"He's clear." Kid slaps a thick file down on her desk, startling Maka out of her thoughts. She glares at the overflowing file, then up at her boss. He looks exhausted, and for an instant, she feels bad about pulling him out of bed for this. But it's almost 4am and she's still not been to bed, so ultimately she's not that sorry.

"Are you serious?"

Kid raises an eyebrow at her and adjusts his glasses slightly. "Do you really need to ask me that?"

Maka deflates with her sigh, slumping in her chair. She's missed this - her desk, her chair, the constant low rumble of the bullpen. This early in the morning, it's strangely soothing.

"Sorry," she concedes. "I'm just having a hard time imaging that jacka - " Kid's glare is sharp. She scowls a little. "Fine. That guy as FBI." As low as her opinion of the FBI is, she still can't quite wrap her brain around the Eater being a fed.

Kid's glare softens somewhat. "We're not the only ones who run undercover operations, Albarn. And if the FBI is involved, then we know that this Arachnophobia thing is much larger than just Medusa Gorgon."

Maka's guts clench at that because it is bigger than Medusa, but that doesn't mean she can shake her grudge against the woman. She's a cop killer, regardless of whether or not she pulled the trigger herself, and it doesn't matter what organization she works for - she will be brought to justice.

Kid's hand on her shoulder is awkward, and he pats her stiffly. She knows it's meant to be comforting. "We will get her, Albarn. That priority hasn't changed." Something in his wording makes her sit up a little straighter.

She narrows her eyes, suspicious. "Wait, what?"

"What, what?" Kid's eyes dart away for a split second to stare at the file he'd tossed onto her desk before meeting her glare.

Maka grabs the folder and flips it open. "What priority has changed, Captain?" Her eyes immediately gravitate towards a tacked-on addendum at the bottom of the second page. Kid looks just about everywhere but at his finest detective.

Her booted foot rhythmically taps against the ancient wood floor, and for a moment, Kid considers letting Maka know that her skirt is riding up, but that would just distract her, and he can tell when she's riding on the slippery edge of anger. Anything could send her hurtling over, and while he might be her boss, a pissed-off Albarn is a headache he doesn't want to deal with if it can be avoided. She closes the folder and sets it gently on the desk. Kid feels his shoulders tense.

"You cannot be serious."

Even her foot has stopped tapping, he notes. "I believe I've already mentioned the likelihood that I would be lying to you."

"This is absurd, Kid!"

His jaw tenses along with his shoulders. Maka Albarn is his best detective, yes, but she is also his most volatile by far, and that comes with a price. "That's Captain."

She's standing now, face reddening rapidly. "I don't care! I've got this under control, and there is no reason that I need to work with that slimy piece of - "

"Maka."

" - shit Fed."

"Detective Albarn."

Maka freezes. Her boss barely raises his voice, but his tone is granite, knuckles white, eyes hard behind slipping glasses frames. "Even if this was up for discussion, which it is not, this is neither the time, nor the place." He turns, the motion sharp. "You will follow me. Now."

Gingerly, she picks up the folder on her desk. She pushed too far, lost in her frustration and anger with the albino shark. He opens the door to Interrogation, and she knows that she's really in for it. She goes inside at his gesture and tries not to drag her feet.

"Now just...stay," he commands, and slams the door after her. She winces, but settles into the chair that she normally conducts her interrogations in. She can have that at least, even though Kid's going to rip her a new one when he gets back. Maka lets out a sigh and grabs the folder again, propping her feet up on the table. She might as well be comfortable while she waits.

The folder doesn't give her much more than she already knows, aside from some basic information about Special Agent Soul "the Eater" Evans. She smirks when she reads it...she'd at least gotten his height and weight right on her profile, if not his age. There's not much else there, aside from his credentials which, if she's being honest, are reasonably impressive. Evans isn't as much of a slouch as he likes to portray. That does not, however, mean she's happy about this little addendum to her assignment. She hears the door open, but doesn't bother to look.

"So, what? Garter belts and fishnets are standard issue now?"

She whips her head around and stares, stuck between flabbergasted and enraged; really, she could learn to hate that voice. His distinctive hair is still mostly hidden under his idiotic driving cap and he leans arrogantly against the door frame. Maka wants to arrest him all over again, maybe for having the collar on his button down popped, or maybe just for continuing to stare at her legs. She settles for remaining seated and glaring up at him as disdainfully as she can. She refuses to tug the hem down on her skirt. If he's going to insult her, she will refuse to be insulted, and he can deal with a little extra skin.

"I'm sorry if some of us have to work when we go undercover, instead of just jacking it nightly at a strip club on the government's dime." She says it sweetly, but Soul's already familiar with that honey-sharp tongue.

"Is that any way to treat your new partner?"

"It's going to be a cold day in hell before I work with you, Evans."

"Then you'd best put your winter coat on, Albarn." Kid pushes past Soul, his mouth and shoulders set in a way that Maka recognizes doesn't bode well for her. He sits across from her at the table and barks, "Evans, come in and shut the door."

Soul unfolds himself from the doorway and does as he's told, reluctantly taking the chair next to Maka.

Kid stares down identical expressions of cold disinterest, and feels as though he's dealing with two petulant children and not two law enforcement professionals. "I know neither of you are particularly pleased with the idea that you're going to be working together, so let me go ahead and get one thing straight. I don't care." Soul's mouth opens and he sits a little straighter. Kid heads him off at the pass. "Neither does your boss, Evans." His mouth snaps shut and he slumps back down in his chair, hands shoved in his pockets. Kid opens the folder that Maka had brought in. "I highly doubt either of you bothered to do more than scan this, but if you had, you'd know that it's got information on the both of you in here, as well as what you've both managed to uncover so far in regards to Arachnophobia."

Maka sits up a little straighter. She hadn't read through the whole thing, though to be fair, she hadn't really had the time and her brain had been too focused on her new directive.

"Between the two of you, there is a good amount of information here. The problem is," Kid continues, catching both of their gazes, "there just isn't enough. Until now, you've been gathering information for two different objectives. Now, you are going to focus on one objective - take out Medusa Gorgon."

Maka doesn't fly from her chair and engage in her victory dance, but it's a very near thing. She settles on the biggest smirk she can manage and a sidelong glance at Soul. He's scowling, but nods his assent.

"And once you complete this assignment, you will both turn your skills towards giving the FBI what they need to take down the rest of Arachnophobia."

Maka's eyes widen. "That could take years!"

"It's already taken me a year to get this far into the organization," Soul says. He's not exactly enthralled with the idea of being stuck with this brash, irritating detective for longer than necessary, no matter how enticing her damn legs are in those fishnets.

"I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Evans, Albarn. Medusa is a big-time player in Arachnophobia. Once you two have eliminated her from the equation, we don't think it'll take much more to wrap up the rest of the organization."

Soul straightens in his chair and looks skeptical. "Arachnophobia is a very extensive organization - much more so than the FBI had initially thought. Does your report mention that?"

Across from them, Kid nudges up his glasses. "The report is very thorough. It has been taken into account, I can assure you. You've both invested too much time and energy for us to risk pulling you out and replacing you with new operatives. Especially you, Evans."

Soul nods; he knows. He's been living this mission for a year. Red eyes dart to the side and he attempts to assess his "partner."

It's easier to understand the enigma of "Kitten" now that he sees her in what is clearly her natural environment - the abrasiveness that he'd seen before is amplified, her arms crossed over her chest, legs crossed at the knee, feet still propped up on the table defiantly. She shifts, and Soul's eyes are drawn to her chest. He looks away. He admires her spirit and her spunk, but doesn't like the idea that he's going to be partnered with someone who would risk her mission just to arrest him out of petty spite.

He says as much out loud, and watches her face turn a belligerent red. She finally swings her legs off the table to face him, and Kid sublimates the mortification of getting flashed by his subordinate admirably. Soul just smirks. "Are those standard issue too, or did you buy them yourself?"

She's going to punch him in the face. She is going to punch him in his smarmy face and break that aristocratic nose.

"Those are none of your goddamned business. And you know what? If I had to do it again, I would do something different."

"Would you, really?"

She sneers. "Yeah, I would have been a lot rougher."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Oh, baby, you know just what I like."

Kid doesn't think Maka's face can get any more red without actively bursting a few blood vessels. He can hear her grinding her teeth and gets ready to restrain her if she goes after Soul, but just as suddenly, she relaxes and leans forward, elbows on her knees.

"Evans, you can only dream."

Soul scowls. The problem, he thinks, is that he might do just that.

Kid can feel the muscles in his shoulders relaxing marginally as he stands. He leaves the contentious folder on the table. "You two need to get your act together. Literally and figuratively. You will be working together, so you might as well learn to deal with each other. Your first assignment," he says, rapping on the door, "will be to work out where to go from here." The door swings open and Kid steps out with a wave and an inappropriately cheery, "Knock when you're done."

The door slams with a sort of morbid finality and Soul and Maka are left staring at each other with identical expressions of horror and distaste. Maka should be amused by the fact that Soul looks like a poleaxed mutt, but she's much too concerned with the fact that she is as stuck with him as he is with her.

"Well," she begins.

He shakes his head roughly, snapping out of his stunned stupor. "Yeah, ok. First things first." Maka seethes at being interrupted, but bites her tongue for the time being. "You arrested me. Where do we go from there?"

"First things first," she mocks. "No one saw me arresting you, did they? Unless you let yourself be followed from the club."

He sneers a little. "Of course no one saw me. Like I would let myself be followed."

Maka's lips curl upwards in a smile that that Soul is starting to realize makes him very wary and more than a little nervous. "Oh, of course not. Except that I followed you."

Soul stiffens in his chair and stares at her."The hell you did, I was watching - "

Maka leans back and returns her feet to their rightful place on top of the table. "Apparently, you weren't watching well enough. Stop me if I'm wrong, you went up 9th and across Jules Ave, then took the footbridge across - "

"I get it, I get it; you tailed me." It's hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. He's a skilled agent, one of the top in his field, and he managed to let himself be trailed by a local detective - it stings, and it doesn't help that Maka looks entirely too pleased with herself about the whole matter.

As much as she does enjoy feeling like she was justified in arresting Soul - or rather, his persona as the Eater, Maka also resigns herself to the fact that they've got to work together and she's probably not making matters better by being the same kind of smug asshole as he is.

She takes a deep breath. "I did it mostly because if someone was going to tail you, I wanted it to be me. I couldn't risk exposure at the club, and you seemed to have a particular interest in me."

This grabs his attention. "You're telling me that I seemed to have more of an interest in you than say, Giriko?" Even the sound of his name sends a wave of distaste through her. She shifts in her chair.

"Let's just say that I never had a problem defining just what kind of interest Giriko had in me, or in any of the girls. And he didn't really bother with me more than anyone else until after he put Cherry in the hospital."

Soul's eyebrows raise at this news. "Cherry's in the hospital? I didn't know."

Maka ignores him, "You, however, took an interest in me out of nowhere, and didn't seem to be immediately preoccupied with getting into my skirt." She grins a little, and Soul is surprised to see the expression untinged by malice. He might also debate that comment, but he isn't about to say that out loud - not while she's making a concentrated effort to be helpful. "You can understand why that might make an undercover cop working in a strip joint a little nervous."

"And you needed me out of the way before I got too interested?" She nods. "Arresting me was risky, you know," he adds.

"I didn't exactly have a lot of options. I've got a little bit of inside help from the dancers, but they're still civvies, and I can't risk them being found out any more than I can risk myself being found out." She lets out a heavy sigh and stretches a bit. It's been a long night. She shoots him another smile, and he blinks, hoping she doesn't notice the fact that he was staring a little. "Arresting you was risky, but I think the Captain could have done enough to keep you out of the way and keep my cover intact. Besides, you came to my rescue - you might have talked with the right incentives."

Soul leans forward suddenly, and she's startled by the intensity of his stare, unable to look away."Are you serious? That was your plan? Are you insane?!"

All trace of friendliness vanishes at his tone. "I told you, I have limited resources. I did what I could."

"Do you have any idea what could have happened?"

Maka grits her teeth. "Of course I do! Like I haven't run through all the scenarios a hundred times - what happens when some asshole like you finds me out and then I'm dead in an alley and my contacts are dead in a dumpster?"

"What about the one where you arrest me and I'm not a federal agent, I'm an actual Arachnophobia member and I've got contacts everywhere. Because that's how they work, Albarn. Arachnophobia is everywhere, even probably in your precious police department, and I can guarantee you that I would have been out within the week, no matter what you thought you had on me, or what Kid thought he could do." He's not yelling, but he's close to her face as he lays it out for her, and it feels like she's been slapped.

She hadn't been thinking of Arachnophobia as such a widespread organization - it was one of the things that Soul was working against, but she'd been so focused on finding and nailing down Medusa that she hadn't considered Arachnophobia as a whole - a grave and potentially fatal mistake.

She clenches her jaw, frustrated with herself for being so stupid, for putting the lives of her informants in danger even while trying to keep them away from it. Soul is momentarily taken aback by the fierce glare that she levels at him - hard green eyes and a scowl that could strip paint. There is a part of her that feels like she should apologize, but she can't make her mouth form the words - not to him. So she glares and he scowls back.

Soul is the first one to withdraw and Maka takes a small measure of satisfaction from that fact. "Any suggestions for how to handle this when we leave?" she finally says.

Soul recognizes that that is going to be as close to an apology or acknowledgement of her mistakes as he's going to get for now. She'd looked rattled, and he'll have to take that as understanding how close she could have come to a fatal mistake. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

Truth be told, he's struggling to come up with a solution that won't be incredibly distasteful to the both of them. Maka bounces her leg - whether unconsciously or as a sign of bottled up energy, he's not sure - but it gives him a faint idea regardless. Even if it's one he's not terrifically fond of.

"You're not going to like it," he prefaces, and she turns her head to look at him, eyebrow raised. "We're dating," he says and is completely unsurprised at the way her mouth twists in disgust. "Yeah, I know, I'm not really a fan of it myself." As far as he's concerned, Maka Albarn is a menace, and he can't fathom how anyone would consider dating her, no matter how hot her ass looks in that skirt.

"So, we're...dating," She mostly doesn't spit the word out. "How do you explain us coming out of the police department if someone were to find out about this little foray?"

He grins, teeth sharp. It's obnoxious, she notes. "Easy. We were groping in the alley, and you got picked up for hooking."

He expects her temper, but not how explosively violent it is. She's out of her chair in a flash, quicker than he would have anticipated her to be able to move. The chair crashes into the floor, the heavy metal table skidding back several inches.

"What?" she hisses, and it's his turn to lean back in his chair and prop his feet up on the table. In a way, it's kind of fun to see this dainty-looking creature flip her shit, and really he can't resist baiting her.

"They thought you were hooking," he repeats it slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. "You know, prostituting yourself? Cash for ass? Working the corner, world's oldest profession? With you dressed the way that you are, I don't think it's going to be much of a stretch for someone to believe you'd be turning tricks in an alley." He's deliberately needling her and it's strangely gratifying the way her face begins to take on a purple-hue - right up until she snatches the thick file from the table, rolls it up, and pops him one good on the back of the head. "Jesus fuck, woman! What the hell was that for?!"

"That's for you being a fucking dick is what that's for."

"I told you you weren't going to like it! Fair warning was given - you can't fucking hit me for that."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I already did. What are you going to do about it?"

He stands and faces her, scowling. He's got several inches on her and has absolutely no compunctions about looming over her to get her to back down. Except that she doesn't, meeting his eyes with a fierce, unwavering stare, even going so far as to step closer. She has to crane her neck a little to maintain eye contact, but she doesn't back down.

Soul's head still smarts from where she whacked him. Maka is infuriating and confusing in equal measure, but he can't help but admire the way she refuses to be intimidated by him, even if it's rapidly becoming apparent that her stubbornness is going to get her killed one day. If she's the best Death City PD can produce, he finds it a wonder that they function as a police squad. Still...he had been more crude than was strictly necessary. He sighs.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

For a long moment, she looks at him suspiciously, and he looks back at her as sincerely as he can manage. He does not look at her tits which are still highlighted prominently and practically smashed against his chest. Ok, he might look a little, but Soul is reasonably sure that he does it quickly enough she doesn't notice.

Maka nods once, decisively. "Apology accepted. I am...sorry," it sounds like she's having to force the word out, "that I hit you." Mostly, she adds silently. "It's - it's not a bad cover story. So, we're...dating."

He grins at her. "Well, as much as a mobster and a waitress from a strip club can be said to be dating."

She does not like this, not one bit, but she has to admit that it works, that it makes sense, even. Objectively, she can see the value in the ruse - she'll be able to talk with Soul and compare notes and observations without suspicion, which is more than she can say for how she's delivering reports now. And she can't deny that having another trained set of eyes will be useful.

"It does help that you've been showing a lot of interest in me lately," she acknowledges wryly. Soul nods, grin widening a bit. It shows off his teeth, she notes idly.

"While I can safely say this isn't anything like what I had originally intended, it certainly could have worked out worse."

She finds herself nodding in agreement. "I'll let my sources know that we're, ah, seeing each other. That should help legitimize things."

"Good."

"Yeah."

They're still ridiculously close, she notices, trying to figure out the best way to back off without seeming like she's backing down. She uncrosses her arms and tries not to brush against him. Soul, it seems, realizes the same thing and slowly his posture relaxes until he's back to his ruffian slouch. Maka shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and rocks back a little.

The tableau is broken and she moves back to the table and the discarded folder. "We should set down some guidelines," she says.

Soul raises an eyebrow, but sits back down at the table. "What do you propose?"

"First. Names. You can call me Honey or Kitten, but not Maka - unless we're alone."

He nods. "You can still call me Soul."

She looks confused for a moment. "I thought you went by 'Eater' in Arachnophobia?"

He flashes his teeth at her, very deliberately. "They call me Soul Eater. Or just the Eater. Whichever you prefer."

Maka rolls her eyes. "Really. Wow, ok. That is corny as fuck." He looks marginally offended, and she kind of prefers that look on him.

"There isn't anything wrong with my name," he defends.

She smirks at him again. "Not wrong, no. Just...it's a little overly dramatic, don't you think?"

He doesn't huff, but it's a pretty close call. "No I don't think it's overly dramatic and no one asked you, anyway, Kitten."

She glares at him a little. "I did not pick that name."

Soul shrugs. "What about contact?" She removes one of her hands from her trench, clutching a phone.

She fiddles with it for a second, then without looking up, says, "Go for it." He rattles off his number, and she taps it in, then returns with hers. It's in his phone in a flash, and for a moment, Soul looks up to find her eyes on him. "What else?"

He taps his chin with one long finger for a moment. "Where do you live?" She tenses a little, but gives him the address. Soul looks startled. "Seriously? That's not far from where I'm at." Maka's lips twist. It's going to make things easier for work, but she's not sure that she likes knowing that Soul is so close to her apartment.

"So then, where do we go from here?" she asks.

"Let's get your boss. I think I'm ready to go home," he says with a quirk of his lips.

Maka returns the gesture. "I think between the two of us we ought to be able to convince the Captain that we're good to go." She strides to the door and gives it a couple of sharp raps. "CAPTAIN. CAAAAAAAPTAIN!"

From his seat, Soul winces at the sheer volume she can manage. He wouldn't have suspected her of having the lung capacity. She pounds on the door again, enthusiastically.

She's just about to starting yelling again when Kid opens the door. He looks frazzled and twitchy. Maka lowers her fist and says sweetly, "We've come to an arrangement."

Kid glares at her and shoves his glasses back up. From his seat, Soul smirks.

"That's fantastic. Was the screaming really necessary?"

"I know it's awfully early for you, boss. Just wanted to make sure that you weren't napping." Kid's glare is fierce, but Maka remains undaunted. He's given her worse, and she's long passed tired. She wants to move past him and get the hell out of the station, but her boss has known her for far too long at this stage, and he continues to linger in the doorway.

"Mm. How thoughtful. And what is your arrangement?"

She doesn't want to say. If there's even the slightest chance that this could get out, she'll never hear the end of it from her coworkers. It'll be bad enough if any of them find out that she's undercover at Chupa Cabra's.

Behind her, she can hear the slow, grating scrape of chair against floor, and before she can react, there's a long, heavy arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. His smooth jazz voice rumbles next to her ear as he says, "Why, this is Kitten, my new lady."