Title: A Pause on their Run from the Law
Author: WallofIllusion
Fandom: Soul Eater (manga canon)
Characters: Stein, Marie, random OC man by the name of Jim
Misc. Notes: Shortly after chapter 40 with spoilers for it. I still have no idea whether or not I ship these two.

Disclaimer: Nope, Atsushi Ohkubo hasn't sold Soul Eater to me, so it's still his.

The uninspiringly named Jim's Diner was some five miles from the nearest road in the middle of the Nevada desert, and it was clearly suffering from this handicap. Its reflective metal surfaces were rusting and several windows were boarded over; the "r" of "Diner" had come loose and was dangling half-heartedly from the sign. It was anything but a tourist spot; therefore it was the perfect place for Franken Stein and Marie Mjolnir to pause in their run from the law and have lunch.

"If they're still open," Stein said, eying the building with some trepidation.

"I think they are. Look, there's a bike in front."

There was. It wasn't in much better shape than the diner.

So Stein pushed open the door, not without caution. "Hello?"

Inside, a radio was playing oldies. There was a stick-thin, stubbled man sitting at one of the tables and reading a newspaper. When the bell above the door tinkled, he looked up in shock.
"H-Hello."

Marie smiled at him, a smile that could warm any heart. "Sorry to intrude. We're looking for lunch—are you still open?"

"Just barely. Haven't gotten a customer in about a week and no hope of selling the place either. I haven't got much stock left, but if you want sandwiches, I can make you some pretty good sandwiches. I'm Jim, by the way."

"Sandwiches would be great," Marie said.

"Well, then, have a seat. Can I start you two off with anything to drink?"

Stein sat down at the long counter along the back wall and Marie followed. Stein said, "Just water with lemon, please."

"Sure thing. And for you, miss?"

"Do you have any fresh coffee?"

Stein's eyes slid over to Marie. With the same comfortable smile, she was looking unwaveringly at Jim.

"Just instant."

"I see. Just water, then."

"Lemon?"

"Please."

The man disappeared into the back, and Stein moved his hand closer to Marie's so that their pinkies barely touched. For a moment, the strain became clearer on her face, but it quickly vanished. "I'm fine." She turned to Stein and smiled sadly. "I promise I won't be this mopey the whole time."

"You're allowed to grieve, Marie."

She inclined her head a little. "We have work to do," she said, and moved her hand away as Jim came back with their waters.

"So what kind of sandwiches you guys want? I got sliced ham, turkey, and roast beef, as well as a chicken breast or two. American cheese, Swiss, provolone, cheddar. Mayonnaise, pesto, butter, peanut butter and jelly if it suits your taste. Lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, banana peppers. But I've only got white bread."

"Why's that?" Marie asked, playing along.

"Personally I can't stand any other kind."

So they ordered two sandwiches each, at Marie's suggestion that they take something with them for dinner. Stein wouldn't have said that—it seemed imprudent—but Jim didn't seem suspicious of it.

"You two on a trip or something?"

"Yes," Stein said, mentally confirming or something. He wondered if he should give Jim a friendly smile, but decided against it; he hadn't smiled sane in a few weeks and didn't trust himself to manage a proper one.

"We're off to California," Marie offered.

Jim nodded in acknowledgment. "Nice place."

There was a moment of awkward silence during which Stein's gaze fell on the ashtray a few feet away, lingered, and moved on.

"I'll go make those sandwiches, then," Jim said.

They hadn't really set their destination for California, but Stein supposed it was as good a place as any to get lost. For now, they needed to lie low and think, theorize. Stein touched the thick concealer on his face. It would have to be reapplied soon, probably before they left the diner. He was using it to hide his scar, just as the oversized hood of his cloak was keeping his screw from sight. He was in hiding, after all—though in the papers he'd seen thus far, there were no mentions of his name. Perhaps that was Lord Death's doing. That would be… heartwarming, in an abstract way. Stein had always found the state of being trusted to be an odd one.

"Stein?" Marie's voice broke through his thoughts. "How're you doing?"

Before answering, Stein reached up to give his screw a twist, but his hand encountered the hood first. He looked towards the door to the kitchen and then dropped his hand. "I'm fine," he said. "There's no need to worry about me." It wasn't any less true than it ever was.

Marie's voice dropped even lower. "Stein, you were accused of murder last night."

Stein didn't respond, instead nodding towards the kitchen. Jim was returning with their sandwiches. Marie glanced once more at Stein before repairing her smile.

"Looks delicious," she said.

"Hope so." Jim placed a plate in front of each of them. "So what're you going to California for?"

"Change of pace," Marie said easily.

Jim nodded. "Makes sense. I guess we could all use one of those these days."

What with the state of the world, whispered a voice into his ear, sounding pleased. Painted fingernails trailed lightly across the tension in his shoulders. Things are quite a mess, aren't they? All because you couldn't stop me. But then again, you never really wanted to, did you, Stein?

He inhaled, counted to five, and exhaled again. She disappeared, though his tension remained.

Jim was staring at him. "Hey, you okay?"

"Stein?" Marie breathed.

"I'm fine," he said, avoiding their eyes. "Sorry. I'm pretty tired."

"We started out in the middle of the night," Marie explained for Jim's benefit. Sometime very soon she was going to have to be told not to offer unasked-for information.

They both started their sandwiches and offered the necessary (and deserved) compliments; when the conversation didn't really go anywhere after that, Jim muttered something about tidying up and retreated to the back again.

Stein tried, for a moment, to ignore the fact that Marie was watching him as he ate, but eventually he gave up. He put his sandwich down and looked at her. "What?"

"I don't think you're as okay as you say you are."

He shrugged. "I'm functional. More so than I have been in a week."

"But—"

"But I was accused of murder last night, but I've been chased out of my home, but I'm now on the run from the law, which is something I've been afraid of for years and years. How do you want me to react? Have a mental breakdown? Rage against the inhumanity of it? We have work to do." He tossed her words back to her, casually, only realizing when she abruptly turned her gaze to her sandwich that his irony might have sounded cruel. So he looked back at his own plate and sighed. "I'm not angry at anyone for this. I'm tired and I'm overwhelmed and I'd like to go back to my lab and have a few days to myself as I recover my sanity, but that isn't an option because someone realized that I was the most logical candidate around to frame for murder."

"Not logical—" Marie tried to protest, but fell silent at Stein's sharp glare.

"Insane with a latent tendency for cutting people up. Completely logical."

Marie gave a frustrated sigh and looked away again. Stein said, "If you're going to put on a brave face and pretend you're fine, you can hardly be angry when I do the same."

"I'm not prete—" she started to lie, and then realized how obviously false her words were and shook her head to dismiss them. Stein smiled dryly.

"Of course you are. Because it's what we need to do right now. When it's really too much for you or I start to lose myself, we'll be here for each other, but for the most part we'll lie to ourselves. It's easier that way."

Marie nodded ruefully, and they ate in silence. When Stein finished his sandwich, he excused himself to the bathroom to reapply the concealer and to give his screw a few good cranks.

His thoughts were surprisingly docile. He wondered, as he slathered the beige paste over his scar, if Spirit had known how this would give him something practical to do rather than sitting at home and imagining horrible fates for whomever had framed him and letting rage keep him a little crazier than was okay. He probably had. There had been something in his eyes—a type of shame, a cold I'm sorry for foisting this on you but we need you to do it—and Stein had felt numb, tired resignation grow over his resentment like mold. Things were simple when he was told what to do.

He pulled his hair back to check that he'd covered the whole scar, and then he tried to smile without looking so tired and/or insane. It wasn't a bad attempt. Probably wouldn't scare anyone too horribly. He pulled the hood back over his head with a faint sigh and left the bathroom.

At the counter, Marie was chatting light-heartedly with Jim once more. She turned towards him when she heard the door open and sent him a warm smile, so much more practiced than his own.

"Ready to go?"

"Whenever you are."

So they paid and thanked Jim again and wished him luck with selling the restaurant or finding something to do with it, and he wished them a nice visit to California and asked them to stop by if they took the same route on their way back. They said of course they would, which was probably false. And then they left the failing diner behind them and returned to their run from the law which, as Stein had said, was not all that difficult to handle as long as they lied and told themselves that they were fine.