from him, and tries very hard not to think about how cold her shoulders feel. Blair slips in between the two teenagers, and for a minute, all Maka can smell is gingerbread.

"Mmhmm. Blair has a gift for you two~" Maka rolls her eyes, but she's smiling now.

"Should we be worried?"

"Worried is such a strong word," Blair retorts, eyes shining. "Blair will leave it under the tree for you. For later." With that, she breezes out of the kitchen as suddenly as she had come in, humming Christmas jingles under her breath.

"Worried sounds like just the right word," Soul mutters, drawing out a soft wuff of laughter from his meister.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Soul." He grunts noncommittally, looking over her shoulder into the living room. Blair is bustling around, and her humming has gotten even louder and more off-key.

"Mm. Hey, Maka." She swears that her body temperature goes up by several degrees at the sound of his voice in her ear. "I don't suppose you could make some of those chocolate chip cookies you do for the party?" She shoots him a skeptical look, but he just smiles and shrugs. "They're my favorite." A slow smile curves her lips upward.

"I guess that could be arranged."

On Christmas Eve, it's their apartment that's full this year. They all cluster around the coffee table, feast spread out buffet style. Maka is kind of absurdly proud of the roast turkey she and Soul made, nestled among sweet potatoes and green beans and rolls from Pattie and Liz. There's a pumpkin pie on the counter in the kitchen courtesy of Tsubaki. Kid offers to carve the bird, and for a moment, Liz and Pattie look horrified. Soul just shakes his head.

"Uh, thanks, Kid, but I think we want to eat sometime this year." He grins and with a bright flash of light, transforms his arm into a blade. "Besides, I've got this." Kid looks about ready to cry as he raises his arm.

"Soul." He pauses and Maka glares at him.

"What?"

"You are not about to cut our dinner with the same thing you use to kill a kishin egg."

"Dammit, woman, it's clean."

"That is notthe point." They glare at each other for a moment longer, before Tsubaki coughs politely into one hand and holds up the actual carving knife. With a grumble, Soul transforms his arm back and takes the knife to the turkey. Black*Star eyes the slab of meat Soul tosses onto his plate skeptically, but he can't deny that it smells delicious, and soon he's shoveling food into his mouth faster than anyone else.

Forks and spoons dish up food at an astonishing rate, and Soul laughs with Liz and Tsubaki as Black*Star nearly loses a finger to Pattie over the last roll. Kid loses his fork partway through the meal, a casualty of Black*Star telling a story. It's hectic and frantic, and a few years ago, she never would have thought that this would be what her Christmases would be like. These people, this bizarre, eclectic mix of people feel like home, like family. Over the group, Soul catches her eye and smiles, and she grins back.

When the frenzy finally dies down, Blair brings out the eggnog and cider and they exchange gifts. Pattie takes up her station by the base of the tree and begins her enthusiastic distribution of presents. Maka curls up on the armchair, knees to chin. She doesn't do the gift giving thing terribly well, but no one has seemed visibly disappointed with their gifts yet, so she tries not to stress.

"Scoot over." She glances up, and Soul's there, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Get your own seat," she says, trying to keep the smile from her face. Soul shakes his head.

"Nope. No other spaces." It's not strictly true, but Soul finds that he doesn't really care. He turns and starts to sit; Maka has just enough time to uncurl a leg and prod him in the butt.

"Too bad, I was here first." Soul remains undeterred by both her foot and her protests, and falls backwards into the armchair. His meister squawks, but it's move or be crushed, so she scoots enough that he can fit.

"Fat ass," she mutters. Soul just bares his teeth at her in a grin and grabs her waist, fingers digging playfully into her sides.

"What was that?" She squirms, but still manages a defiant,

"FATTY!" before dissolving into ticklish giggles. Soul snorts and rolls his eyes, wrapping his arm around her waist and pinning her against his chest as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Shut up, nerd." Maka elbows him in the solar plexus, but settles down as Pattie tears into her gifts. Kid begins the careful process of unwrapping, and in the time it takes him to open one, Pattie has most of hers open and is sticking her bows to Kid's head. Behind her, Soul is tearing into his gifts almost as voraciously as Pattie. He stops when he gets to the bright green package that says, "From Maka" on it. He catches his breath because he hasn't really thought this far ahead, and her gift is still sitting under his mattress. He wants to give it to her in private, and doesn't want to deal with the inevitable jeering, regardless of how good-natured it might be.

Maka goes through her own pile of gifts a little more sedately; new gloves from Liz, books from Tsubaki and Kid, hairbands from Pattie, and a signed photo of Black*Star from himself. She nudges through the pile of gifts again and feels her heart sink a little.

"Hey, Soul, whaddya get Maka?" Black*Star voices that dark little thought in the back of her head and she feels Soul tense behind her, his arm clenching around her stomach. Her heart stutters as he shrugs.

"None of your business," he says breezily, and Black*Star guffaws.

"You forgot, didn't you?" Soul doesn't reply, and Maka's heart plummets. She squirms out of Soul's grasp and stands, pasting a big smile on her face.

"Forgot, huh? Well, then I'll just be taking this back," she reaches down and snatches away Soul's gift.

"Hey, wait!" Soul makes a grab for it, but Maka holds it just out of his reach.

"Nope!" Her tone is playful, but Soul isn't fooled. He can read the hurt in the way her hands clutch his gift, in her too bright smile and the pitch of her voice. He wants to stop her, but he thinks of the little velvet box still stuffed under his mattress, and of their friends looking on, and balks again. He shrugs, leaning back in the recliner.

"Fine, whatever." Maka's jaw clenches, and she shoves the gift behind her as she sits on the couch between Tsubaki and Pattie.

"Fine." Tsubaki shoots her a worried look, but Maka just smiles. "Who wants a refill?" It's nothing, she tells herself. It's just a gift, just Christmas. It doesn't really mean anything. What's important is their friends surrounding them, the apartment that's all theirs, their partnership. Gifts and trees are nice, but they're not what really matters. It is not the lack of gift that bothers her, it is his callous dismissal of her that stings so much.

The evening wears on with laughter and an ill-thought out attempt to play Risk. Soul put on the new jazz CD Liz had got him, and Maka's ears seem extra in tune to the thread of music. It reminds her of the Black Room and sets her already frayed nerves on edge. When they wave goodbye to the last of their friends, it's nearly midnight. Maka is exhausted, physically and emotionally.

She locks the door and turns around, coming face to face with her weapon. He looks concerned, a far cry from his earlier aloofness, and Maka glares at him.

"What," she demands. He shrugs, not sure where to begin. Soul knows that's she mad. He doesn't have to have an ounce of soul perception for that; he even knows why, and honestly, he can't actually blame her. He's just not sure if he can fix the damage he didn't mean to make. It's much more awkward than he had thought it would be, but then that's probably the problem. He didn't think.. Maka rolls her eyes and pushes past him.

"Aw, geez," he mumbles, grabbing her by the wrist. Her glare intensifies.

"Let go, Soul."

"No."

"Yes." She wrests her wrist from his grasp and stomps off to the relative safety of the kitchen. Soul trails behind her. "Look, you just can't do this."

"Do what?"

"This. This thing where you act all nice and concerned and, and...affectionate, and then turn right around and act like you don't give a shit! I don't care that you didn't get me anything, but you could, I don't know, tell me before Black*Star the Great Ass says something. Or, or act like you're sorry and you just forgot or, aaaagggh." She hates the fact that she's getting so worked up over something so trivial, but her heart feels like it's on a yo-yo, and Soul keeps messing with the string. On the other side of the counter, Soul's shoulders slump as he sighs. Maka stares as he leaves and goes in his room because he's really just walking away, and she can't quite believe it.

"Asshole," she mutters, and starts working on the dishes from dinner, taking her frustrations out on the casserole dish. She feels his soul before she sees him, feels the way that it tentatively reaches out to hers. "Go away, Soul." She hates that she can't even really sound angry at him.

Soul's hands swim into her field of vision, and gently remove the casserole dish. Maka sighs and turns the faucet off, drying her hands on a nearby dishtowel.

"What," she asks again, arms crossing.

"I'm sorry," he says, and then his face is there, and he's brushing a kiss across her cheek and shoving a small box into her hands. "I didn't forget," he adds, pulling back. For a moment, her hands clench on the velvet box, and Soul's afraid that she's just going to throw it in his face.

"What's this?" He wants to flinch because her voice is quavering between hope and betrayal, and he's the one that caused it.

"What does it look like?" he shoots back before he can stop himself. At her flashing green glare, he wilts. "It's your present. I...I didn't forget it, I just. I dunno. I wanted to give it to you in private." She raises an eyebrow.

"You could have just said that, you know." He's blushing faintly and he knows it. Maka lets out a small sigh, and clutches the box in her hands. "Come on. I'll do the hot chocolate if you get the movie started." Soul smiles slowly.

"I think I can handle that."

When she makes it into the living room, he's already there on the couch, feet propped up and studiously ignoring his gift, still wedged in the couch cushions. Maka sets down the mugs and sits close, but not close enough to touch. She pulls out the little box from where she'd stashed it in her pocket, and digs around behind her for Soul's gift, chucking it into his lap.

"I'm still mad at you," she says, and he nods.

"I know."

"Good." With that, she steels her shoulders and cracks open the box. Maka isn't really sure what she was expecting. She knows that she isn't anticipating the delicate silver bracelet that winks back at her from the box. She thinks maybe she understands his reluctance a little now, even if she doesn't quite forgive it. Next to her, Soul's already got his new headphones on, and he's grinning, sharp-toothed and pleased at her.

"How did you know?" he asks, and Maka scoffs.

"You've had the same pair of headphones since I've known you. They're covered in duct tape. Any idiot could see you needed new ones."

"Yes, but you're the only idiot who bothered to get me new ones. Thank you." She can't help the faint blush that dusts her cheeks at the sincerity in his voice, so she masks it by staring at the damn charm bracelet. "You need help with that?" he asks, hoping that the desperateness he feels doesn't come through.

Mutely, she holds out her right wrist, and Soul scoots in closer, thigh touching thigh. His fingers burn as they brush against her wrist; he fumbles with the catch a little, but it's faint, and he hopes that she doesn't notice. She drops her wrist back down to her lap and breathes out shakily.

"Why?" He doesn't answer for a moment because, "why" covers so much. Why did he wait, why did he freak out, why did he buy the damned thing in the first place; why means answering questions that he's not sure he can answer...at least not in a way that isn't completely incriminating. He shrugs again, staring at the way the bracelet catches the light. He settles on a shrug and,

"I dunno." At her skeptical look, he runs a hand through shock-white hair. "I really don't. Look, I've never gotten anyone something like that before. I just...saw it, and I thought of you, and that's that." She stares at her wrist for a few more moments before letting out one more deep breath.

"Right." She doesn't completely understand him, and she doesn't know if she ever really will. But she finds that maybe that's ok, and maybe she doesn't need to understand why he tends to act like a cool jerk because she maybe knows and understands why he does things like make hot chocolate and watch movies with her and decorate for a holiday that it's taken them years to understand, and that maybe all this worry is just pointless. "Right," she says again, and squares her shoulders, and Soul is terrified for a moment that she's going to punch him or something. Instead, she closes the last few inches between them and presses her lips against his.

It's mostly warm and dry, and it's quick. She pulls away before Soul really has a chance to register what's happening. In the kitchen, the clock ticks over to midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Soul," she says, and he's still staring at her, wide-eyed, throat dry.

"You, ah. Already got me a present," he says, and it's a stupid thing to respond with, but he's more worried that his face is bright red than anything else. She smiles softly and holds up her wrist.

"In light of certain gifts, I thought maybe you deserved a little something extra for the holiday." He smirks back a little, because he is blushing but who the fuck cares because he's been wanting to kiss Maka for years now, and now she's gone ahead and done it herself.

"Do you...do you want to run that by me again?" Her smile lights up her face, and when she leans in this time, he's ready, closing the last inch or so on his own. He's never really kissed anyone before, but he understands the basic principle of the thing, and so he opens his mouth to hers, and she tentatively touches her tongue to his, and Soul's lost, his hand tangling in one pigtail, loosening her hair tie. Maka makes a pleased noise in the back of her throat and scoots closer, one hand fisting into Soul's shirt, the other wrapping around the back of his neck. He nips gently at her lips, his other hand pressed into the small of her back, and suddenly he has a lapful of warm meister. She pulls back a little reluctantly, chest pounding, and Soul follows, red eyes locking onto green as he tugs lightly on her pigtail. Their foreheads thunk together lightly, and for a moment, the apartment is silent but for the sound of their breath.

"Did you get it that time," she finally asks and he smirks again.

"I dunno. I'm kind of dense, you might have to give me my present a few more times." She snorts, but lightly brushes her lips across his again.

"I think that can be arranged." On the TV, Ode to Joy plays as the Nakatomi Plaza explodes again.

This was definitely meant to be finished ages ago, and maybe half this size. Oh well, please enjoy, if belatedly. -Vic