A/N: So, after a good long wait, here, for your viewing pleasure, is Chapter 8. It's the longest chapter yet by a good bit, over twice the length of chapter 1. I figure you all deserve it for waiting so long. Thanks to rebornfromash, ilarual, and fabulousanima for the eyes, sound advice, and listening to me whine. A lot.
Walking across the room on the arm of her weapon, Maka began feeling more and more self conscious at how out of place her sweater was among silk blouses and breezy dresses, so when they finally approached a table in the far corner where Wes Evans sat speaking animatedly with an elderly woman, she felt an odd mix of trepidation and relief.
The woman had the same mahogany eyes as Sophia and Wes, with grey hair that was worn in a practical cut above the shoulder. Like Maka, she wore a sweater, but not a turtleneck, and though her gaze was turned fondly on her grandson, there was a piercing quality that bespoke both frankness and intelligence.
So this must be Gran.
When they reached the table, the woman's eyes moved up to light on Maka, and she seemed to take her in for a moment before shifting her gaze towards her partner.
"Soul," she said, and how she managed to sound both elated and disappointed in one breath, Maka would never understand. Her smile, however, was wide and genuine. "So good of you to stop in to see your Gran before there's nothing left to see. And I see you've even deigned to bring me my new granddaughter, thank you."
Soul managed to hold his face together in something like polite neutrality as Maka glanced his way, but his wavelength was flooded with guilt and warmth, an odd, almost nauseating mix.
"Gran," he managed to choke out. "It's-really good to see you."
"Likewise, child, likewise. Although." She gave him a quick, clinical head to toe scan. "I suppose that no longer applies. You've clearly grown. I daresay you're even taller than your brother, now."
As if to emphasize his presence, Wes let out a small cough, and the woman at the table turned back to him. "That impatient?" she said, shaking her head in mock disapproval, but her smile belied the action. "Well, shoo then." She waved a hand. "Go find your fiancé. I'm surprised you've lasted this long without her, seeing as you're practically joined at the hip."
Wes laughed as he stood. "Which is why we're getting married-to continue to puzzle the masses with how much we actually enjoy one other's company."
This got a slight chuckle from his grandmother, and a more vigorous wave as she quipped, "Go on then, you scoundrel." It seemed playful, and Maka thought-maybe-that this woman was one reason why the Evans boys were like neither of their parents.
As Wes left with a light wave, the woman glanced up at Maka for a moment, then turned her eyes back to her grandson, who seemed to be contemplating his own hands with unwarranted attention.
"Soul, dear, perhaps you would be so kind as to introduce us?" the woman said after a moment.
"Uh yeah, of course. Sorry." He moved his eyes to his grandmother. "I'm, uh, Gran-" he began, but as his grandmother coughed lightly in seeming reminder, he amended "-Mariana DiFranco, this is Maka Al-Evans, my uh wife."
"So pleased to finally meet you, Maka." She stood and held out a hand, and as the meister took it, she noted the other woman's grip was firm. "And of course you can call me Gran. So lovely to be adding another woman to this clan of boys."
"I-thank you, Gran. I'm glad to finally meet you, too." It was the truth-to meet someone Soul seemed actually fond of was a bright spot in an otherwise ridiculous day.
"Well, don't be a stranger." Her eyes were on Soul again. "It's been almost ten years, I'd say you at least owe your Gran a hug, wouldn't you?" The last bit was directed at Maka, and the woman's expression of fond mischief reminded the meister very much of her eldest grandson. She heard more than saw Soul swallow, before he strode the few steps to envelop the petite woman in a hug. He towered over his grandmother even more than he towered over most people, and though his meister could not see his face, Maka felt the guilt, fondness, relief, and intense affection thrumming through his soul.
"My," the meister heard Mariana's muffled voice from behind her weapon. "You really are a giant now." She stepped back, and her smile was wide. "Now sit," Gran said as she did so herself. Maka followed suit, moving around to sit on her left while Soul purposefully placed himself in the opposite seat. Whatever his feelings about his grandmother, he still seemed to want as little to do with his so-called wife as possible.
"So I trust your journey here went well?" Soul's grandmother began, looking between them.
Soul nodded. "Yeah, was fine. How was the flight from Lisbon-I think that's where Wes said you were."
"Ponta Delgada, actually, looking into some old family holdings-and long. But really, Soul dear, I live enough of my own life. I want to know how you're doing."
The weapon shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Busy." The fact that he was uncomfortable talking about himself was both obvious and expected-he always had been, though Maka had thought it might be better with his grandmother. Perhaps it was simply the initial discomfort, the distance bred of time and guilt.
"He's doing really well, actually!" She decided to elaborate for him, voice bright. Perhaps once the conversation picked up he'd be more willing to speak openly. It was often how he operated. "We're about to graduate at the top of our class, and Soul is one of the youngest death scythes ever, not to mention the last!"
"Ah, yes, I'd read about that-congratulations are in order for both of you, I'd say. It is quite the accomplishment." Mariana seemed genuinely pleased as she looked to her grandson.
"It's mostly Maka," Soul responded, voice quiet.
"No, of course that's not true," the Meister said with a slight frown. She was feeling warm again, and the last thing she wanted was to interrupt her weapon's time with his grandmother, but she had to set the record straight. Someone needed to let his family know what he'd accomplished, how amazing he was, and clearly that someone was going to have to be her.
Mariana looked her way to nod approvingly, then, pausing, frowned slightly. "Have you eaten dear? Would you like a drink? You look a bit flushed."
In truth, Maka was overheating in the damned sweater she'd resorted to wearing, but she couldn't say that. "I haven't eaten, no, but-"
"Soul, love, be a gentleman and get your wife something to eat. Go on, then."
"I-" He looked reluctant as he glanced between them. Maka didn't know if the trepidation was because he'd hardly had a chance to say hello and was already being sent off as errand boy, or because he was worried about leaving them alone, but before his meister could insist she was fine, thank you, he finished with, "Yeah, alright. I'll be back." If he was a little sullen, walking away slightly hunched with his hands shoved into his pockets, Maka was pretty sure only she would notice the difference. Though on second thought, as she saw Gran frown after his retreating form, perhaps she was wrong.
Before she could further consider that possibility, her thoughts were interrupted by the elder woman's voice. "So, Wes tells me you two only got married recently?" Mariana looked at her keenly, and though her face was welcoming, Maka couldn't help feeling a bit like a bug caught under glass.
"Um, yeah, it was a-sort of spur of the moment thing," she said, trying to keep the nervous edge from her voice. She'd never been a good liar. "I'm sorry we didn't think to have family, but it was just-"
"Don't be embarrassed, dear. There's certainly no need to apologize. I may be in my twilight years, but I do remember what it's like to be young and in love." She looked almost wistful for a moment before continuing. "Honestly, I've never been all that concerned with social niceties myself. I suppose my youngest grandson gets that from me." She smiled again and, oh yes, Wes was definitely her grandson.
Maka smiled back. "No, Soul's never been one for them either, though he can be a gentleman when it's called for."
"Of course," Mariana replied, her smile never wavering. "His mother would have allowed for nothing less. The child had an etiquette tutor up until the very day he left for Death City, though the poor man never was quite able to get his lessons to stick."
Her own smile was thin as she nodded. "Yes, well, Soul has also never been one to much enjoy lessons."
Gran raised her eyebrows. "Ah, so I see that graduating at the top of your class truly was your doing."
"Well, the part that requires high marks, yes," the meister acknowledged, "but Soul is certainly capable enough when he has a mind to be-even if I do sometimes wish he'd take our grades a bit more seriously." Maka let out a breath at that, though it was a comparatively minor irritant. "Still, he's a great partner, and it's because of that, of how brave and loyal, not to mention perceptive and talented he is, that we've been able to accomplish so much. But I think you already know that."
Gran nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, and to be frank, I'm far more interested in knowing that my grandchildren are well than in worrying over how they manage the finer details of their lives." She leaned forward expectantly as she continued. "No, what I'm actually concerned with is how my grandson is doing-how he's really doing-and I suspect you aren't one to mince words when asked so directly. So tell me, is Soul happy?"
"I-" It was a fair question, really it was, but it caught Maka completely off guard. Was her weapon happy? She thought he was. They had a pretty good life, and she had taken for granted that he must be happy with that-but really, really, was he? "I think so? We have a lot of friends, and I think he likes what we do-"
"And he has you," Gran added.
"And he has-me," Maka agreed reluctantly, lowering her head slightly in an attempt to hide her blush at just how embarrassingly, painfully untrue that was.
"He just seems." Mariana waved a frustrated hand. "Off. And I was hoping you might have some insight. From everything Wes told me, he's grown up considerably in the time he was away, as one would expect, yet the man I just met was very little different from the boy I once knew. If anything, he was far more guarded than he's ever been with me, and I must admit it concerns me."
Maka didn't say anything, too stunned by such blunt honesty about her partner from a woman she'd only just met. His grandmother wasn't wrong-Soul was off-but it wasn't like his meister could share that she was the problem, that he was angry and repulsed that they'd crossed lines they should never, never have crossed last night.
"This is just a lot for him to digest," she said slowly, attempting to stick to some version of the truth. She had a very strong sense that this woman would scent bullshit like a bloodhound scented a hare. "He's been gone a long time. It's-a lot to handle at once. You seem to know him well-well enough to know he's not exactly forthcoming about most things. He's never shared with me everything about his childhood, but I know he-" she bit her lip, wondering if she should say so much, but she had a feeling this was not news for the other woman. "He wasn't always happy. And coming back here wasn't easy for him."
Mariana nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose that does make sense," she said after a short pause, a small head shake. "And you two-you're happy? Wes also tells me he's never seen his brother so alive, that he's like a different person around his wife." The idea that she had yet to see that was unspoken, hanging in the air between them.
"Wes likes to talk a lot, doesn't he?" Maka said with a pointed smile.
To her shock, Mariana laughed. "Oh yes, the boy is a downright gossip, always has been. But he's also incredibly perceptive. He was definitely right about you. Just talking to you-no wonder my grandson fell in love with you. I suspect you are exactly what he needs." Soul's grandmother was still smiling, but again, Maka felt the sharp scrutiny along with the high praise, and flushed deeply.
"Uh, thanks," the meister managed. "He-Soul is really great, you know? He deserves to be happy." And even if his grandmother was dead wrong and she wasn't the one who could make that happen, she meant every word.
"Who says I'm not?" She heard a deep, familiar voice at her shoulder as a plate of food appeared on the table, along with a long stemmed glass of something pink and bubbly.
"Don't interrupt, it's rude," Maka snapped, embarrassed, as she threw an elbow behind her, catching her only half-unsuspecting weapon in the stomach. He grunted before shuffling to sit on the other side of his grandmother. For her part, Maka eyed the plate filled with some of her favorite things-deviled eggs, cheese, and delicate little pastries among them-and took a sip of her drink. Of course it was pink lemonade. Even now, he'd gone out of his way to choose things she'd like.
She raised her eyes, meaning to thank him, when Mariana cleared her throat.
"Soul, dear." Maka watched his eyes snap away from where he'd clearly been staring in his meister's direction back to his grandmother. "Now that your wife is settled for the moment, perhaps you wouldn't mind taking me for a little turn outside? I hope you don't mind losing your husband again for a few minutes," she turned her gaze to Maka, "but I'm afraid these old limbs aren't what they used to be, and I could use a bit of air."
"It's not problem at all!" the meister said sincerely.
"Of course, Gran," Soul put in, face neutral as he stood again and held out an arm for his grandmother to take with a flourish that could almost be called gentlemanly. It was somehow both strange and right from him, and Maka marveled anew at the series of contradictions that called himself her weapon.
"We'll be back, dear." Mariana smiled down at her. "Enjoy the meal."
Maka smiled back and took a bite of egg, ignoring the hurt that clawed at her stomach as her psuedo-husband didn't even glance back in her direction. Well, maybe some time alone with his grandmother would help; she supposed at this point it couldn't hurt. Really, though, he was taking this entire thing too far. This had all been his idea, his, this whole stupid pretending to be married thing. And now he was upset the act had gone too far? Wasn't he the one who'd insisted they play the part last night while she-she was the one suffering for it in this dreadful sweater, completely overheating? She flushed for the umpteenth time at the thought of the marks on her skin, just beneath the fabric, the marks he had given her.
What an asshole.
Taking an angry bite of an utterly delicious slice of gourmet cheese, she mentally amended that. Okay, maybe not an asshole, but certainly a fickle baby, a stupid fickle overgrown child who she adored because she herself was a stupid stupid overgrown idiot.
"Now what did that poor hunk of cheese ever do to you?" Maka heard a teasing voice intone from nearby. She quickly turned her head, because it was familiar but only just, so she couldn't quite place it, to see Aria's cousin Eric standing nearby. He closed the distance and gestured to a chair two away from hers. "Would you mind if I joined you for a few minutes?"
"Um, no, no of course not, I was just eating. But feel free." He was just as handsome as she remembered from the night before, with dark skin, neatly trimmed hair, and wide, expressive brown eyes currently crinkled into a light smile as he set down his own plate of food and drink before pulling out a chair to sit.
"Anyway, I just came over to apologize for last night."
"A-pologize?" Maka was taken aback. Why would he need to apologize, and to her of all people? They barely knew each other.
"Yeah. Apologize. I was out of line, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were married, much less to Wes' kid brother." His face was suddenly serious.
"You have nothing to apologize for," Maka insisted with a frown. "Talking and dancing aren't crimes."
"Still-" he started to protest.
"Still nothing," she was adamant. "It was a club. People talk and people dance. Don't worry about it-it was nice to make a new friend." She smiled warmly because he seemed like a genuinely good guy, and because it would be nice to have at least one normal conversation today with someone who wasn't scrutinizing her or angry with her or whatever.
"Thanks." He smiled. "I enjoyed talking to you, too."
The meister flushed a bit at that, gathering her wits in the face of such an unexpected admission.
"Say-are you okay?" Eric said into her pause as she took a drink of her lemonade. "You look warm in that sw-"
"I like it warm," she cut him off. "I like it hot. Death Child, remember?"
His eyebrows shot up again. "Death... Child?"
Suppressing a heavy sigh, she simply nodded-it sometimes surprised her how little the rest of the world really knew about Death City and its citizens. "I'm from Death City. It's hot there."
"Oh, oh yeah!" He recovered her offered lifeline with ease. "It really is. Played there against the Reapers before-I was shocked they could even maintain a rink in that heat, it was god awful."
Maka shrugged. "You get used to it." Which was true, though it was also true that you learned to dress for the occasion, which included not wearing close knit turtleneck sweaters in the heat.
He paused, looking at her in seeming thought for a moment, before suggesting, "I'm a little warm too, honestly. Would you like to get some air?"
Tired of sitting and curious about where her partner and his grandmother had disappeared to, she nodded. "That would be great, actually."
They both rose at that, and Eric led them to a side set of French doors that went out to a well manicured garden. They moved in relative silence, walking side by side past several other party guests who had also discovered the wonders of the garden, and offering the occasional comment about how nice the greenery was, before Maka decided that they should probably talk about something other than the beauty of the flowers.
"So you play hockey, right? What's that like?" she asked. She'd never met a hockey player before.
He chuckled. "Cold and violent."
"I can definitely relate to the latter part, anyway," she said with a laugh. "I don't know much about hockey, to be honest, but it looks like fun, all that zipping around the rink on skates."
This was greeted with another chuckle. "Or standing in a small space. I'm the goalie-we don't do much zipping."
"Oh!" She nodded. "Still, defense is the most important part of any good team! How do the positions work, anyway?" She was being polite, since hockey didn't quite interest her enough to want to know the finer logistics of the game, but she figured there were worse ways to pass the time.
They chatted idly for a while as they made their way through the side garden, with Eric explaining the game and Maka putting in the occasional question or comment. There was no sign of Soul or his grandmother, and eventually, they turned their steps back to the room to stand near one of the tables.
""Thanks for the walk," she said, one hand on the back of a chair. "I think I needed the air."
"Not a problem, it was my pleasure, honestly. Though I do have a question."
"Oh?" Maka asked, genuinely curious.
"Yup. Do you know what the goalie say to his teammate?"
His wide grin should have been fair warning, but she didn't know him well, so she said, very seriously, "I don't know. What-did the goalie say?"
Eric chuckled. ""I need to get the puck out of here!"
She couldn't help it, she laughed, shaking her head.
"Wow, that's really terrible," she finally said as she was able to stave off her amusement long enough to reply at all.
To her surprise, he gave her a long, level look. "You really are something," he said after a moment, before offering a genuine smile. "Your husband's a lucky man-I hope he knows that."
"Yeah, I know," a voice said tersely, sounding like he knew nothing of the sort. Maka looked to her side to spot a scowling Soul.
"Speak of the devil," Eric said with a grin, but Soul ignored him.
"Come on, sweetheart, we should be going-" her weapon began, and Maka was about to chide him for being rude and ask where Mariana had gone when he added, "Shit, I'll be back just-stay," before hurrying the other way.
Maka was still blinking after him in confusion when she heard another somewhat familiar voice call out, "Oh Mr. Evans, wait uuuuup!"
Well, that explained that, she supposed, as the energetic little stylist came breezing past after her retreating partner.
Eric cleared his throat. "Anyway," he said. "I wasn't completely joking before, I really do need to leave. I'm supposed to do a signing in an hour across the state, and I need to get there. But it was nice talking to you."
"You too, Eric. I'll see you soon, I'm sure."
He nodded and smiled again, seemed about to say more when an audible click of heels approached and Maka saw Sophia Evans coming over from the same direction the stylist had appeared, looking prim and perfect in a cream colored dress. "Ah, Maka darling, there you are! I'd been hoping to catch you for a moment." She paused as she noticed that the meister had company. "And Eric, was it?" Her tone never faltered, but Maka could sense the sliver of annoyance in her soul. "Pleasure to see you again."
"Sophia," he nodded. "I was just going, but it seems Maka will be in good hands. Goodbye, ladies," and with that he was off, and Maka sat gaping after him for a moment, trying to keep her head from spinning at the rapid change of company. She realized quickly that she was now, for the first time, left completely alone with Soul's mother, and turned her attention back to the other woman, who gestured to the table where Maka had been standing.
"Shall we sit? I must confess, I've been running about so much I could use a bit of a break."
"Oh, yes, I'd be happy to," Maka replied, seating herself and watching as Sophia did the same in the chair next to her. As the meister had come to expect, the woman was perfectly poised as she looked at her with a polite smile.
"So I trust you're enjoying our little soiree? I apologize that my son seems a less than adequate companion this afternoon. I must admit, he does seem rather more out of sorts than usual today."
Maka blinked at the elder woman for a moment because that was a lot of presumption for someone who hadn't seen her son in a decade, who hardly knew him anymore, but she recovered quickly enough. "You have nothing to apologize for." She wore a polite smile of her own. "Soul has many people to catch up with, and I'm perfectly content on my own, but I thank you for the concern."
Sophia nodded absently, eyes fixed in the direction her son had disappeared earlier, before looking back to Maka. "Are you-quite sure you're alright?" The meister was surprised by the sincere concern in the other woman's tone, but nodded nonetheless.
"I'm well, of course," she offered with forced cheer. "It's been a pleasure to meet more of Soul's family, and the food is delicious."
"Excellent," Soul's mother nodded. "I want you to feel like a part of this family, you and Soul both. I want him to be comfortable coming home, to feel like this is still home for him. I realize he-" she shook her head. "Well, that's not really important. I'm just glad the two of you are here now." That she spoke in earnest was clear, her eyes imploring.
"Me too," Maka replied, and if it wasn't quite the truth, it was true enough that she was glad to finally meet her weapon's family.
"Good. I'm so happy to hear you say it! And speaking of being a part of our family, I heard you met my mother. I do hope she was gentle."
"Gentle?" Maka raised both eyebrows.
"Well, yes," Sophia said thoughtfully. "My mother is brilliant and perceptive, but quick to judge, and just as quick to speak her mind. Soul is a good deal like her in some ways, actually." The thoughtful look vanished quickly, to be replaced with the well worn, polite smile. "But while Mother has been known to be-less than welcoming to newcomers in the past, shall we say, I was sure she would simply adore you." This time the smile widened into something more genuine, and Maka nodded acknowledgment, her blush coming upon her unbidden.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
Sophia waved off her gratitude, assuring her of the sincerity of her words, before her face grew eerily thoughtful again. "But I must confess, I did have an ulterior motive in approaching you. I hope you don't mind, but I have a request for you."
"A… request?"
The woman nodded, not a single hair straying from her subtly upswept chestnut locks. "You see, the rehearsal dinner is tomorrow and-well, I'm aware that this is exceptionally short notice, but we'll all be displaying our talents as a part of the evening's entertainment. Alastair and I will be performing Caro Nome, Wes and Aria intend to play an original composition together, and I was hoping that you and Soul might be willing to provide a small demonstration. Nothing terribly fancy," she added quickly. "I understand there's not much time to prepare-but if you could perhaps show him off as a weapon and explain how you work together? I fear most people don't precisely understand just what it is the two of you do, and I should very much like for them to see how talented you both are, if you would be so kind as to show them." There was a nervousness, a hesitancy in the other woman that the meister hadn't sensed before. She was anxious-this was important to her.
Maka nodded slowly, because Sophia was right, people didn't understand-how could they? She was fairly certain this was as much for Sophia herself to understand as anything else, and Soul deserved for his family to see what he could do. "Of course we'd be happy to!" The enthusiasm and smile the scythe meister exhibited were both genuine; for the first time since she'd met them, Maka felt like she was on even footing in a conversation with one of Soul's family members. "We do plenty of demonstrations at school, so it's really no problem. I just need to know how much space we'll have so I can coordinate which moves to show."
"I can have the entire stage cleared if it will help," Sophia offered.
"That would be great! If we have the space, we can do the same demonstration we sometimes do for the lower EAT classes," Maka began, excited. "We usually start with a strong resonance-"
"Resonance?" Sophia looked nothing short of puzzled, and in her enthusiasm, Maka had completely forgotten that Soul's mother had likely never even seen her son in weapon form-how could she possibly be aware of soul resonance? She sometimes forgot that Soul himself had known absolutely nothing about such things early on in their partnership, that these were completely foreign concepts to most people who existed outside the confines of Death City.
"Yes, soul resonance." Maka nodded. "It's-fundamental to how we work together. Though actually," she amended, "maybe we should start with basic transformation and contact material since this will be more like demonstrating for beginning NOT students, and then move on to resonance-"
"But what is this resonance, precisely?" Soul's mother pushed.
How could Maka explain? She had to remember that this would all be foreign and new for someone like Sophia Evans. "Well you see, in order to wield a human weapon like Soul, a meister like myself must first make sure our souls are in synch because not every meister and weapon will be compatible. Actually, compatibility can be a real issue for some, but-" Soul's mother was wrinkling her brow in something like confusion, and Maka realized she was probably overthinking this. "Well, that's not really the point. Anyway, the initial aligning of souls is the first step towards achieving soul resonance, in which the meister and weapon merge souls to harness their power, combining their wavelengths in a continuous feedback loop to generate an enormous amount of energy. In a concentrated resonance, the results are visual and stunning to those who've never witnessed it."
"So you and my son-combine your souls?" The wrinkle had not smoothed.
"Yes, exactly."
Sophia shook her head. "How do you even know where to find your soul? I must say, I've never so much as felt a hint of my own-and to then share yourself so closely. It must be very strange." Maka felt hesitant curiosity from Soul's mother.
"It is, at first, but you get used to it in time."
"Still, that must be why you two are so close." The woman said, seemingly almost to herself.
"Weapons and meisters do tend to form strong bonds," Maka agreed.
"So after you show us this-resonance-will your demonstration end?"
"We could end it there," she agreed. "But I'd rather put on a better show, really highlight our talents like you asked. I was thinking we could show everyone Soul's Witchhunt blade, along with his piano blade, and then we could do a brief flight demonstration. Do you think that would suffice?"
"I-" The Evans matriarch looked completely out of her element. "That sounds like it would be more than sufficient, yes. Though will you truly-I mean, I didn't realize you could fly."
"Oh, yes! It's something Soul and I learned after he became a deathscythe, but-well-" she shook her head. It could take days to convey all the mechanics of how they achieved flight to someone who knew so little, and really, it was unimportant. "I guess you'll see, but we'll definitely demonstrate flying. Hopefully, that'll be a good show of what Soul's been up to."
"I-think it just might be, yes," Sophia replied, nodding slowly. "I'm sure we'll all enjoy seeing you two in action, thank you." And while there was still a lot of confusion in the other woman's soul, Maka could also sense something like pride in her wavelength, a feeling that echoed in her own soul as she reflected on just how far she and Soul had come together.
"I look forward to it!" She beamed.
The meister was about to ask if Sophia had any other questions when she felt a hand on her forearm and turned her head to see that her weapon had returned, back in his original clothes, looking nothing short of bedraggled. His hair had gone from high, ridiculous spikes to a wet mess plastered to his forehead. Maka couldn't help it, she laughed.
"Oh my Death, Soul, what happened? You look like a wet poodle."
"We need to go. Now," he said, voice pitched low.
Maka shook her head. "Don't be rude, I'm talking to your mom. Whatever it is can-"
"Hi mom, love you, but I need to steal my wife." He raised his eyes to his mother. "Big night ahead-hope you don't mind."
"But Soul, dear, I-"
"Maka's never really spent time here. Gonna show her around, have a little alone time, thanks for understating. See you tomorrow!" His speech was hurried, his eyes darting around as he hauled Maka up by the arm, ignoring her protests.
"Just. Go." He gritted out.
She shook her head, looking to Soul's mom. "It was lovely talking, Sophia, but I guess we're-going."
"Yes, of course, goodbye dear." The woman was blinking up at them, clearly confused by her son's rashness. Maka had no time to ponder further as Soul practically dragged her across the room.
"What the hell is going on?" she hissed, tearing her arm from his grasp.
"Just, I don't want him to-" he snapped back, fear in his voice.
"Oh Mr. Evans! We aren't through, if you would please-" she heard the little stylist's voice call to their backs and it all suddenly clicked into place. She laughed again as he grabbed her arm once more to pull her out the garden room doors and through the halls of the country club. They arrived at the bike in an instant, helmets and jackets were quickly donned, and then they were off, the thwarted stylist left puzzling after them on the country club porch.
For a time, they just drove. Rude as her weapon had just been, at least there was method to that last bit of madness, and he had, for the moment, forgotten to be annoyed with her as his meister pressed herself against his back.
Of course it couldn't last.
Eventually they slowed, and Maka looked around, not recognizing the unfamiliar urban surroundings.
"Wait, where are we?" She blinked as he parked the bike in the midst of an oversized strip mall, smack in front of a large movie theater. "I thought we were going home?"
"We are." He shrugged. "But I needed to get Gran off my back about us going to dinner with the DiFrancos, so I told her I had a special evening planned with my wife. I don't like lying to my Gran."
She hopped off the bike, careful to keep her skirt down, and took off her helmet to stow, before turning back to him, eyebrows high. "And this is your idea of special, now, is it?"
"Yep." He grinned wolfishly. "Time spent with Cap is always special."
"Weren't you and Star going to go see that movie after marathoning the wide world of Marvel?"
Soul shrugged. "Still can, but this happened. So. Figured even if it sucks, it'll still be the highlight of this whole steaming turd of a day." He stowed his jacket and helmet and looked passively after her. "You comin'?"
"Do I have a choice?" she asked archly.
"Not really," he returned back over his shoulder.
"Then lead the way." She had really hoped they'd be going home. It wasn't that she minded superhero movies-she just really wanted to get back to the guest house, get out of this ridiculous sweater, and try to drown the existence of the last 48 hours in ice cream and fatty take out.
Well, she would manage. Maka was a big girl, and it wasn't as though she minded spending time with her partner. Maybe he'd even cheer up a little and they could actually enjoy their evening.
They walked into the theater and obtained tickets, drinks, and snacks, before settling in. While they generally shared a drink when they went to the movies, this time Soul insisted on his own-his own drink, his own popcorn, his own candy. He'd even sat his smorgasbord of junk pointedly on the seat next to him so that she had to sit on the other side of his food rather than with him.
Okay, so maybe that earlier thought about enjoying the evening was a pipe dream. Death was his pissy routine getting old. She needed to talk to him about things, clear the air so they could return to something like normal, but he seemed intent on giving her as little opportunity to do that as possible-they'd arrived at the theater just in time to get snacks and get in for the previews, leaving no time for chatter, idle or otherwise.
Deciding that previews weren't prohibition enough to prevent her from trying to soothe his clearly raw feelings, Maka turned her head his way.
"Hey, Soul?" she said, loudly enough to be heard over the previews, but only just.
"Yeah, what?" he said, flicking his eyes her way for a moment then back to the screen.
"I think we should talk about-"
"It's started, Maka. That means we're supposed to shut up-or were you not paying attention to the helpful advice of the dancing hot dog?"
"It's the previews, Soul. No one cares."
"I care," he insisted, flicking his eyes her way for another instant. "Now quiet-I want to hear all about how a group of over the hill spies are going to save the world with nothing but a tube of Bengay and their wits." He punctuated his dismissal with a loud slurp of his soda.
"Yeah, whatever," she said with a sigh, resigning herself to waiting until the movie was done. Responding to concern with avoidance and snark-classic Soul Eater. Maka supposed it would keep for another two hours, even if she was getting damned tired of his attitude.
Now instead of clearing the air as she'd hoped, the meister sat a chair away and sucked down her own oversized soda, stewing in her discontent, still too hot and beyond irritated at the childish bullshit of her weapon.
As Maka watched the movie in silence, she thought that the rampant distrust, the demise of the order that had been S.H.I.E.L.D. unfolding on the screen before her seemed somehow apropos. Slurping down the last gulp of her economy sized soda, the telltale sound of air through the straw announcing her plight, she sighed heavily and made to get up-she was too damned hot not to have a drink for the remaining half of the movie-when a large soda appeared in front of her face, held in her weapon's hand that he had extended across the divide between them.
She sat back down and turned her face to his in question, but his eyes were still glued to the screen, arm out to keep the drink in front of her.
"Take it, I'm done," he grunted. She blinked at him, then snatched up the mostly full drink, only a little disappointed that it was Mountain Dew instead of Pepsi, before turning her own eyes back to the screen.
"Thanks," she ventured.
"Yeah, whatever," he replied, voice flat. "Just don't suck it all down in five minutes like a fucking camel."
And then he was done talking, and Maka was left with the reminder that even when he was acting like a complete dick, her partner still put her first. She sighed yet again and let the sound and light of the movie wash over her, painfully aware of his own simmering discontent a few feet away as they each sat isolated in their own cacophony of feelings.
An hour later, the movie was over and they were shuffling back to the bike. The prospect of returning to the guest house loomed near, and Maka was happy that she would finally be able to get out of the incubator she'd spent the day baking in and hopefully have enough time to think through what she needed to say to mend this rift between her and her partner. Wrapping her arms around him only to feel him stiffen was awkward, unnatural even, but at least they'd be home soon.
She might have known even that was too much to ask.
Another twenty minutes later, and they were weaving through the heart of New Haven before finally parking in a spot on the street between two cars nothing else could have fit into. There were several storefronts, at least one with a long line, and again, Maka raised her eyebrows.
"What now?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
"Gonna get some pizza. Real stuff, not that shit that passes for decent in Death City."
"I thought you told your Gran you had a special evening planned."
"This pizza is special, trust me," Soul offered with a shrug. Done stowing his helmet, he walked towards the entrance of an old building with a white sign hanging above the entrance marking it as Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana, not even glancing back to make sure she followed. Hustling after, Maka entered behind him into a space full of brick and worn wood, packed to the rafters with humanity and filled with an aroma of baked cheesy goodness that was little short of divine.
It took them nearly forty minutes to get a table in the crowded little dive. Figuring maybe, just maybe, they could finally talk about what was eating at her weapon, Maka looked up at him as they stood in the packed entryway to wait for their table, where he was notably pressed closely to the wall to avoid actually touching her.
"So, ready to talk about what's bothering you?" she asked quietly.
"Absolutely," he nodded slightly, and she kept her eyes on his face, expectant. "Forty minutes is way too damned long to wait for a table," he finished.
"That's not what I meant and you know it, Soul," she huffed, irritated that they were so close that she couldn't even cross her arms over her chest properly.
"I have no idea what you're on about," he drawled. Stonewalling-typical. She should have expected it.
Not wanting to start a scene amidst the gathered throng, the meister grumbled, "Of course you don't," before going quiet. If Soul wasn't willing to talk about it yet, then they just wouldn't talk at all until he was.
After forty minutes of festering in near silence, they were finally seated, and Soul ignored her questions about the rather sparse menu to order a large tomato and mozzarella pie. Normally, she would have vocally protested his presumption, but it didn't seem worth it just then, and cheese was fine by her anyway; she figured that her uncharacteristic silence in this instance was protest enough. For thirty more minutes, they sat across from one another at a small, worn wooden table, exchanging no words and looking anywhere but at each other while waiting for their food. They may as well have been alone. Finally, when a hot, gooey platter of deliciousness arrived and she took her first bite, the meister decided that while her weapon was a stubborn, emotionally constipated ass, he was right about one thing-the pizza really was amazing. Screw Cap, this was clearly the highlight of an otherwise terrible day.
Both of them ate greedily, nearly fighting over the last piece as their hands collided above it. Soul pulled his back like he'd been stung, and she did the same.
"Take it," Maka offered shortly.
He shrugged, grabbed it, and shoved it unceremoniously into his mouth without so much as a thank you, then he paid and they left.
This time, she held onto the handles in back for the first time she could remember, not wanting to feel the volatile cocktail within his soul that her touch would stir, needing space herself, too damned heartsick to do this dance for much longer.
Didn't he realize this was hard for her, too?
It was a bit of a drive back to his parents' house, and the meister relished the cooling air against her face and hands, tried to sink herself into its rushing current rather than fall further into the pit of despair swirling forcefully within her weapon. After some time, and yet, far too soon, they were pulling into the guest house driveway, the twinkling stars overhead looking on distantly, offering no comfort. Maka shucked her jacket into the saddle bag for the final time that day, along with her helmet, and made her way inside, eager to bathe and change and collect herself enough to attempt to cross the yawning chasm between them without the dynamite hidden within exploding in her face. She was weary to the soul and down to her last shred of patience for this day, for everything, for him.
Letting out a long yawn as they got inside, she stretched her arms out above her head for a minute before moving towards the stairs.
"Where you goin'?" Soul grunted from behind her, and she shrugged.
"For a bath. It's been a long day, and I could use one."
"Yeah, cause a few hours out with your own weapon is totally fucking draining, I forgot."
She didn't turn around, still paused near the stairs. "That, and everything that came before it. It's been a rough day."
"Oh, I don't know," his voice was suddenly, suspiciously casual. "Seemed like you and Eric were having a grand ol' time together at the luncheon. Sorry dinner with me couldn't compare-guess I'm just not as good at faking it as you are." The venom in his words and in his soul belied his too-conversational tone.
And that was it, the last straw.
Maka Albarn had had enough-far far more than enough. Screw collecting herself, screw trying to soothe his feelings, screw him. She whirled on her disgruntled weapon, hands clenched into tight fists.
"What is wrong with you?" she snapped. "You've been a complete asshole all day, and I'm getting really damned tired of it."
"Well, I'm getting really damned tired of all the bullshit," he growled. She supposed that was the nearest to a real answer she'd gotten from him so far, but it still told her absolutely nothing. She shook her head at his complete cluelessness, stalking up the stairs because she needed to be alone, to recover, to get out of that damned sweater for Shinigami's sake. He was tired of the bullshit-he was tired?
Stupid, self-involved bastard.
Unable to let it go, overheated, seething, and completely done, she whirled again at the top of the stairs and yelled down. "You asked for this, Soul. I came here for you. This is for you, not me." She spun back around towards the bedroom, but heard his footsteps on the stairs tromping after her, loud and angry, his soul a mess of emotion tempered white hot with rage.
"This was a fucking mistake," he said tightly from the doorway. "A huge fucking mistake."
She let out a deep sigh as she dug for her pajamas in the wardrobe, turning around empty handed to face him across the room. "Look, I know you're angry about last night." She took a calming breath as she started to move closer. "But you said we should act the part and we did, and-" She shook her head, at a loss for words as a flush took hold unbidden, the memory close and hot.
"Oh, you acted the part alright," he said bitterly. "You acted it like a fucking pro. Should win an Oscar you were so convincing. Hell, maybe you should apply at Chupa Cabras when we get home."
Maka's eyes went wide as she shrieked incoherently. What the hell? She'd never wanted to do this, it had been a long, unbearably hot afternoon putting up with his complete bullshit, and now he had the nerve to-to-
"I did what you asked," the words were low and seething. "And I might add, you were very convincing yourself, only-" she stepped close, looking up at his angry, hooded gaze with her own. She could feel herself overheating again, her rage stifling beneath the confines of the sweater, so she lifted it over her head to fling it off unceremoniously, leaving her in only a bra and skirt. "Next time you're pretending to make out," she continued, her whole body tense with rage as she saw him swallow nervously. "Lay off the teeth, you utter fucking ass!" She practically shrieked the last in his face before spinning on her heel to return to the wardrobe, grabbing up her pajamas.
"What," he said lowly as he walked towards her, and she moved aside as he angrily accosted the wardrobe himself. "Afraid people will realize that sweet, innocent little Maka Albarn ain't so fuckin' innocent?" He didn't even have the guts to face her as he spat his poison, and she shrieked again, stalking to the bed to grab up a pillow and hurl it at him, hard, followed by a blanket.
"Get out," she seethed. "Now."
He held up the pajama pants he'd grabbed from the wardrobe for emphasis before grabbing the blanket and pillow roughly. "Already on my way," he grunted before walking across the room. He spun around at the doorway, growling out, "Goodnight, angel," the last word practically spat like a curse, before slamming the door behind him.
Maka heard his retreating footsteps on the stairs and sighed heavily as she changed into her pajamas. It was only eight o'clock, but she was completely exhausted; even a bath seemed like too much effort at this point.
She trudged over to the empty bed, suddenly seeming far too big, and laid down beneath the covers, feeling nothing short of spent, her rage draining, quickly replaced with an overwhelming sense of loss. Why did he have to be so-so-unreasonable? She didn't get it, his rage, his hurt, and her own rage and hurt were stifling, overpowering, leaving her practically numb.
Feeling the tears threatening, stinging, she willed them back. She would not cry. Not for this. Not just because he was being such a jerk. She would not cry.
Maka didn't cry, but as she drifted off into an uneasy sleep, utterly miserable, she had never felt so alone.