"I don't understand." Maka's head is spinning with nausea. "Why the hell would someone deliberately cut the chains?" she asks as she holds tight to the door frame, trying to breathe through her nose so she doesn't pass out.

"Beats me." Mifune pulls a toothpick from the netting of his cover to chew on thoughtfully. "If you're going to sabotage a ship- there are better ways." His eyes are stormy gray as he looks over the sheared metal link.

He's right, Maka thinks. "Unless-" oh no no no, "Unless they weren't trying to take out the ship," she says.

"You mean, targeting the Flying Squad?" he asks picking up on her logic quickly.

A shiver of goosebumps rocks her. She's gripping the steel frame for all she's worth, and she will not nod. "Yes, but if that's the case, a fire would've been better," she says. His features are starting to swim in her field of vision.

Chief Mifune is now scrutinizing her face, the suspicion replaced by concern. "Lieutenant, you need to see Medical."

"I'm fine," Maka grits out through her clenched jaw. She's caught Soul in the corner of her eye approaching, there isn't much time. She slips the cut link into her pocket. "I need to go see doc about a band-aid. Will you look into this while I'm at Medical?" He nods, face grim. "And Chief- don't breathe a word about this to anyone until we've talked."

"Understood." He pulls a clean bandana out of his pocket, indicating her forehead and raises it to the gash. "Keep pressure on it. You're bleeding pretty bad-" She winces as he presses it to her head gently, replacing his hand with hers. "Maka- let me help you to medical before I start this-"

Shaking her head is a mistake, Maka sways but Soul has reached them. "I'll take her, Chief," he says, a firm hand on her shoulder keeping her steady. "I'll make sure you make it there in one piece," he says to her, searching her face.

Mifune stiffens, glancing somewhere out over the dark horizon before turning back. Maka's pulse is throbbing in her fingertips as she keeps the pressure but she gives Mifune a steady look. "I need you to finish that write-up before this turns cold. I'll be fine."

The older man looks from Soul's hand on her shoulder then back to her face before he nods. "Aye, aye, ma'am."

They aren't even over the lip of the door when Soul asks, "Before what turns cold?"

Maka hangs onto the latch, trying to offset the swells still hitting the ship and the fog that's lapping at the edges of her consciousness. "The scene- standard procedure." She's starting to see double and blinking tightly is no longer helping. "I need to get to Medical."

"Want me to- I could carry you?" he offers softly. Something about his tone doesn't jive with an idea she can put a finger on. A more active part of her brain notes he hasn't removed the hand from her shoulder and that's good as long as she can keep the other shoulder firmly planted on the passageway bulkhead, she'll make it.

"No," she huffs, pushing forward. "Just don't move your hand."

"Maka-"

"Zip it. I'm concentrating," Maka hisses, moving at the speed of a dying motorized power chair down the darkened passageway. The one saving grace is that it's after taps, so the only crew up are those on duty. Everyone else should be asleep in their racks. No one around to witness her mortal weakness- except Soul- but somehow she thinks he won't hold it against her.

Everything's fine until she reaches the stairs that lead up to Medical. Well, shit, she thinks. It was a nice life. At any rate, she lifts her boot only to nearly crash to the deck face first. Soul's vice-like hands around her waist are what stop her. "Thanks," she wheezes.

"Maka- I'm picking you up," he informs her. She's not about to argue. When is the last time she was carried in a man's arms? Maka wonders trying to fight the fog- it was probably Papa after Mama told them she was leaving. After that, she's never let anyone get that close.

His mouth hasn't lost that frown, and she's fading fast, and why does he smell so good…


Could he have shoved her out of the way any less brutally? He's a sack of shit. The jagged cut on her temple doesn't let him forget the sickening way she'd hit the railing. She looks so small. He knows she isn't fragile, but she hasn't opened her eyes yet as much as he's been willing them. When her eyes flutter open, black lashes blinking flashes of green, his lungs finally expand.

"Ungh," she moans. "What happened?"

"You passed out," he says, but he's grateful he stopped her from smashing face first into the stairs. "Are you always this much trouble, DCA?"

"No- you're lying," she says, trying to escape the examination table.

"I'm not- Maka, don't move. I'll pin you if I have to- so don't make me," he says, while green eyes prod his for weak points. Whatever she sees reflected on his face makes her stay put. "Look, you'd be a tripping hazard if I'd left you on the stairs," he says, but the relief of her waking takes any hardness from his tone.

God, carrying her is an added wrench in his gut he doesn't need- her sheer will only offset by the vulnerability of not being able to do it herself. Starinsky's words come back to him from before the night went to hell. He doesn't want to wonder how close two people who'd gone through ROTC together can be and who is Kid ?

Soul stuffs those questions into the black room- something else isn't adding up.

Maka and Mifune had that serious conversation, and what had she slipped into her pocket? It would seem, whatever it is, the lieutenant and chief were keen to not let anyone find out. And, if the hospital corpsman hadn't come in when she did, Soul would know as well- Damnit.

The door to the exam room bursts open as a very worried Liz storms in. "Jesus, Maka! How many times do I have to tell you to duck?"

"Good to see you too- mom," Maka grumbles. "I feel great- can I go now?"

"Listen, Linda- zip it!" Liz says, looking down at her friend. Ah, so that's where she gets it, Soul thinks- "What happened?" Liz turns steel blue on him.

Maka rolls her eyes before she tries to get up, only for both Liz and Soul to each place a hand on her shoulders. "Stay put, or I'll give you a shot of Seconal to knock you out," Liz threatens her.

Soul swallows his chuckle at Maka's pouting lip and frowny, "Yes 'am."

"Cliff notes version: I shoved her out of the way of a runaway forklift straight into the safety rail. She made it to the stairs before nearly face planting-" He looks up to explain to Liz "-she passed out."

"Did not!" Maka retorts angrily, but both he and Liz give her the same skeptical look at the same time. Her pale cheeks burn bright and his breath catches at the sight of those back-lit freckles. He hopes Maka's muttered "Sorry" is enough to mask his faux pas.

"Uh, how can I help?" He turns to Liz so he doesn't wind up staring at Maka like some love drunk idiot.

"Yeah- no," she says, cocking her head towards the exam door. "You need to go see my department head, she's waiting in the next room to examine your hand."

The reminder that his hand is in bad shape makes Soul look down. He'd forgotten all about it until just then. "Uh- I can stay," he says, feeling painfully obvious.

"Go," Liz insists as she starts swabbing a sterile pad around Maka's temple. "She'll be fine."

"No. Wait- wait!" Soul turns back to Maka. That catch in her voice makes the G crescendo into a power chord. "Where's my ball cap?" she asks, and the sound fizzles into a shitty recorder screech.

Is she serious? He resists the urge to facepalm but only just. He's worried about her because he'd caused her to split her head open but of course it'd make sense she's worried about the damned hat. Soul bites back his scowl as he snatches it off the chair next to the table and thrusts it at her- but she doesn't take it.

Blood still rushing in his head, he looks down as the sun parts the clouds- Maka is smiling at him. A gorgeous smile that radiates straight from her soul and through her eyes- a ray of pure unfiltered sunlight that shines all the way into the black room of his soul and lights it on fire. "It's yours, Hollywood- you earned it."

"Hnnn," he scoffs. Face twitching from the emotional whiplash, but it morphs into an honest grin. Somehow, Soul manages to turn and exit the room, clutching the stupid scrap of scarlet like it's Ariadne's String.

The automatic closer snaps the door shut. He's an idiot. This whole time, he's known- He's known Maka is incapable of running drugs and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt she'd never turn a blind eye to it- and it's about time he starts acting like it.

He's about to walk away when he feels the full force of Maka's wrath through the steel door. "Shut your face, Doc! Just stitch up my head- I've got work to do!" Soul has to bite down on the knuckles of his good hand.

/

Soul is standing outside of his door doing an awkward body hug as his good hand fishes out the key to his stateroom from his right pocket. His gaze goes automatically to Maka's door before he puts her out of his mind and shoulders his way into his room. He drops his keys onto his desk as he stares at the ball cap she's given him.

Her hat.

Her cover.

Soul fingers along the scarlet edge. It still has her officers emblem, a gold eagle brandishing a silver shield, pinned below the name of the ship. He resists the temptation to don it simply because it's hers. He nearly succumbs.

Wouldn't Dad be hootin' and hollering if he could see him now?

He chucks Maka's hat into his rack, wishing he could rid himself of what it represents just as easily. Bale is wrong- Maka loves the sea it's true, but she isn't like his father. Not that it's any of his business to prove it, it isn't, he knows that. It's just ironic that the first person he feels this way about is tied so strongly to a lifestyle he can't reconcile with- This isn't the time and place. He has a mission to focus on.

And, it starts with figuring out what the fuck took place tonight.

There's a bad feeling in his gut that says the forklifts had a helping hand. And something about Maka's private conversation with her Chief didn't do much to put that bad feeling to rest. If anything, his skin feels like it's crawling.

But whose helping hand? Bale's? … Starinsky's?

And why- why now? Soul crosses over to the trash can located under the sink to unwrap a few layers of gauze. It's apparent Lieutenant Nygus takes her job- care for a film star- very seriously. As he drops the unnecessary gauze into the trash, the hair on the back of his neck raises and his blood goes cold.

Someone's been through his trash- shit!

He shoots up, back ramrod straight before he spins to the door. There's a void in his head, no sound computes as he strains to hear something, anything- but what? There is no sound save for the hum of the ventilation system.

His gut and all of his senses are on red alert.

Quietly, carefully, Soul crawls across his compartment to where the safe is located behind the temporary desk- fuck fuck fuck.

The number on the dial is set to four and a half when he'd left it on four. It's sinking confirmation that someone has scoured his room. Someone had gone through his trash and then tampered with the safe.

Soul quickly turns the dial a number of times going through the code and popping the hatch. Chest compressed air comes out in a whoosh as he confirms everything inside is in its rightful place down to the piece of lint he'd left on the top.

Even if his cover survived this attempt, he can no longer afford to take a chance. He slips the entire contents of the safe back into his boots. After resetting the lock, he turns to do a systematic search of his quarters. The suspicion, now confirmed beyond any doubt.

Whoever went through his room took their sweet time as evidenced by each item being returned to its nearly perfect position.

The worst of it is- even if he tests for prints, he knows he isn't going to find any- whoever planned this wasn't going to be stupid enough to forget gloves. That detail focuses him on the element of time- fuck- whoever had done this knew they had it. Plenty of it.

He doesn't want to think of who's on that list- Lieutenant Starinsky had time.

Soul's eyes dart up to the cap on his rack and then move past it, to the mutilated corpse Starinsky had dumped on him- he'd been the one to suggest meeting Maka in the wardroom.

Yep, Starinsky would have had the opportunity. And if the guy factored in a time delay, he is a suspect. Or… Soul is pissed the guy dumped the dummy corpse on him instead of inviting him to the NSF like he'd assumed he would. Is it the missed opportunity that's burning him or the fact he's just learned Starinsky went to school with Maka? The note trembles in his head as he wars with his demon.

The sound of voices register. Maka has returned with Liz. "I mean it," says the former. "Maka, you're not allowed to stand watch tonight."

"How many times do I have to say it, Liz. I feel fine- might feel better if there was less pain," Maka says.

"You know I can't give you anything because it could mask latent bleeding or swelling." Liz sounds frustrated. "And then again, even if I gave you painkillers, you're not legally allowed to operate heavy machinery- I'm pretty sure a ship falls under that category, babe."

Maka's retort, whatever it is, is cut off by the shutting door. It doesn't take much imagination to think of her response.

Still though, she's back. The anxiety he's holding in his chest drops to his stomach. He hates the idea of pressing Maka this soon after everything she's been through tonight, but he has to. There's too much at stake. If he waits she might forget something crucial. Broaching the subject of Starinsky isn't going to be fun or easy.

Soul exits his stateroom to take the step to hers.

He's staring at her door, waiting, before he takes a deep breath and raps on the metal with the knuckles of his good hand. Because he has no idea if the relationship he's just become aware of between her and Starinsky is going to work in his favor or against it.


Maka looks from Liz then back to the door of her stateroom at the sudden rapping from the passageway- Chief Mifune?

She's in a pickle because as much as she'd like to confide in Liz, she needs to speak to Mifune alone. "Hey, I'm pretty tired," she says with a stretch, and she's not really surprised when the yawn is, in fact, real. "I think I'm going to hit the rack."

Liz is already walking towards the door. "Yeah, that's probably for the best. Just, sleep on your back- 'kay? I don't want to have to redo my sewing in the morning," she says as she yanks open the door to reveal Soul. "Huh, somehow, I'm not surprised."

Well, shit! She needs to talk to Mifune- not Soul. "Uh, hey Hollywood- how's the hand?" Maka smiles at his awkward hand raise and immediately has to bite back her wince.

"Okay. Your head?" he asks.

"Fine," she lies through her teeth.

It's the way he emotes concern through those smoky red eyes that leads her to vaguely understand why women throw themselves into men's arms. But, that's not who she is. And yet- it's hard to not want to delve deeper, because it's the same look he'd worn on deck.

"That can't feel good," he says, quietly.

An unbidden bubble of laughter escapes her, "Yeah, I've had better."

"Excuse me, Soul," says Liz, trying to do that awkward dance with him so she can exit the room. "I was just leaving. Maka, I'll be checking in on you in an hour or so."

"Actually, I was going to offer to keep you company," he says, looking at Maka. "Maybe take first watch." He directs at Liz

"I, ah-"

"That's a great idea!" Liz cuts off her protest, evil smirk coloring her face. "That would give me peace of mind- please call me immediately if you can't see the whites of her eyes or if she doesn't respond when you call her name."

"Yes ma'am," he says, meekly.

With that Liz turns to leave, shooting Maka a brilliant cheshire grin while Soul is left standing awkwardly in Maka's doorway.

"Well-" Maka glowers now that her plans to murder Liz for being a meddling piece of shit have been foiled "-You may as well come in."

The door shuts behind him with a metallic click and she now has to contend with the memories of the last time he was in her room, alone. "You don't like not being in control," he says, with a small grin.

"What gave me away?" Maka frowns then instantly regrets it.

His concern clouds his face again. "It's bad isn't it?"

Maka isn't sure which is worse, the pain in her head or the pain in her chest caused by those soft red eyes. She turns away from him, admitting, "Yeah." Her left hand snakes up to her shoulder to try and work out the knot that's been tightening ever since Mifune showed her those links.

His voice is velvet in her ears as he comes up behind her. "I could do that, if you'd like?" he offers, but still gives her enough space so she can refuse him.

She has a mind to, but instead her arms slump to her side as she says, "Okay."

Maka bites back the moan that threatens to escape her as he starts working out the same knot she hasn't had any luck getting rid of. Fights the urge to sink back into him. It's dangerous, the tension leaving her body, and she knows it's because it's his touch. All of her senses are on alert, coiled tight and yet relaxing. It's almost as if he's black magic itself.

It hits her how isolated she's become from human contact. Even though she can feel his breath warm against her neck, the way he's working at the muscle is almost mechanical, comforting but mechanical. There's nothing sexual in the touch and it dawns on her, that that's what she wants. She wants to turn in his arms and claim his mouth.

Jeezus, did her parents' broken relationship leave her this starved for emotional intimacy and affection? So afraid to trust men- hell, anyone?

"So, you went to school with Starinsky?" he asks, dousing her with a much needed cold shower in the form of Benji.

"Yeah," she says tensing, trying to decide why she's so defensive about such a benign question. Part of her wants to pull away from him and she makes a feeble attempt but she's in his arms and something about the way he ends up rubbing his chin on her head cools some of her heat. "I went to school with a lot of guys, the Navy is sort of funny that way. First in Austin, and then I met a whole other set when I transferred back to San Diego for my senior year."

He hums as his hands cup her shoulders, his thumbs still working at the stress knots. "Why did you transfer?" he asks quietly, on the uninjured side of her temple.

Maka slumps a little. "My papa had a heart attack, so I returned to be closer to home," she says simply. "He's fine now, listened to the warnings- quit smoking and... changed it up." What she doesn't say is that the changes came around too little too late. Mama was always going to put her career before others. But, thankfully Soul doesn't seem to notice.

"Who's Kid?"

"A guy I know," she tells him, but it's not entirely clear to her why he's asking about him.

"Was the necklace a gift from him?" he asks, and she's thoroughly confused now.

"What? No, it was a commissioning gift from my parents." The confusion feels like a different sort of fog in her already foggy consciousness. Why would he be wondering if it's a gift from Kid? It makes no sense.

All she wants to do is lose herself to Soul's hands, and possibly turn around to see if that kiss really was as good as she remembers- it can't be. And if she does, where is that going to land her? In a legal mess, that's where-

The phone rings then, cutting through the thickening fog like the warning beacon from a lighthouse, giving her the will to move away from those magical hands. "Hello?" Maka frowns at the huskiness in her voice.

"DCA?" Even Mifune picked up on the strangeness, shit.

Maybe turning away from Soul will help clear her mind. "What's up, Chief?"

He launches into his findings. "From what I discovered, three of the four links were cut straight through on one side. The remaining chain was left whole- it'd buy time."

Shit! Maka cups a hand around the receiver to whisper, "How much?"

"In that storm- not a lot. Maybe a half hour, hour tops-" he pauses "-You have someone listening in?" he asks, accurately interpreting her whisper.

Maka tries to adjust her voice to normal phone speak. "I understand- who do you want to take the watch?" It sounds wooden to her ears, but it's all she can come up with on the spot.

"Hmm, I see. I have no idea who could've done it. I don't have any leads, but I'm not done asking around, either," he says, voice grim.

"Well, wake him gently," Maka says, forcing a laugh, temple stinging a little from the effort. "You know how he gets."

"Understood," he says, quietly and then adds. "How's your head?"

Her fingers go to her temple automatically. "Ah, fine." It does feel better.

"Good." He has a way of saying the word that has always been a soothing balm to Maka. "I'll call if I uncover anything else tonight. If not, I'll see you at quarters in the morning."

"Okay, thanks Chief," she says, replacing the phone back on the receiver.

/

Soul is studying Maka carefully, but he's relieved to see that the massage has helped. She isn't favoring the eye below the cut anymore.

That jagged cut- god help the culprit when he figures out who's behind this. Because they're going to pay. But before that can happen, he needs to confirm his gut is correct.

Who better to help him than the woman who has the pulse of the ship under her thumb? "So- are you going to tell me what happened tonight?"

He's watching her closely, that green can be so expressive- and the answer is there, the minute she deliberately misconstrues his question. "That? Oh, a sailor missed watch, Chief Mifune needed to ah run it by me."

"Really?" Soul crosses his arms. "Tonight." She's getting there.

"Yes, he was supposed to be on watch already," she says, a tad on the defensive. Still though, she unhooks her keys from her belt and stares at them.

"Maka," he says, and his tone draws her eyes back to his. "Why are you lying?"

"Excuse me?" Her keys jingle in her hands. The silence stretches and Soul listens to the sound of the ship on the waves. "I don't know what you're driving at," she says at length.

Soul squares his boots on the deck, feeling the kinetic energy of the swell before the ship rides it out. He stands his ground. "I've been following you for two weeks now. Within my first day on board I learned you expect your people to pull their weight- regardless if you're around to watch or not." He moves forward and slips the keys from her hand carefully, setting them on the desk. "I'm not saying you don't have a sick sailor on watch- but there's no way in hell Chief Mifune would call you up at this time with a correction. Not after the night you've had. He'd've handled it." He lets the full weight of the words sink in, lowing his six foot frame so he can look her directly in the eyes.

The green feels like it's crackling with energy. "Hollywood-"

"No, Maka- you listen. Something happened to those forklifts tonight." Those lashes are fluttering rapidly. "You trusted me enough this past week to work with your guys. You trusted me with your cover. I'm asking you, please, trust me now when it really matters. When I can do something to help."

He can see her processing this, going over the ramifications. Weighing his words. She's trying to push through his walls; it feels as if she's at the door of the black room. "The chains were tampered with."

Goddamnit, he hates it when he's right. Hates that it's causing her worry. Hates wishing he could smooth away those tiny, neat stitches and that jarring cut on her temple.

But he can't. The truth of those stitches are that he's done this to Maka.

Not Bale, not Starinsky- him. He's known she isn't the one and still he needs her. He'd needed her trust to gain access to the tight little world aboard the Death City. Only now he's caught the attention of who he's really after and consequently put her in danger.

Bale, Starinsky- doesn't matter which one. What matters now is that he tells Maka the truth, and that she hears it from him. Trusting others has never come easy, but he's a hypocrite if he stands here after gaining her trust and doesn't do her the honor of reciprocating. Even with all the possible ramifications- working with Maka is better than working around her. Only he's not sure if she's going to feel the same way after he comes clean.

As the silence draws on Maka's face suddenly goes red and those freckles re-emerge. It hits him like a bolt of lightning, he didn't reacted to her revelation. She moves away from him and he's scrambling, trying to cover his error somehow.

"Must have hit my head harder than I realized. Forget I said anything Hollywood. I have no idea why anyone would want to vandalize the ship in the middle of a storm, but I can guarantee this isn't Mission Impossible or Jason Bourne or or or even John Wick," she's rambling. But, had he done something to embarrass her- there's no time, he needs to tell her now.

Soul drags the chair from her desk and hikes his boot onto the seat. He reaches in to pull out the one piece of evidence he has that's going to change everything Maka thinks she knows about him. He leans over his knee carefully and sets it on the middle of her desk, waiting for those lashes to still when she zeros in on it.

"Explain." It's an order.

"Glock, nine mil, semi automatic- seventeen round magazine. No safety-"

"I know that," she hisses.

Of course she does, war is her profession. But it's his, as well, he just fights closer to home. His eyes go down to the gun, and back up to her face. "It's loaded."

Even though his eyes are trained on hers, he knows her hands are twitching at her sides, instinctually. Soul very deliberately links his hands together over his propped leg. He knows in his gut that if he so much as breaths in the direction of the gun, she'll fight him for it. He also knows she won't stop until she wins.

"What I mean is, what are you planning on doing with it?" Her voice is steady, cool, but offset by the turbulent green of her gaze.

Soul sighs as he reaches in to his boot, wondering if their budding trust is going to be enough to bridge the crumbling foundation on which it was built. He pulls out his actual wallet and tosses it to her.

Maka catches it neatly.

All he can do is hold his breath while she opens the leather to reveal his badge, calling to question everything they've shared, and he sees her walls go up, blocking him out. The note fades into the void, leaving behind the silence of a blown speaker.

The green in her eyes cools to sea ice, breaking the last of his soul in two as she says, "Who the hell are you and what is going on?"