A/N: Chapter 2 is a-GO. Special thanks, again, to ilarual for being the best beta and putting up with my massive whining—mwah! She really does make this stuff better. If you haven't had the pleasure, go read her stuff for it is fantastic.

It was taking too long, that much she was sure of. From what she knew of the local geography, Greenwich couldn't be more than an hour from the airport, yet they had been driving two and were still on the highway. It was starting to get dark, and Maka was getting more than a little concerned.

She squeezed her weapon's arm, trying to get his attention.

"Soul? Are we almost—"

"Can't hear you," he cut her off, yelling back. "Hold on, was about to pull off anyway."

"Oh—Okay!" she yelled back. True to his word, Soul pulled off at the next exit and then, driving only a short way down a four-lane road, pulled into a restaurant parking lot. He craned his back and neck around to look at her.

"Hungry?"

"Uh, I guess? But, um, shouldn't we be at your parent's house by now?"

He got off the bike, offering her a hand to help her off which she took absently. Something wasn't right.

"This place has the best ice cream, seriously. Figured it would be better to eat before we went home, avoid the whole family dinner bullshit for one night." He tugged her into the restaurant, red and white themed, sort of country kitsch meets carnival. Maka thought it looked a bit like a circus and a farm had collided and spilled their insides across the interior. It was definitely on the eye searing side of the spectrum, but then, so was their beloved academy, so she was pretty used to loud kitsch. Soul seemed excited, so she figured it should be decent—he was generally pretty serious about his food.

As soon as they were seated by the same person who happened to be their server for the meal, a matronly woman with gray hair and a ready smile whose nametag declared her to be Madge, Maka turned to her weapon, her tone casual.

"So, where are we anyway? We've been driving for—over two hours, I think."

"Uh, Manchester, I think," he shrugged. Maka had little notion of Connecticut geography—they had only been here once for a mission, and Soul always drove, but she was pretty sure that was far inland and north, whereas Greenwich was just over the border from New York and south.

"And how long will it take to get to your family's house from here?"

"Dunno. Maybe an hour, hour and a half, depends on traffic."

"That—Soul, that doesn't make sense. How can it take over three hours to get from the airport to Greenwich?"

His expression remained neutral, though she could tell he was hedging. "Might have taken the scenic route," he ran a hand through the back of his hair, a tell that he was nervous.

"Why?"

"Uh, just, didn't want to go through the whole family circus tonight, alright? Figured we'd take a little drive, eat a little something, and avoid the show for one night. Don't worry, we'll get to jump through plenty of flaming hoops tomorrow."

Maka sighed. "You could have just told me to begin with. It's your family, Soul. If you want to drive around the entire state before you face them, then fine. I'm here for whatever you need, you should know that."

"Thought you might get pissed and chop me until I agreed to go," he grumbled.

She flashed him a smile. "Nah, I can't chop my fake-husband."

"Why thank you, fake-wife, I appreciate that." The smile he flashed her back was genuine, and she felt the tension drain from him, his soul relaxing. "Now, down to business. Stick with burgers, and definitely get dessert."

"Uh, sure, sounds good," she agreed, and they both began choosing and ordering their dinners.

They didn't eat anything fancy—it wasn't that sort of place. Maka got a patty melt, Soul ordered some monstrosity of a burger, and they capped it off by sharing a massive, multiscoop sundae with some ridiculous mix of toppings at Soul's insistence. She wasn't inclined to argue; if ice cream was his comfort of choice, well, there worse things, and anyway, she liked ice cream. As they ate dessert and reviewed their game plan, so necessary to pull this off, Maka twisted the wrought gold band on her left hand absently, her mother's wedding ring both giving her strength at the same time that it made her feel odd and out of place. She caught the glint of the matching simple gold band on the hand that Soul was currently taking a bite of ice cream with, purchased at a pawn shop to help with this whole ill conceived ruse, and marveled at just how strange yet right it seemed. Not for the first time since he'd slipped it on yesterday, she wished it meant even a fraction of what it pretended to the world, though of course, it didn't, nor would it ever.

"So basically," Soul reiterated for the dozenth time since they'd first planned the trip, waving his spoon for emphasis as they polished off the last of the ice cream. "We just do what we normally do. Maybe a little more touching, if that's-I mean, we decided that's okay. Might have to give you a peck here or there to make it convincing, or you give me a peck. It's-just for show, just for a couple of days, and I'll-hell-I'm going to owe you for the rest of my life, I know that." He had ceased turning quite so red when discussing the nitty gritty of pretending to be married, but he still looked fairly sheepish.

"I think I've got it, Soul. We've only been over it half a dozen times," Maka rolled her eyes. "Try to act the part, and if anyone asks about our marriage, tell them we've been dating since just before everything on the moon, tell them we decided to get married spontaneously on a mission a few months ago-everything else is just tell the truth. And you always tell me I study too much for tests." She shook her head and laughed as his smile became even more sheepish.

"Not a test-it's the fucking final exam and if we fail it means expulsion." She could feel the nervousness creeping back up, so she reached across the table for his free hand.

"Soul?" She smiled softly. "It's going to be fine, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he let out a long breath. "After all, Maka Albarn has never failed a test yet." His face contorted into a grin.

"Damn straight! Let's do this thing!" She grinned back, and with that, they finished their dessert and paid, leaving hand in hand.

An hour after driving up to the restaurant, over stuffed, they remounted the bike. The meister felt decidedly bloated and, as she wrapped her arms back around her weapon, he was also more solid around the middle than he had been an hour ago, but he seemed a mite more relaxed as well, so she figured it was worth the bloat.

Of course, it didn't last. Another hour later, they were nearing their destination and Soul's anxiety was notably spiking again. As they turned off the highway and eventually onto a side road, Maka began to understand why. The neighborhood they found themselves in was nothing short of lavish. The houses were massive and getting bigger as they went, mansions really, and the further in they got, the more land surrounded each property. The meister began to feel like she was entering an episode of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" and suddenly felt very far from home. They finally stopped at the end of a street occupied with a tall stone fence fronted with ornate wrought iron gates. Worked in scrolled writing at the top of the gate was a single word: Evans. Maka swallowed hard as Soul parked the bike and walked up to the intercom button near the gate itself.

The property was so huge that as the meister peered past the gate, she couldn't see the house through the thick hedge of trees. There was a long drive that disappeared into the foliage; anything beyond was a mystery. To not see the house from the road, it must have sat on acres upon acres and Maka suddenly understood much more clearly than she had from the special treatment surrounding the plane trip that the Evanses really were something like royalty, must be. No wonder Soul had been so clueless about all things domestic when they'd first partnered. He'd probably never had to lift so much as a finger for himself before going to Shibusen! But maybe she was judging too soon; she hadn't even seen inside, after all. Perhaps they just had a lot of land. Some people did. And even if their house were huge, it didn't have to mean anything-Gallows Mansion was massive, but Kid was no spoiled brat. Yeah, she was definitely judging too soon...

As Soul had a brief conversation at the intercom, Maka tried very hard not to fidget in her mounting nervousness. It wasn't easy, and became harder still as her weapon's wavelength continued to spike. Probably, they were feeding off of each other's tension. She should try to calm herself. This could do no good. Where was her courage now? If she could face down the Kishin, then surely she could handle one blue blooded family! She took a few deep breaths and straightened her clothes. She felt odd in them, really. They were meant to help her confidence, the dark designer jeans and forest green cashmere sweater. Liz had insisted a new wardrobe was just what she needed, clothes that bespoke her belonging. Maka just felt like a pig in lipstick, only the leather jacket Soul had gifted her with a few years back giving her any sense of herself. Finally removing her helmet, she tried to smooth her hair. Clipped back into a smart rear pony tail, it made her look more adult, but made her feel even less herself. She felt so wrong footed, so unsure, and that wasn't like Maka Albarn, not at all. She should never have agreed to this—and yet—how could she not?

This wasn't helping, and as Soul walked back, the gates opening automatically behind him, she wondered what came next even as she took in a few more breaths. For him, she would be calm.

"Get back on," he mumbled. "Gonna drive up."

The meister complied in silence, remounting behind him though forgoing the helmet, and her weapon drove slowly down the winding path through the trees. Not for the first time this trip, Maka marveled at the sheer number of trees around them; Death City was so relatively barren, smack in the middle of the desert as it was, that the difference was striking. She remembered, long ago, when Soul used to occasionally marvel at the lack of trees in the Nevada landscape. Coming into Connecticut she could understand why. There were trees everywhere, so many tall, tall trees that she felt almost claustrophobic. Soul's own house, his parents' estate really, was just the same—it was clearly surrounded by, nestled amidst, a veritable forest. She supposed she'd get used to it, just as Soul had gotten used to the lack. People did tend to adjust.

After a short, slow drive up the stone path, Soul turned off down a fork to the right. This new path, only slightly more narrow, they drove down for only a minute before a stone cottage came into view. It wasn't large, but neither was it small, and it was pretty and quaint. Maka liked it very much and thought that if his parents lived in such a place, then maybe she had fretted for nothing.

Soul stopped at the end of the drive, parking the bike in a square area clearly meant for vehicles, before they both dismounted.

"So this is where you grew up?" Maka said brightly, eying the beautiful little cottage. "It's so cute!"

"Uh," Soul scratched the back of his neck. His nervousness was still rising, though Maka had relaxed a bit. "No, not actually. This is, uh, the guest house. Since we're—well—married and all, Mom and Dad decided we should have some privacy, I guess. They're in bed already, but uh, Wes made sure everything is ready." He gave her an embarrassed smile and she colored. Oh. OH. This was the guest house? Well, crap. Her own nervousness spiked again, and as Soul reached for her hand, she took it gratefully. Maybe she did need the comfort as much as him.

They slowly, carefully walked to the house, Soul slouching too casually, belying the anxiety underneath. Finally, they reached the door, and the very instant the scythe lifted and dropped the ornate little wrought iron knocker onto the weathered, rough hewn wood, the door was flung open as if the occupants had been lying in wait for their signal. In the little doorway stood a man who might have been her weapon's twin. He, too, had stark hair, the same lean build, the same sleepy eyes. Then this must be—

"Little brother!" The man swept forward and Soul's hand was torn from her grasp as he was engulfed in a massive bear hug. The woman who had been standing next to him in the doorway smiled fondly, and as she caught Maka's eye, the meister smiled back shyly. The woman was short, perhaps 5'2", her build stocky and curvy. She had light brown skin, generously freckled, and light green eyes with a decided tilt to them. Her kinky dark blonde hair was styled into a short afro, and she was dressed much like Maka, dark jeans and a pale yellow sweater. The scythe meister wasn't sure who she was, exactly, but her presence was comforting; she had a kind, frank soul.

Maka's eyes moved back to her weapon and his near twin. Soul was being somewhat smothered by his brother, though they were of a height and size. The older man was patting the scythe on the back, loudly offering how good it was to see him, how long it had been, how great it was he came. Soul finally managed to pry him away, though he was grinning when he did.

"It's good to see you too, Wes. Uh—um—" The woman in the doorway stepped forward, lightly touching Wes' elbow.

"Oh, but I'm being rude!" The man's eyes lit on Maka suddenly. "Please, please, come in. You both must be exhausted after the trip."

They were ushered inside and Maka looked around, noting the quaint, cozy decor, before they found themselves sitting together on a loveseat. Seated across from them were Wes and the woman from the doorway. In better light, the meister could see that Wes was not his brother's twin, though their looks were similar. His hair, while stark, was actually a very light blonde, and his eyes were a rich mahogany brown. His chin was slightly more square than his little brother's, and he had perfect, normal teeth. Otherwise, they were identical. Wes' arm was around the woman from the doorway, and Maka found that Soul had mirrored the action. While this wasn't unheard of, it was a little strange in company, but then, they were supposed to be married. That also must mean that the woman was—

"Well, then," Wes beamed at them from across the coffee table. "I suppose that introductions are in order. Perhaps you would do the honors, little brother?"

"Uh, whatever. Maka, Wes, Wes, Maka. And—uh—" He looked to the woman. "I'm Soul."

Wes just shook his head, a fond smile spreading on his face.

"Maka, Soul, this is Aria, my fiancé." The meister had known it was coming, but still, she was a little stunned. She always expected a man like Wes, rich, famous, handsome, would go for some supermodel type, a Blair, a Liz, a Tsubaki, not someone like—like—

Maka felt like a heel. It wasn't that the woman was ugly; actually, she was very pretty, sort of exotic meets girl next door, but her frame, while curvy, was squat. The meister suddenly found herself liking Wes. He had a friendly, accepting sort of soul and his fondness for both his little brother and his fiancé was obvious. What was odd was that she could feel that fondness in his soul extending towards her already, and she couldn't help but to feel a rush of gratitude.

"It's—very nice to finally meet you both," Maka finally managed, her smile genuine.

"You as well, Maka," Aria put in. "I've heard a lot about you, read a lot about you, but it's great to finally meet!"

Soul was characteristically quiet, seeming not to know what to do with himself, so his meister attempted to make conversation for both of them.

"You've—read about me?" She looked confused.

"Of course! Oh, Wes, you should get the book—I'll go, well, we've been rude, actually, it's just so nice to see you after so long. You two must be famished! Can I get you a drink or some food?"

"Uhh—" Soul scratched the back of his head nervously.

"I'd, um, like a drink, and I think Soul would too, but we've already eaten, thank you."

"Ahhh," Wes raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "So that's what took so long, little brother. Your things have been here for hours."

"Wes!" Aria elbowed him lightly in the side. "Be nice! Lemonade okay?" She turned her eyes back to Maka and Soul.

"Uh, yeah, that'd be—great!"

Aria shot up suddenly, moving into the kitchen which was visible in the open floor plan.

"Wes. The book?" She called back and Wes just shrugged apologetically and got up himself to disappear into a back room.

With both out of the room, Soul just shook his head.

"You okay?" Maka asked quietly.

"I think so," another head shake.

"Your brother seems nice."

"He is."

"So does his fiancé."

"Mmmm." He agreed.

Before they could exchange more than those few brief words, Aria came back holding four glasses of lemonade on a tray. She set two down before Soul and Maka, the other two in front of where she and Wes had been seated, and then scurried back into the kitchen to return the tray. Maka took up the lemonade and took a sip-it was delicious, a perfect mix of sweet and tart, but she supposed she should have expected no less from her hosts. A moment later, Wes returned from wherever he had spirited off to, holding a large leather bound scrap book.

As the man plopped the large item into his brother's lap, instead of returning to his seat, he stayed standing behind his brother. Soul's eyebrows shot up in question.

"What—is this?"

"It's a scrap book, little brother. What does it look like?" He was grinning mischievously and Soul looked leery. Extremely leery. He flipped open the cover, and Soul Alastair Evans was written in a neat, even script on the first page.

"Alastair?" Maka asked quietly, unable to suppress the grin creeping onto her face.

"It's our Dad's name," Wes offered before Soul could. "And of course—"

"Shut it, before I start talking about your full name," Soul cut him off.

"Fair point," Wes replied, still leaning over his brother's side of the couch.

For a moment, no one said or did anything, and an awkward silence fell. Unable to stand the discomfort for long, Maka poked Soul in the arm.

"So, are you going to look or not?"

"Maybe," he shrugged.

"Soul," her tone was a warning.

"Fine, fine, whatever," he grumbled, flipping away from the name page. The next page was plastered with baby pictures of a cute, fair haired, mostly bald infant with grey eyes.

"Is that…?" Maka started.

"Sure is—my adorable baby brother," Wes said with a smile. He leaned over Soul to point down at a specific picture of the same baby with wispy hair in a crib smeared all over with brown.

"This—is when he—"

"DON'T," Soul snapped, but Wes seemed unfazed.

"—decided to finger paint with the contents of his diaper."

"He didn't!" Maka looked up at Soul's brother with a mock gasp.

"He sure did. It was all around his mouth, too. Mom was convinced that he a—"

"Wes," Soul growled in warning. "Name."

"Fine, fine, little brother, I'm done." The older man raised his hand in defeat, though his smile never faltered, and as Maka met his eyes, he winked conspiratorially. Maka giggled. Soul's big brother was—not what she expected, though honestly, she'd had no clue what to expect. He was friendly and personable and completely unlike her weapon and she already liked him very much.

"Can we see more?" Maka asked, nudging Soul again, who grunted but complied, flipping to the page. Next came toddler pictures. Soul, with wild, wispy light blond hair, honey brown eyes, and straight, perfect teeth, riding a little car, playing with clay, pounding the keys of a miniature piano. He looked so happy, so angelic, so care free—the meister thought he was absolutely adorable.

"Awww!" Maka leaned into him further. "You were so cute!"

"Mmm hmm," Wes agreed as Soul said nothing, though the scythe looked uncomfortable. "People used to fawn all over him. He was a sweet little thing, really, even if—"

"Wes," another warning growl.

"Well, anyway, turn the page, there's more!"

On the next two pages, Soul was a child, early elementary age. His eyes were darker here, very like Wes' actually. One picture had two missing front teeth, but then, a slightly older picture showed those missing teeth replaced with two sharp spikes. Several were of him at the piano—recitals, practice, next to a grand piano with a bow on it that appeared to be some sort of gift. He was still adorable, though he seemed to smile less than his toddler self. In some of these pictures, Soul was playing with an older boy with similar light blonde hair and mahogany eyes that Maka could only assume was Wes. He looked happiest in those pictures and the meister smiled to herself. It was clear that the child loved his big brother.

The scythe meister heard a voice above her suddenly. "He really was cute, wasn't he? 'Course, I've gotta say, he grew up pretty fine, too. These Evans boys got themselves some kind of genetics. Guess we caught ourselves some good ones, eh?"

"Uhhh…" Maka colored, not knowing how to respond to Wes' fiancé since she hadn't caught herself a damned thing, but Soul's brother must have kept her in the dark about that. "Yeah, um, of course," she managed to stammer out because she didn't know what else to say.

"Well, now you know you guys will make some adorable little babies. Time to hop to it! I want me some cute little nieces and nephews!"

Maka was sure she must be the color of a strawberry just about now and the unfair urge to chop Soul silly had her hand twitching because this wasn't his fault at the same time as it was totally his fault because why couldn't they just tell the damned truth?

"We're, uh, kind of young—" the meister began to stammer out.

"I'm teasing, love," she felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. "Your new brother and I will be giving you two nieces and nephews long before, I should hope," her laugh was low and musical and Maka found herself laughing along with her, nervously, but genuinely.

"Oh, right, of course! That would be great—I—I've always wanted to be an aunt!"

Soul cast her a strange look, though he was almost as red as she must be. She shrugged it off, reaching down to turn the page herself, eager to bring the subject away from having kids.

The next two pages featured Soul as a slightly older child. In a few pictures, his hair was an odd mixture of white roots and blond ends before, in the next picture, the blonde was lobbed off, leaving only stark white. His eyes looked more and more red until they were the color she knew, and his teeth, as he lost his baby teeth and gained permanent ones, began to exhibit the sharpness she also knew, though in many pictures he did not smile or smiled faintly with his mouth sealed shut; only when he was caught unawares were his teeth visible. More images of him were with his piano, more showed him performing. He did not look happy.

By the end of these pictures, he looked very much like the Soul she had first met years ago, the Soul who had come to Shibusen to learn to control his innate abilities as a weapon, sarcastic and sullen and antisocial, the boy who would partner with an outgoing, ambitious bookworm. It was the same boy who would abandon Evans for Eater only to take Evans again when he grew comfortable in his own skin. Eventually, he would come to realize that it was just a name—it couldn't change who he was, who he had become. The last picture was of Soul standing with Wes. The older boy had an arm slung around his brother, his smile both proud and sad. Soul's forearm was the scythe blade, black and red and menacing. He was baring his teeth in a shit eating grin; this boy was reveling in his newfound ability, happy to use it to escape. This boy would run, but was running no longer; he had finally come home. Maka found her heart swelling with pride because she knew how hard this was for him, but he had faced it, was facing it.

She sought her weapon's hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, and he squeezed back. His face looked as apathetic as it ever did, but his soul sang a different song, and he was reliving the past vividly, she could feel it in the swirl of his emotions. She turned the page, forcing his eyes away from the past he had fled. What came next surprised them both. The two pages spread before them were full of small newspaper clippings. The first few were older and slightly bigger, several featuring pictures of a young Soul at the piano. They were short articles about the child prodigy, the youngest Evans, set to follow after his brother and his family with his talent. After that came short blurbs without pictures—a monster slain in Albuquerque by Maka Albarn and her scythe weapon, Soul Eater. Another slain by the same pair in Paris, in New York, in Pensacola. There were several pages of such short, pictureless blurbs, before they came to a page with a large color photograph of Maka and Soul sitting on the steps of Shibusen, Soul with his leg a piano, playing. The headline read: Last Death Scythe Plays at Coronation and was followed by the picture and a long article discussing Soul "Eater" Evans, his meister, Maka Albarn, speculation about their role in the battle on the moon (details of which had been kept largely quiet,) and discussion of their importance within the DWMA under the new Lord Death. The last few articles were about more recent missions, or about their occasional diplomatic role. It was all stuff they were aware of, things they knew were out there. What was new was the fact that Soul's brother had been following their exploits seemingly from the beginning.

"You—" Soul seemed stunned, was shaking his head. "You—where did you—from the beginning? How?"

The sentiments were half spoken, but Wes seemed to get the gist.

"How many scythe weapons named Soul can there possibly be?" The older Evans smiled. "Though I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised you went with Eater," he laughed. "It fits."

"I—" Soul was shaking his head again.

Wes squeezed his brother's shoulder, then walked back to his seat across from him, Aria following suit. The older man had a proud smile on his face, and his fiancé was looking between him and his brother fondly, before finally settling her keen gaze on Soul.

"He's followed every step, you know. Didn't want to bother you if you didn't want to be bothered, but he's always wanted to know how you were, so he found out how he could. We were friends back then, met our second year at Julliard, and he always talked about you even then, his little brother the scythe, the hero. When you sent that letter a few years back you should have seen how happy he was, but then, you never called. You never wrote again. You just—"

"Aria—" Wes said quietly, his tone unhappy.

"He didn't want to bother you," she cut him off, squeezing his hand. "He wanted you to come home when you were ready, to seek him when you were ready, but he always looked out for you. And then we were going to get married and I knew how much he wanted you to be there so I told him he should call you—screw waiting for ready. Took a little badgering," she grinned at this and Wes smiled back at her ruefully.

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot of badgering, but he finally saw things my way, and you came. So thanks for that. It means the world to us." Her smile was genuine as she looked at Soul. "I really am glad to finally meet you."

"I—" Soul was still at a loss for words.

"And thanks to you, too," Aria smiled softly at Maka. "I have a feeling we have you to thank for this as much as anything."

"No," Maka shook her head in protest. "No, not at all. Soul wanted to come, he really did. We both did."

Silence fell for several moments, no one seeming to know what to say after. Finally, Aria broke the silence again.

"But we are being rude, aren't we? You two must be exhausted and we're keeping you up! We should probably get back. Busy day tomorrow, you know!"

"Uh, you don't have to—" Maka began, but Aria had already pulled Wes up and was dragging her somewhat reluctant seeming fiancé to the door. Maka took the cue to drag Soul up to follow.

"Well," Wes turned around with Aria at the doorway, his smile broad and genuine. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Maka. I must say, my little brother may not be able to dress himself to save his life," he eyed the scythe's jeans, band t-shirt, and leather jacket combo with mock distaste, a sharp contrast to the older man's dark jeans and light blue button up, "but he has excellent taste in women. He's a lucky man." He took her hand and shook it warmly, then winked at her again. Maka wanted to groan but stifled it. She liked Wes so far, but the man could really ham it up, another thing that was far different from his brother. Aria then looked to both of them.

"I'm really happy to see you both. You," she grinned at Soul, "are almost as handsome as your big brother," she surprised him by pulling him into a hug, which he returned stiffly. "And you," she smiled at Maka, "are simply adorable. I'm going to enjoy being sisters." She pulled the meister into a hug as well, one Maka returned warmly because she was really starting to like this odd, frank, kind little woman.

"Well, then, you'll want us out of your hair," Wes cut in as the hug broke off. "Mom and Dad expect us all for a family breakfast bright and early!"

"How early?" Soul groaned.

"Seven," Wes offered almost apologetically. Soul just groaned louder.

"So, goodnight you two. Don't stay up too late. I know how newlyweds can be, but it really is going to be a long day tomorrow." Maka went red and Wes tossed her a knowing smile. Yeah, he was definitely enjoying this.

"But why aren't you staying here?" she asked.

Wes' smile widened. "We decided to move up to the main house to make sure you two would have some privacy. After all, you are married."

Soul just shook his head at his brother. "I so owe you," he grumbled.

"I look forward to the payment, little brother," Wes grinned, ruffling his hair, which had the younger man grumbling.

"Ugh, I'm not ten anymore!"

"And yet, you'll always be my kid brother," Wes' laughed and startled Soul by attacking him with a brief hug. "It is good to have you home," the older man said quietly.

The hug lasted another moment and, just as it was breaking off, Soul said even more quietly, "it's good to be home."

If the sudden feeling of affection and contentment in his soul was any indication, then Maka was sure he actually meant it.