A/N: AKA Disco Soul. This is my entry for the Soul Eater Chopped competition run by Rogha on tumblr: The Austin Powers: Goldmember AU that nobody asked for but you're getting anyway. I'll come back and post the basket items I was writing under after judging takes place next week. Enjoy!

Maka Albarn, International Woman of Mystery, is getting real tired of this shit.

Adjusting a colorful fur coat around her petite frame, she squares her shoulders and marches into Studio Black Room in the year 1975, flourishing her pimp cane for good measure. Earth, Wind, and Fire's Shining Star assaults her eardrums the moment she's through the club's double doors, and she wonders again why Medusa had conscripted someone from the past to use in her current evil plot. It was enough of a pain in the ass getting the Shibusen unit in the Ministry of Defense to find a friendly witch who'd send her back in time (Kim is going to laugh all the way to the bank for how much it cost them), but what really pisses her off is the reason for this entire expedition: her irresponsible, disappearing father.

She almost trips in her "era-appropriate" platform shoes (never again is she letting Black*Star dress her for a mission), but she quickly rights herself and makes a beeline for the bar. Someone around here must have more information on her stupid missing papa and this Giriko person who's supposedly responsible.

She just manages to grab a seat when the bar lights dim and a spotlight bursts onstage in time to a husky chorus of three male singers. Her mouth falls open when she gets a good look at the man center stage. Please, for her sanity on this mission, anyone but him.

Soul Evans swings his hips in time to the disco beat, clapping his hands and shimmying together with his backup singers in what is clearly a synchronized performance. Maka openly gapes at his outfit, a skull-patterned polyester shirt unbuttoned to his navel and obscenely large bellbottoms that partially cover glittery, golden platform shoes he seems to be far more comfortable in than she is. The cherry on top is his tight, ivory afro also sported by the backup singers that gives Maka an impression of singing dandelions.

She forgot how much she hates the '70s.

Still crooning and rolling his fists to the music, he meets her gaze, eyes widening in recognition. He's able to incorporate a few head jerks into his routine in what Maka assumes is the direction he wants to meet her after his set, now that they've seen each other. This will not be pleasant.

"He's got the golden chains, you'll feel the pain," Soul sings with a healthy hip roll and a cheeky wink to the audience. "Good evening, everybody," he continues, now speaking. "And welcome to Studio Black Room. Here's the man you've all been waiting for: Giriko!"

Doors on the upper floor burst open as Giriko roller skates through them, followed by a fleet of busty, golden-bikini'd dancers. It looks like he's doing a victory lap as he skates and dances his way through the crowd, stopping only to slap the asses of a line of roller skating women passing by. The crowd howls in approval at this misogynistic display and it takes every ounce of control Maka has not to march up and castrate him, undercover or not.

Instead, she takes the first of many deep, calming breaths that night and reminds herself she needs him alive to find her father. Soul's set is finishing up anyway, so she wends her way through bellbottoms and exposed midriffs to sit on a poofy bean bag chair behind him, hoping he remembers how to speak when they're both undercover.

She should have known better.

"Well, if it isn't 'Mika Albat.' Long time, no see. Or maybe you go by Akam now? Maak, Maker, Makat, Makur, Makala? Still no? What about Marika, Mukla, Kama, Kaam? Or my personal favorite, Makunt-"

She silences him with a backwards elbow to the ribs. "Hush," she hisses. "We're undercover; don't start spouting off every alias I've ever used!"

He rounds on her, bean bag chair squeaking pathetically. "Eight years and no phone call?" he spits, eyes ruby slits as they hold hers. "Where have you been?"

Maka sighs and begins, "Listen, Soul, I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Bullshit," he interrupts. "We have one night together and suddenly Maka Albarn falls off the face of the Earth? Suddenly I need a new partner? Suddenly that partner dies and all fingers point to Giriko?" He breaks off then, clenching his teeth and staring at the floor. His voice and eyes are soft, though, when he raises them again. "That was the only time I was glad you weren't my partner anymore."

Maka opens and closes her mouth, lost for words. She finally decides on honesty. "I missed you, too. But back then, it was too much for me. I was scared of how easily you got under my skin and how simple it was to trust you. I'm a world-renowned spy; I can't have weak links, and you were mine. I thought a clean cut would be best."

Soul stares at her. "A clean cut," he repeats, as if trying out the words. A strangled wheeze escapes him while he chuckles, slightly deranged, "Maka, I don't think you understand the difference between love and weakness. We've always been unstoppable together, and whatever we were headed towards wouldn't change that."

"But if something had happened to you, I would have been compromised," she counters. "You were important to me."

"Were?" He's never been able to hide his feelings, and Maka can see hurt, regret, and resignation flicker across his face in turn. She feels his pain echo in her soul when he meets her gaze, the electricity that's always existed between them sparking and prompting her to grab his hand. "Are," she whispers. Realizing their surroundings, she throws his hand back at him like it was burning, willing away the residual tingles from his touch. "Now is not the time for this. I'm here to rescue my good-for-nothing papa."

He blinks. "Your old man's here?"

"Yes. I captured Medusa earlier and she revealed that Giriko is behind the kidnapping. She time-traveled to use him for her own evil gains and-"

"Time travel? Medusa?" Soul is thoroughly confused, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in a gesture so heartbreakingly familiar that Maka is momentarily speechless.

This is exactly what she was afraid of. After a hearty mental slap, Maka replies, "Yes, well, there's a lot of messed up shit in the future that I don't have time to explain right now. Giriko is right there and I have a job to do." She starts to stand, needing to get away from Soul so she can focus properly, but of course he won't let her. He's always known when she needed backup, regardless of whether or not she wanted it.

"Wait, I'm coming too. I've been staking out Giriko for weeks with this singer cover and he's not someone you want to go in blind against." He hesitates, then continues, hope painting his eyes like a sunrise before a storm. "It'll be like old times."

Maka hates how quickly she gives in. Telling herself it's just more practical to have backup, she sighs, "Fine. What have you learned so far? Do you know where my papa might be kept?"

Soul thinks for a moment, absentmindedly patting his afro into place. "I did notice a secret panel in one of the storerooms the other day. Haven't been through yet, though. Might be worth it to investigate."

"Okay, great. I have to check in with Kid and Black*Star first; they threw some gadgets at me before I left but I didn't get the rundown."

"Check in? How? The nearest phone booth isn't for a couple blocks."

Maka smiles. "I didn't get all the details from Kim, but through witchcraft and special magic I'm still able to use my modern tech here. Hold on, I'll patch us in."

"Wait, let's go somewhere a little more private. Don't want to be overheard."

Maka frowns, mentally cursing herself for letting Soul unbalance her enough to make such a rookie mistake. "Right. Lead the way."

Soul grabs her hand and Maka has just enough time to dread how easily they're falling back into their old rhythm before she's being tugged through a beaded doorway into a small lounge. "This should be good," he mumbles to himself, grip tightening around her hand like he used to when he was unsure about his decisions. She pulls away at the heightened contact; this is getting out of control and she has to regain it. "Here is fine. Let me call them."

She flips the top of her cane open to reveal a hidden hole with an earpiece nestled inside. Pulling a mic from her fur coat, she screws it in and pops the pseudo-headset into her ear. "Kid, Black*Star, do you copy? Codename Angel checking in."

Soul gives her a strange look. "You made that your codename?"

She will not blush she will not blush. "I liked the imagery. Historical angels were brutal, you know?"

He's still looking at her with a mix of bafflement and wonder when Kid's tinny voice crackles in her ear. "Codename Angel, we read you loud and clear. Status update?"

"Yes, Giriko's presence is confirmed; he looks like a piece of work. I ah," she glances at Soul, who's looking curiously at the headset, "met up with an old friend who's going to be helping on the case. We need to know what toys you gave me this time."

She nearly loses hearing in her right ear as Black*Star hollers, "OLD FRIEND?! Is this that Soul we've heard about? Put him on, I wanna have a bro-to-bro!"

"No, Star, we have a job to do!"

"Someone wanted to talk to me?" Soul asks helpfully, appearing over her shoulder to lean his head closer to the earpiece. Maka swallows; she's farther gone than she thought if his mere proximity sends her pulse through the roof. She remembers why she ran that morning so many years ago; he's the only man who's ever ignited her blood with a touch and made her shudder from a glance. The silhouette of her mother's back they day she left flashes through Maka's mind, the most obvious example of why a relationship between two agents is doomed to fail.

"YES, hello recruit." Black*Star's loud voice brings her back to the present (or the past, technically) and she focuses on listening to what he's telling Soul. She regrets it almost immediately. "So, you're gonna be working with Maks, eh? What do you think? Want to stick her with your spunktrumpet?"

Soul's mouth opens and closes like Pacman with a powerup. "Excuse me?"

"Push your beef slinky down her slippery staircase? Use your gigantic meaty shaft in her hotdog hallway? Summon the cockness monster in her lower loch? Smack your mighty man noodle into her love taco? Yanno, have her ride your baloney pony? Can you even envision what I'm layin' on ya, bro?"

"At least give him a second to get a word in edgewise," Maka groans, overwhelmed. This has transcended ridiculous and entered into the absurd. "Black*Star, what on Earth-"

She's cut off by Soul, who angrily yanks the earpiece from her ear and shoves it in his own. "Hey, Bull*Shit or whatever the fuck your name is, let me be clear: I've worked with Maka for years, probably before you were even born, and I won't just stand here and listen to you disrespect her by thinking she'd ever take that shit from anyone, let alone me. Do you know how many times she's saved my ass, both in and out of missions? Do you know I took a magazine of bullets for her and almost died and I'd do it again a million times over because she's Maka and we're partners and that means being willing to lose our lives for each other? Don't you fucking dare reduce our relationship to just sexual attraction." He's panting, red-faced, and Maka can only stare with her mouth half-open while she processes the most she's ever heard from him at one time. She refuses to acknowledge the subtext screaming at her from that tirade; they're over, it's done, and it's time to move forward with this mission.

Black*Star's loud guffaws crackle through the earpiece. "All right, all right, calm down bud. You pass - I was just makin' sure my favorite 'lil agent isn't gonna be banging some creep."

Soul bristles again. "Who thinks we're gonna...do that?"

Maka can hear Black*Star's snort from the respectable eight inches she's left between their heads to listen in. "Dude, did you hear yourself? You mentioned just sexual attraction, as in 'yeah that's there but it isn't the main reason I wanna bump uglies.' You are so into her, my man."

Soul is doing that Pacman mouth thing again and Maka's pretty certain the color in his cheeks is no longer just due to anger. Stalling for time so everyone can calm the fuck down, Maka asks, "But did you have to use such vulgar euphemisms, Star? 'Boloney pony?' Really?"

They can hear the shrug in his voice as he cryptically replies, "I don't make the rules." Maka and Soul share a puzzled glance before the absurdity of the last ten minutes catches up to her and she has to swallow a strangled groan. She is going to push Kid for the biggest vacation package the Ministry's ever seen when she gets back to the present.

Kid's voice can be heard through the earpiece now, annoyed. "Can we actually get down to business or must you three blather on for another hour while Spirit gets tortured or worse?"

"Aw, c'mon Kiddo. Did all the talk of love muscles make you feel left out? Because we can pick up right where we left off anytime-"

There's a moment of static as Kid cuts the line to undoubtedly shove Black*Star into a soundproof box or whatever his time-out corner is these days. "Anyway, let's talk gadgets," he coughs when he returns. "You've been outfitted with an array of the latest and greatest from Shibusen, including a grappling hook inside of your cane, sleeping gas "gum," plastic explosive "toothpaste," and your favorite scythe-style close combat blade. Oh, and also a small laser, but my father told me about the time you put it on Soul's head and for the love of all that is holy, please don't do that again."

Maka laughs. "Calm down Kid, it was just for the staff Halloween party. Sharks with laser beams attached to their heads are hilarious."

"Yes, well, accidentally scalping your partner isn't. I assume you are going to be partners again? My father spoke quite highly of your teamwork back in his day, if I may say so."

"You may not," she begins at the same time Soul remarks, "We are a great team." They stare at each other in the following silence, neither wanting to back down by blinking first. Has that softness always been there when he looked at her? Or that longing, hidden behind carmine layers of practiced disinterest? This is getting too intimate for her taste; it's over, Albarn. Focus.

"Thanks again for the rundown, Kid. Angel out." She cuts the line before he can summon more ghosts from their past and returns the communication equipment to their respective hiding places in her clothes. Turning back to Soul, she asks, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"The alternative is leaving you to take on a known killer by yourself. I know you're capable, but I have intel that leads me to believe Giriko's not as simple as he looks." He pauses, and Maka curses those damn expressive eyes when he continues, "Besides, I'd rather not have to wait another eight years to see you again. I'll follow you wherever and whenever you go."

Damn him and his undying loyalty. "All right. But we're just teaming up for this mission; I can't make any promises about the future."

Soul flashes her a crooked smile and replies, "Well, it's a good thing you're in the past then, huh?"

Forget a vacation package; she's going to grill Kid for an entire fucking island when she's done with this. "Okay Mr. Groovy, shimmy your way into this storeroom so we can find my papa and everyone can go home."

Tugging his shirt lower so it shows more of his stomach, he swivels his hips and struts to the doorway, platform shoes glittering in the club lighting. Trademark smirk painted across his face, he purrs, "Oh yeah, I forgot to mention: the storerooms are only accessible through a door off of the main dance floor, where they're having a disco dance-off tonight. I hope you remember our routine, partner."

Color drains from Maka's face as she imagines herself bumping hips and finger pointing to That's the Way I Like It with Soul in a roomful of swingers.

He takes pity on her when he notices her expression. "Let's go with our tried-and-true approach: I lead on the dance floor, and you lead on the battlefield. Deal?"

Maka sighs and wobbles to meet him at the door, still not used to these damn shoes. "Deal. But we're getting off the dance floor the moment we can, got it?"

He holds out his hand, an invitation and a promise. "Got it."