A/N: Another tumblr prompt, this one for "Isn't it amazing" feat. Maka. Please accept all of my Papa Soul headcanons.
Whoever invented nap time was a saint.
Soul tiptoes through the living room, picking up pieces of staff paper filled in with bright crayon approximations of music notes and nearly sobbing as he steps, barefoot, on another fucking Lego. Maka says they're great for mental development and Sage seems to enjoy them, but he's of the mind that they're tiny plastic torture devices and is none too gentle throwing it into the giant plastic tub with the rest of their collection.
Satisfied that the living room is tidy enough, he moves into the kitchen to get started on lunch: simple but satisfying PB&J's on whole grain bread with sliced apples. Sage takes after her mother and prefers the bread toasted, but he'll hold down the fort for the true classic: untoasted, hold the crust. He just hopes she doesn't lecture him again about all the nutrients he's missing; she might be five, but she's already absorbing everything she hears, sees, and reads with terrifying voraciousness. Shuddering, Soul contemplates a future where two pairs of green eyes, one a fiery emerald and the other her namesake sage, stare him down so he'll eat his veggies. Well, he thinks fondly, that's a small price to pay for time spent with the loves of his life.
Glancing at the lucky cat clock on the wall (ha ha Blair, real funny wedding present), he speeds up his sandwich making and packs them into little parchment paper sleeves, adding an extra toasted sandwich for Maka. A few deft scythe finger chops are all it takes before the apples are likewise sliced and packed away, and he grabs their water bottles out of the fridge where they've been chilling all morning.
Time to go watch Mama kick some ass.
Peeking into Sage's bedroom, the walls covered with scraps of paper holding her "compositions" (she did seem to inherit his affinity for music in addition to her sharp teeth), he finds her dozing angelically, just as he left her an hour ago after a vicious Nerf gun showdown. He'd lost, but to be fair, she has a tiny surface area and all the speed of an over-caffeinated Black*Star. "Hey pup," he murmurs, gently shaking her shoulder. "Time to get up. Mama's waiting for us."
Bleary eyes blink up at him while she yawns impressively, tips of her teeth glinting in the light from the door. "Are we gonna watch Mama beat up bad guys?" she asks, sitting up and rubbing an eye with the back of her hand. Pausing, she asks, more excitedly, "Am I gonna beat up bad guys?"
Soul can't help but laugh. Her bedtime stories since she was born have been a mix of educational parables and watered-down versions of their own fighting experience. Like a true warrior's daughter, Sage wants to 'fight bad people' and 'make life fair for everyone!' Maka always smiles fiercely when Sage says this, nurturing her budding desire for equity for all by encouraging her to learn as much as she can about the world to better protect it.
"Not today, Sage. Maybe when you're a teensy bit older," he says, scooping her up in his arms and spinning her, because why not?
"But Papa, I already beat you up," she argues, giggling nonetheless as he swings her up onto his shoulders. "And you're, like, the strongest person I know after Mama!"
"Yeah, well, that's different," he grumbles. Listen, toddlers with Maka's genes and temper can really do a number on a guy when his back is turned and the floor is slippery.
"Then what is Mama doing?" Sage puts her hands on each of Soul's cheeks so he puffs them out, relishing her tinkling peals of laughter when she smooshes them in and the air whooshes out.
"She's doing a demonstration for her students," he says, grabbing their bagged lunches from the counter and making sure he has his wallet for the bus.
"Demon-stration?" Sage squints at the unfamiliar feeling of the word.
"It means showing other people how to do something," Soul answers, grabbing her sunhat before he forgets. His littlest angel won't be getting sunburned on his watch.
"Ooooooh," she says, nodding. Then, when she sees her sunhat, she whines, "Noooo, Papa, can we take the bike, pleeeeeeease? Pretty please, with your favorite sushi on top?"
Secretly extremely pleased that his daughter loves the motorcycle as much as he does, he has to at least try to dissuade her so when he inevitably resonates with Maka later, he can be honest with his explanation as to why they took the bike. "Now now pup, you know your mother doesn't like it when you're on the bike. It can be dangerous."
"But Papa, you drive slower than Baba Yaga walks. That can't be dangerous, right?"
Grinning, he swipes his motorcycle keys from the hook by the door and says, "Good point, Sage. I'll even take the extra safe backroads."
He walks down the basement stairs to happy cheers, gently reaching up and placing her on the ground when he reaches the motorcycle. "Now, what are the rules?" he asks while he rummages around under the seat for their helmets.
Standing up straighter, Sage recites, "1) No moving around a lot. It can put the bike off-balance and that's dangerous. 2) Hold on tight to the bike and Papa's carrier straps. 3) No yelling at people at red lights." She pauses, and Soul smirks at her. "What about #4, pup?"
With a matching smirk, she yells, "HAVE FUN!"
That's my girl, he thinks proudly, attaching a sturdy harness to his chest so he can buckle Sage into him for extra security. He wheels his motorcycle out into the driveway, hoists her into the space on the seat in front of him to buckle her in, fastens their helmets (hers has a little gray shark fin on top, compliments of Wes), and they're off.
Sage's little snow-white pigtails flap behind her head, her gleeful shouts lost to the wind as the daddy-daughter duo weave their way through the back roads of Death City. Shibusen looms in front of them, giant, jutting candlesticks and tall spires bringing back memories of his journey together with Maka and the rest of Spartoi two decades ago. Now that Asura has been defeated and peace with the witches attained, classes look a lot different than they did in Soul's day. With Kid in charge, the emphasis is less on turning kids into weapon duos and more on getting them to a stage they can safely control their powers. Once they turn 18, they can come back if they wish to develop their powers further as part of an elite world peacekeeping force.
Maka, being the ambitious and wickedly smart woman she is, immediately settled into a prestigious research position after things settled down following the battle on the moon. Not only has she gone on to build an entire research department from the ground up (focusing on the Black Blood and potential cures), but she also teaches introductory soul perception and advanced sparring in the scant free time she has. This busy schedule is what prompted Soul to offer to stay at home when Sage was born, since his position as a Death Scythe is mostly symbolic now that there aren't many kishin left to hunt. He was, of course, nervous that he wouldn't be a good enough father, wouldn't know how to not raise a fucked up child, but it turns out he was just the guy for the job. He's got the shark bite teething marks to prove it.
They pull into the parking lot and stow their helmets, Sage insistent on walking next to Soul 'like a big girl' even though he can see the desire to ride his shoulders again dancing in her eyes. He humors her, though, stooping low to hold her hand as they walk into the building together. She might have his hair and teeth, but boy, does she have Maka's height.
The demonstration is set to take place in one of Shibusen's many amphitheaters, and they arrive just as everyone is settling down, whispers about, "She's the one who wielded the Last Death Scythe!" and, "Man, I wish she'd throw me around!" swirling around them as they take their seats. Front row, as always.
"Papa, why do people want Mama to beat them up?" Sage whispers next to him, tugging on his sleeve with curious eyes.
"Buhhh, well, you see, pup," he stutters, face flushing as memories of his and Maka's last, ah, intimate time comes rushing back. "Mama's just a really skilled fighter, and they'd be honored if she beat them," he finishes, still sweating from his thoughts about the way her thighs immobilized his face like a vice.
"Oh, okay," Sage hums, kicking her tiny feet off the edge of her seat. "Look Papa! There's Mama!"
Soul turns his head to see his wife stride on stage and settle into position with a tight smile and a quick wave. He laughs to himself; she's all business today, and he pities the fool who has to face her with that inferno in her eyes. Glancing at the other side of the stage, he realizes why Maka is so focused. Ayr, her co-teacher for one class of advanced sparring, is going to be her partner. He was the one who whined about having to teach a fighting class "with a girl," as if somehow her gender erased the long list of achievements, and ass-kickery, she had accomplished. Oh well, Soul thinks gleefully. Time to watch a scrub be fed his own spine.
One of the students, presumably class rep by the air of self-importance in her tone, announces the start of the fight. The stage is a blur of swinging limbs and small grunts as hits land, but it's a matter of minutes until Maka steps a leg behind his and shoves forward, neatly sweeping him to land with her forearm on his throat. "You noticed how Professor Ayr wasn't watching his feet," she says to the class. "Always be on the lookout for openings like that where you can easily control the flow of the fight. Remember, as long as you're the one directing the movements, you can be a few steps ahead of your opponent." Feral grin on her face, she turns back to Ayr and asks, "Again?" The man practically snarls his assent, and round two begins.
Soul barely has enough time to smother the smug look on his face before the round is over, a sharp elbow to the solar plexus plus back fist combo laying Ayr out flat. Her commentary continues for a moment before she offers round three to him, danger lurking behind jade eyes, and he accepts without registering it. Looks like I'll be cleaning blood out of her laundry again, Soul thinks idly, squeezing Sage's hand when she looks up at him excitedly. "Amazing, isn't it?" he whispers to her. "Your Mama's so...cool."
The pattern continues for another brutal twenty minutes before Ayr gives up, unable to properly stand without the help of a student who Excalibur-cringes to his side. "Looks like that'll be all, class!" she chirps, shrugging the wrinkles out of her clothing. "Use your extra time today to practice wrist control with a partner." She waits until the amphitheatre is almost empty before walking over to Soul and Sage, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. "Hi loves."
"Hi Mama! You beat him up good!" Sage all but yells, hopping into Maka's arms to kiss her cheeks and get a forehead smooch in return.
"Yes, I guess I did, huh?" Maka says casually, bending down to put Sage on the ground and kiss Soul softly on the lips. "How was your day?"
Remembering that he forgot to hide the Nerf guns, he gulps, "Uh, good! Very good. We played together, she had her nap, and here we are."
Eyeing him suspiciously with that 'we'll talk later' look, she holds Sage's hand and starts to leave the room. "All right, let's go have our lunch then."
"Picnic!" Sage chirps happily from next to Maka, and Soul lets himself bask in the hazy warmth that spreads across his body like a sunrise. This is happiness, he decides, at least one version of it. Despite the trials they faced in the past and the difficulties they'll undoubtedly run into in the future, he knows now how important it is to live in the moment and let fear flow through and away from him. As Maka grabs his hand, sharing his contentment through their bond, he looks forward to witnessing the many ways they'll grow together.