The sun rising over the city is much less enchanting when it's directly in her eyes, and not even the coffee they grabbed several blocks ago is keeping her fully conscious.

There's also the small matter of FBI agent Soul Evans, whom she is still not sold on. She's having a hard time getting rid of the feeling of his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his voice in her ear - not to mention the seething embarrassment of his declaration and the look on her boss's face as he tried to stifle his chuckles. She may have reacted poorly by storming out of the station. It had proved futile; he just started following her home like a puppy.

"We've got to set some boundaries," she says between bites of her bagel; it's helping about as much as the coffee had. Soul shrugs, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He keeps eyeballing her bagel and she shoots him a glare.

"If you can't handle casual gestures of affection without warning, then we might have some bigger problems," he points out. She scowls and tears another bite out of her bagel half.

"It's not that I mind the 'gestures of affection,' I just wasn't expecting you to be all up in my business out of nowhere. And regardless, I still think that we need to set some parameters for this farce."

Soul shrugs. "Did you have something in particular in mind? I thought that we had covered the pertinent bases."

"Getting our story straight is not the same as setting boundaries. For instance - gestures of affection are strictly limited to when we're in the presence of people who need to believe we're dating."

"What," he sneers a little. "Afraid you're going to like it?"

She scoffs. "Hardly. I just think that we need to have appropriate work and work boundaries." Soul shrugs. The sheer stubbornness of this woman will never cease to amaze him.

"We also need to make sure that our relationship doesn't look strained or forced," he mentions mildly, and she has to acknowledge that he has a point.

"All right. In public is fine as well, I guess. Just, not too - "

He grins at her. "Good, I was hoping you'd say that." Quick as a snake, he leans over and takes a nice huge bite out of the bagel that he's been eyeballing for the last block or two.

She stops, mouth agape, eyes wide. "Wha - Soul! That was my bagel!"

He chews thoughtfully. "But that's part of dating, right?"

"The hell it is! New boundary! No food stealing."

He swallows, throat bobbing. "Clearly, you've never dated. Food stealing is an integral part of any relationship."

She gets redder as he talks, teeth clicking together audibly as she shuts her mouth. "One, that is none of your goddamn business and two, keep the hell away from my bagel, miscreant!"

He shoves his hands back in his pockets and just laughs at her. "Whatever you say, Kitten."

She spends the rest of the walk to her apartment alternately finishing her bagel and sneaking looks at Soul - to guard against further bagel intrusion, of course.

"Is this it?" he asks when she finally slows.

"Home sweet home," she agrees. She wants to retreat to her apartment and her bed, even if it's just for a few hours, but there's still at least one thing left to work out. She hesitates before she opens the door and Soul raises an eyebrow at her. "We need to establish a rendezvous point."

He nods and considers their options. There aren't many. Certainly not the club. The police station is just as off-limits.

"We could use a restaurant or a coffee shop," she suggests, but Soul can tell from her face that it's a last ditch sort of effort.

"I don't think that's going to work." He moves in a little closer. "There's too much of a chance that we could be overheard. Which leaves - "

"My place or yours," Maka finishes.

"Do you live alone?"

She shakes her head. "What, in this city on a detective's salary? No, I've got a roommate, and she's fully aware of my job and what it entails. All aspects of it." Soul wants to scowl at her - how is that even remotely a good idea? The FBI agent in Soul is shocked that she hasn't gotten herself or others killed before now.

It's an admirable act of restraint as far as he's concerned that he keeps his mouth shut on the matter. He lets out a hefty sigh. "I guess that leaves my place. You've got my address and number?" She nods. "Good. Drop by before you go to work tonight?"

Maka wants to say no, she really does. All she wants to do is sleep until she absolutely has to get up. But they'll need to come up with a better gameplan than their addled brains can formulate now.

"Alright," she says. "I can do that."

Soul eases back. "Ok then."

"Right." Her keys jangle loudly in the morning air. "I'll see you later tonight." She moves to open the door to her walkup when Soul grabs her elbow.

"Be careful, yeah?"

She wants to bristle at the implication that she needs to be told to be cautious, but he's got a surprisingly earnest face on, and she decides that she'll let it slide. She smiles at him a little crookedly. "Yeah, yeah. I will."

Soul returns her smile. "Cool."

With that, he turns and continues down the street. He looks strange and solitary walking down her sidewalk, early sunlight soaking into the edges of his white hair.

"Hey!" she calls out. "You too, ok?" She doesn't see the grin that stretches across his face, just the casual wave of acknowledgement. Maka huffs and rolls her eyes. "I bet he thinks that's real smooth," she mutters. "He is not as suave as he thinks he is."

She doesn't bother with much of anything when she gets inside. Tsubaki's door is shut, and Maka pauses long enough to drop her purse and kick off her shoes. One lands perilously close to the television, but she just shuffles into her bedroom and flops onto her bed. Sleep isn't far behind.

The insistent pounding on his door eventually manages to permeate his consciousness, and the first thing that Soul realizes is that he's overslept, followed by the fact that he clearly fell asleep on the futon masquerading as a couch again. His neck and shoulders are killing him and the asshole who won't stop knocking on the door isn't helping his burgeoning headache. Soul trudges to the door and throws it open with a growl.

"What?"

Maka blinks back at him, hand raised to knock again. He's still half asleep and blames that for the way his eyes roam over her body - from the tight t-shirt to the short-shorts over striped tights to those increasingly familiar combat boots.

"You asked me to meet you over here," she says, keeping her eyes focused on his and her voice level. "Here I am."

He scrubs a hand over his face, runs fingers through tousled hair. "Yeah, I did. Sorry about that." He steps aside and gestures her inside. "Can I get you some coffee or something?"

"Mm, yeah. That'd be great." Maka takes in the rumpled futon cover and the nearly muted TV and tries not to think about how good the Albino Shark looks shirtless and sleepy. A few crashes and muffled curses later, Soul's got a pot of coffee brewing in his tiny kitchenette. Aside from the microwave and the hot plate, it's about the only appliance he owns. Maka stands awkwardly just in the door and as focused as he is on the idea of getting coffee, it takes him a minute to notice.

"Ah, you can have a seat if you want, as long as you don't mind the futon."

She does so, and proceeds to pull out the notes that she's made over the past couple of weeks. She can hear the pot stop its belabored brewing and calls out, "Milk, two sugars, please." A moment later, she's presented with a steaming mug, which she takes gratefully.

"Hope you don't mind creamer instead of milk. I kinda haven't been to the grocery store in, ahhh. Well, I think my cheese has gained sentience, so it's been a while. Or maybe that used to be the milk. It's hard to say."

Maka grins at him. "It's fine; I know how that goes."

Soul returns her smile and plops down on the other end of the futon. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find time to be a mobster and go to the store."

"I think I've got a pretty decent idea. You learn to eat a lot of take out - having a roommate helps a bit, though."

"Yeah, I bet. I'm pretty sure I got all the local Asian places on speed dial."

Maka chuckles at that, and sips her coffee. It's surprisingly good, which she finds at odds with the messy, somewhat dilapidated bachelor's pad Soul inhabits.

"All right, so what have we got?" He leans over, and Maka spreads out her notes. "Jesus. Do you seriously keep all this shit by hand? Haven't you ever heard of a computer?"

Maka sniffs. "Of course I have, asshole. And if someone's going to bother to find where I live and break into my apartment, they're going to search my computer first, and they're not going to find anything. And if by some miracle they have time to look through my things and find my hiding place, they're going to find coded notebooks that are going to take them weeks to break."

Soul peers closer at her neat, uniform handwriting. What had seemed from a distance like regular words refused to resolve into anything approaching readable as he stared at it. "Hm. That's pretty smart, Kitten." She shoots him a glare; he just bares his teeth in a grin.

"Of course it is. Now, are you done?" she asks sourly. He waves a hand for her to go on. "What I've got is a lot of names, faces, and habits. What I need is more on how they're connected and how we can use them, if we can."

"Right. Let's start with names, and I can give you what I've got."

They spend a few hours pouring over her casebooks. Despite the fact that he seems entirely uninclined to put on a shirt, Soul has a lot of pertinent information to add to her files, and she jots it all down diligently, making notes in the margins for things she wants to come back to.

She's intent on her writing enough that she doesn't notice her mug is empty until Soul interjects, "Refill?"

"Mm?" She looks up, startled. "Ah, yes, please." She's back to scratching away with her pen before he can peel himself off the futon with their mugs.

It's nice in a strange sort of way, having another person in his apartment. At least, another person that he can marginally relax with. Even if he didn't have to hide who he was from Back*Star, there was no such thing as relaxing around that guy. Soul pours out the last of the coffee in their mugs and by the time he gets back to the futon, she's finished writing and is scanning over her additions.

He'd be lying if he said that the way she chews on the end of her pen or the way she keeps bouncing her crossed leg isn't intensely distracting. Soul can definitely make out a slowly widening strip of creamy thigh peeking out between the bottom of her shorts and what he had initially taken for tights in his post-sleep haze. Distracted doesn't really cover dealing with this woman, but he tamps down on his base urges. It isn't as though this is the first time that he's chosen work over pleasure - they have a job to do and that, as ever, comes first.

"Here you go."

"Oh, thanks." Maka cradles the mug and stares at her notes thoughtfully. "I think we've got a lot of useful stuff in here."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Just gotta put it all together." Next to him, Maka's stomach gurgles automatically. "Hungry?"

She gives him a wry little smile, "I think my stomach has finally realized that coffee is not, in fact, food."

He raises an eyebrow and grins. He likes the fact that she doesn't flush or seem embarrassed. "Should I pull up my speed dial?"

"Ung, yes. I could kill all of the pork fried rice."

Soul pulls out his phone, but can't resist the jab. "You sure about that? Should I get you a kid's portion, Tiny-tits?"

Maka sneers delicately and ignores the slight against her chest. "Bitch, please. I could out-eat you any day of the week. And retain my girlish figure." She reaches out and prods him in the abdomen, resolutely ignoring the way that his muscles tense up under her finger. "Unlike some people. Careful there, chubs. Maybe you oughta get yourself a salad."

Soul scowls and tries not to reflexively suck his stomach in. "That is not fat, that is muscle."

Maka just gives him that viciously sweet smile he's beginning to get used to. "Mmhm. Just sayin' you might want to lay off the sweet n' sour, Agent Tubs."

He grumbles, but hits the speed dial anyway.

He gets sweet n' sour chicken just to spite her. They don't exactly partake in a race to see who can eat the fastest or the most, because that would be childish and definitely undignified. Soul finishes the last of his rice as Maka's still shovelling hers in with chopsticks.

"Ahhh, done." He leans back, take out container abandoned and empty on the coffee table.

She struggles with the last few bits of rice and shoots him a glare. "Well then. I can certainly see why they call you 'The Eater,' Special Agent Muffin Top." She sets her own container down with the satisfaction of a burn well-delivered.

Except that Soul doesn't seem terribly upset by her declaration. Instead, he's leaning in, arm casually thrown over the back of the futon.

"Oh, baby, I can assure you that's not why they call me 'The Eater'." He licks his lips and looks at her like she's dessert, and Maka can feel the breath in her lungs dry up.

He stretches a hand up and out, and she can feel the heat radiating off his body. Warm fingertips reach for her face and her lungs start to work again as she grabs his wrist and twists, pulling him forward, over her lap.

Soul finds himself wedged between the futon and the coffee table, gasping for breath, and staring up into angry green eyes. His hip aches where it slammed into the edge of the table.

"Oww. What the fuck was that for?"

Maka crosses her arms. "Boundaries," she states, and wonders if maybe her reaction was perhaps a little excessive.

Soul props himself up and glares at her. "You have got to work on that. What are you going to do, pull a gun on me if I try and kiss you in public? Maybe you can handcuff me again next time I try and touch you."

"Maybe I will if it will make you remember the boundaries we set for when we're not in public!"

"It was just a grain of rice, Albarn. I was trying to be helpful." He had wanted to get a rise out of her, but not like this. "You know, it's no wonder you stood out like a sore thumb at Chupa Cabra's! One minute you're fine and the next, you're shooting innocent customers death glares and hate rays. It's a fucking miracle you've remained undercover this long!"

She stands, face like thunder, and for a moment, reclining on the floor, Soul is struck by the hurt in her eyes. It's gone almost before he can register it.

His words sting, but it isn't as though it's the first time she's been told that she blows hot and cold. Cold fish, tease - there's a reason that she hasn't bothered with dating in years. Her lips curl into a sneer. "I stood out like a sore thumb? Really? Well, I must have been doing something right, because I seem to recall that you didn't have a problem popping a boner for the new girl, handsome," she spits.

Beneath her, he flushes. "Well, what did you expect?! You're hot and you were in my lap in that tiny skirt and oh yeah, I thought you were a stripper."

They stare at each other for a minute, faces red from a combination of yelling and embarrassment. Maka's brain is still attempting to process Soul's admission. She takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. She hates admitting it, even to herself, but Soul is right. She will get their cover blown and get them killed if she can't handle the physical aspect of this assignment.

"I'm sorry," she says, and it comes a little easier to her lips than it did the night before. "I will make an effort not to...overreact."

Soul nods. "And I will try to keep the sudden moves to a minimum," he concedes. Maka holds her hand out, and he grabs it. This time when she tugs on his wrist, it's to pull him to his feet. Soul tilts his head to the side and stares for a moment. "You, ah...still have that rice on your face. May I?"

Her shoulders tense, but she nods. Soul's fingertips are just as warm as she thought they might be, and they graze over her chin and the corner of her mouth brusquely, but still gently. She doesn't breathe as he gives her a crooked smile. "That wasn't so bad, huh?"

"I'll be by after I meet up with Black*Star," he says casually, as if this is a thing that they have been doing for months now and not for less than a day.

Maka stands in the hallway, feeling a little out of sorts. Her casebooks are hidden in a cabinet behind a pile of half empty cereal boxes in his kitchenette, and she feels strangely naked knowing that they're not in their usual place in her apartment. Soul leans against the doorframe, hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jeans.

"Right, sounds good." She turns to go. "I'll see you later, then."

"Wait."

Maka pauses at his voice and glances over her shoulder. Soul steps away from the doorway and then he's right behind her, in her space again. She freezes and tries not to flinch away from his sudden proximity; she will get better at this.

"Yes?" She steadies her breathing with conscious effort.

"I will be touching you," he says, and his voice is low in her ear. She wants to push him away, and tell him the hell he will, but he's right. They've got to sell their relationship, and she will not be the one to fuck this up.

"I know. Thanks for the heads-up," she whispers back.

He nods. "This is just another part of being good at your job."

She shoots him a small smile and snorts lightly. "I'll try and keep that in mind."

And with that, she's off and down the stairs, and Soul is stuck watching her go. He's still not sure what to make of Maka. Watching her go through her notes, listening to her observations and grilling her on her system - she's smart. Scary smart, if he's being honest with himself. She's still reckless and impulsive, though. Maybe it's the contrast of her brains and her sheer disregard for danger or consequences that has him so confused.

Soul shakes his head and heads back inside. Only time will tell if she'll end up getting them dead.

He's just stepped out of the shower when he hears pounding on his door again. At this rate, he worries less about his landlord kicking him out for the noise, and more about his door not lasting in the face of all this abuse.

"Hold the fuck on!" Soul slings on a pair of pants and struggles into a shirt as he makes his way to the door.

"Jesus, dude. What took you so long?" Black*Star is impatient as ever, and doesn't bother to wait for Soul's response before inviting himself in.

"I was in the shower, jerk-off."

Black*Star takes note of his hair, still dripping water and guffaws. "I don't think I'm the jerk-off here, dude. Playin' a little one-handed wonder?"

The last thing Soul will ever admit is just how accurate Black*Star is. Instead, he scoffs loudly. "Pfft. Please. Why do you think I was showering so late?"

Black*Star grabs a Gatorade out of Soul's minifridge. "How the fuck am I supposed to know? Despite my godliness, I can't know all your personal habits, bro."

"I had more important shit to do. Like the chick I had over."

Black*Star stops dead. "What, here? For real? I didn't think you took girls home."

Soul smirks. "All depends on the girl."

"Was it, aaaaaaah what's-her-fuck, the redhead?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Try a much harder piece of ass to get."

Black*Star laughs and takes another chug of his stolen drink. "What, you finally tap that new girl?" He says it as a joke, but takes one look at Soul's smug face and gapes. "No shit. I thought she was untappable." He holds his hand up, and Soul slaps it.

"That's just because you don't have my mad skills."

"Man, whatever. The great Black*Star has many skills and many conquests. You can have the skinny waitress. I've got my eyes on a bigger prize."

"Uh-huh. Another stripper?" For the first time in the year that Soul's known Black*Star, he watches the blue-haired mobster flush with something other than anger.

"She's...not like that," he mumbles. "And it's none of your goddamned business." Black*Star knocks back the rest of the Gatorade and flings the bottle in the direction of the trash. "Look, you ready to go or what, lover boy? We got shit to do."

"What, aside from go to Chupa Cabra's?"

"Yeah, orders from higher up. Let's goooo."

It's news to Soul, but he merely shrugs and pulls on his jacket. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

The errand turns out to be less an errand, and more a pickup and delivery situation. Soul doesn't like the look of the place, but that's turning out to be an occupational hazard these days. He takes the gun that Black*Star hands him with a raised eyebrow.

"Eh, you're probably not gonna need that, but never hurts to be careful, yeah?"

"What about you?" Soul asks.

Black*Star laughs. "Me? I got all the guns I need right here." He flexes his arms dramatically.

Soul snorts. "Yeah, ok, man. Whatever you say."

"Besides, that's what you're here for."

"Yeah, yeah. We going or what?"

They slip out of the Black*Star Mobile and head towards the warehouse, both on the alert. He jerks his head, and Soul peels off towards a pile of crates just inside the entrance of the warehouse, one eye on their escape route, and one on Black* 's dark and quiet, which puts Soul on edge. He knows from experience that this is the kind of scenario that goes south quick.

Black*Star either doesn't feel it, or completely ignores the feeling in the air. "Yo!" he calls out, voice like a shot in the dilapidated warehouse. Soul winces and makes sure he's got a little extra cover.

"You here for the package?" A shadow detaches itself from the darkness and comes forward. Soul is liking this less and less.

"Like I'd be in a place like this otherwise. Let's see what you got." From his vantage point a couple of yards away, Soul hears a crate open, and he hears the sound of a wad of bills being thumbed through and wonders, not for the first time, just what's in the package they're picking up. "Jesus," Black*Star says before raising his voice, "Alright. Eater, let's go."

The dealer is long gone by the time he crosses the short distance to Black*Star. The package they're supposed to be grabbing is much larger and heavier than what he'd been anticipating.

"Goddamn. What the hell is this?"

Black*Star just grunts. "Doesn't matter, yeah? Just help me get the damned thing to the car."

They're both so intent on getting the crate maneuvered, that Soul doesn't notice that they're not alone until it's too late.

"Drop the package, dickwads." There's cold steel pressed against the back of his neck and Soul wants to kick himself for not keeping a better eye out. Across from him, Black*Star's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Don't you dare drop this, Soul," he states calmly, lowering his end to the ground gently. Soul follows suit, focused on the fact that the gun never leaves the back of his neck. Black*Star steps away from the package and gives Soul the eyeball.

He sets his end on the ground and begins to rise slowly. "Hey now, man. No need for that. Package is on the ground," Soul says, voice low and even.

"Shut your fucking mouth, asshole. I don't need your lip - "

Soul twists as he comes up, slamming his elbow into the man's solar plexus and rolling away from the gun attached to his neck. The gunman wheezes and drops, and Soul smashes his hand with his foot. He can feel bones snap and pop.

Black*Star laughs a little, harsh and cruel. "Little shit. Who do you think you are, trying to steal from Arachnophobia?"

"Black*Star!" Soul has just enough time to get it out before they're surrounded, thugs in black and brown, with cold eyes and sneers. Soul has no idea when, in the ten minutes they'd been out of the car, these assholes would have had time to drop by for an ambush, but there's no time to think on it. Black*Star is already throwing punches left and right, and Soul has just enough time to catch the gleam in his eye before he's having to duck a fist aimed straight at his face. "Shit!"

He concentrates on dodging first, fists curled protectively. He lands a few punches, can feel the snapcrunch of his elbow hitting a nose. He lashes out with a leg and manages to break through the ring of smelly fuckheads.

Given air and some space, he can see Black*Star has given up on punching big as his primary means of defense and has whipped out a knife Soul didn't know he had. He's impressively effective with it, slicing fast and dodging before his opponents can get a bead on him.

The gun is a weight against his skin; Soul doesn't particularly want to resort to using it, but he's not a whiz with a knife, his punches aren't lethal, and he's running out of options. He whips out his piece and takes a moment. Exhale. Soul fires and a thug drops, kneecap shattered and bleeding.

"Son of a bitch!"

Soul drops three, but the remaining three don't seem terribly impressed. Before they can close in on him again, Soul squeezes the trigger. Four shots, three hits in non vital places, and Soul ignores the groaning, incapacitated goons for Black*Star, who is faring less well with his knife.

"Shit." They're too close and clustered to risk more gunfire, so Soul flicks the safety on and shoves the gun into the back of his pants, praying that he doesn't accidentally shoot his own ass off. He'll never hear the end of it from Maka if he does. With another curse, he wades into the fray around his boss, fists flying once more.

There's blood in his eye, but Soul is at least reasonably positive that it's his own. He hopes. There's a deep ache in his shoulder - it doesn't feel as though anything is permanently fucked though, so he continues on. He punches and kicks with the best of them, years of physical training coming to fruition as the thugs drop between him and Black*Star until there's no one else left standing.

Next to him, Black*Star lets out a manic laugh, grinning from ear to ear. Soul returns his grin as he looks at the groaning thugs, but it's half-hearted at best. Something isn't adding up.

"Hey, Black*Star?"

"Kneel before your god, puny fuckers!"

"Black*Star - "

"What? I am trying to instill my greatness into these little shits."

"Weren't there more of them?" Soul is pretty sure there had been more. He had shot six, and Black*Star had incapacitated another six, but...

"Fuck." Black*Star stares at the ground, and Soul blinks. The parcel is gone, along with the last three punks who had jumped them. "Giriko is going to be pissed."

Things go much better than she had expected upon returning to work. The knowledge that Soul will be dropping by the club weighs heavily on her brain, but she shoves it away as best as she can. Worrying isn't going to change anything, and it's just going to make her jumpy. She was worried before when she thought he was a mobster who was going to blow her cover - now it's just a different cover they've got got to keep together.

She keeps a watchful eye on the club's entrance - she will not be taken by surprise again and risk blowing their cover.

Maka tries not to think about the fact that, despite her previous undercover work, she's never had to engage in quite this level of espionage before, and never while relying on another person as much as she'll have to rely on Soul. She doesn't like that she's not in control of this operation, and she hates the fact that that might be for the best.

"Here you go, mister." She sets the drink down on one of the tiny tables and flashes the swarthy man a smile. He leers at her in return and runs a hand up her hip. She doesn't flinch or wince, but she does go very still and forces her mouth to work. "Uh-uh~ I'm not that kinda waitress, sweetie."

He moves his hand back, but it's slow and reluctant, and his voice is nigh on petulant. "That's not what it looked like the other night, Kitten."

"Sorry, sweetie. Must have been a trick of the light. But don't you worry, it's Bambi's turn on stage. She'll keep you good company." She keeps her tone light and flirty, but backs away from the table. The man scowls a little, but takes a sip of his drink and looks up at the main stage, and she slips away completely as soon as his attention is successfully diverted.

She forces herself to remain smiling and to remember that that particular comment can mean a variety of things, up to and including all the harassment she's taken from Giriko, and that no one is about to call-out Giriko's ability to commandeer waitstaff for some champagne-room action. It works in her favor, but the thought still makes her cringe. She really hates that sleazeball.

"I need a drink!"

Maka glances up fast enough to give herself a crick in the neck. She knows that obnoxious voice - loud enough to carry even over the music of the club - anywhere. Sure enough, a familiar mop of blue hair saunters her way, accompanied by messy white. She makes her way to them before one of the other waitresses can.

"What can I get you boys?"

Black*Star blinks, momentarily startled, then grins widely and slaps Soul on the back. "Damn the service in this place is good! Gemme a Singapore Sling, would you, babe?"

"Of course," she smiles tightly. "For you...Soul?" She makes her smile a little larger, a little brighter when turns to her new partner.

"Got an ice pack, Kitten?" He grins, face pulling uncomfortably, and Soul feels his lip start to bleed again.

Maka's eyes widen. "What the hell happened to you?!"

"Drinks first! Eater wants a screwdriver!" Soul looks horrified at the prospect of citrus and vodka anywhere near his face, but Black*Star shoos her away before he can protest. "Man, I can't believe it. You and the waitress." Black*Star snags a table and flings himself into a chair.

Soul just raises an eyebrow and smirks. "I told you."

"Yeah, man, but I didn't actually believe you! She was ice bitch central last time."

"What can I say - I'm very persuasive."

"You're very full of shit, is what you are. What, you hiding a mondo-schlong in those nut-smugglers or what?" Soul gives him a smug look. Black*Star throws his head back and guffaws. "Oh man, yeah; whaaatever."

"One Singapore Sling and one ice water." Maka sets the drinks down, and Soul gives her a grateful look.

"Ice water? Pussy~" Black*Star grins.

Maka raises an eyebrow and puts her hands on her hips. "You're the one who ordered the Singapore Sling here - the bartender had to look up the recipe. The last time someone ordered one of those, you were in diapers."

Black*Star scoffs. "Fruity drinks are the manliest of drinks! Not like ice water."

"Dude, lay off. My face hurts like a motherfucker," Soul scowls and holds the glass up to his lip.

"Dodge better next time, plebe." He slurps noisily on the straw the bartender had been so thoughtful to throw in.

"I wouldn't have to dodge if you were a better fighter," Soul says petulantly.

Black*Star waves his hand dismissively. "Whatever, bro. Your god didn't want to leave you out of the fight. I am looking out for you."

Maka scowls down at the the mobster. "I'd rather you look out for his face and leave it not all busted up."

"Thank you for your concern, Kitten."

"You're welcome, baby," she smiles with that false sweetness. "Can't have your money maker broken." Beside him, Black*Star dies laughing and Soul wonders if this is what hell is like. "Actually," she says, glancing at the mobster, "do you mind if I borrow him for a second?"

He looks between Soul and Maka, glances at the way her hand rests lightly on his shoulder, and gives Soul a knowing smirk. "Be gentle with him, Kitten - I need him back in one piece."

"Oh, don't you worry. I'd like him in one piece, too," she replies, hand loosely fisting into Soul's shirt. "Come on, baby." She tugs gently, and while part of him wants to balk at the way she's pushing (or pulling as the case may be) him around, the larger part is strangely ok with it.

She doesn't let go until she's towed him into the dark hallway that leads to the private rooms. It's still reasonably early, and the hall is clear. His back hits the wall with a light thud and Kitten the waitress is gone, leaving Soul staring into the irritated face of his partner. "What the hell, Soul?"

"We were making a pick up and got caught in a fight with some thugs."

"Thugs? Locals? What were they wearing?" He describes them, and Maka frowns. "They don't sound familiar, but I'll get the word out to be on the lookout for them."

He nods. "Thanks. They took the package we were picking up, too."

"Drugs?"

"Maybe. Black*Star wouldn't tell me, other than the pick-up order came from Giriko."

Maka's scowl deepens. "That can't be good. He's going to be extra pissed."

"On top of stealing you away from him the other night and sending him on a wild goose chase, yeah. I'd say I'm going on his naughty list." He grins at her again, then winces. "Ffffffff - I am going to be happy when that stops hurting."

"I bet," she says wryly. One hand snakes up between them and she grasps his jaw gently. The light is too dim for her to get a very good look at the damage, but she can judge mostly from his winces where the worst of it is. "You've got a nasty split on your brow, too," she adds, hand brushing against it lightly.

"Ow, fuck," he groans.

She has the grace to look a little sheepish. "Sorry. Must be worse than I thought."

He sighs, and looks over her shoulder. "Could be worse. Mostly you just startled me." She hums in agreement and her fingers continue to run over his face and shoulders clinically. Soul tries not to flinch away from her, and fails miserably.

"Don't be such a baby," she chastises lightly.

"Then stop poking at me."

"I'm barely touching you! And I'm trying to see how badly you got your ass kicked."

"I did not get my ass kicked, goddammit," he snarls.

"Oh, my bad. Obviously it's your face that took all the damage. My apologies."

The sound of drunken laughter filters through the irritated heat of her brain and it takes a second before she realizes that she can hear the laughter over the music and it's heading their way.

She narrows her eyes up at him. "Don't you dare take this the wrong way," and then she's arching up and pressing her lips against his.

His split lip aches, but he finds it eases as he parts his lips. Judicious application of tongue forces Maka to part her lips as well, and oh, that's much better.

He can finally hear the same voices Maka did, and breaks their kiss long enough to whisper, "Gonna make it convincing, Kitten."

That's all the warning she gets before his hands are on her hips, and she's being pulled and twisted until it's her back against the wall. She gasps in surprise, and his mouth slants over hers, tongue licking against her lips. He doesn't close his eyes, which is antithetical to everything she's ever known about kissing, undercover or not, so she doesn't close her eyes either. Instead, she kisses him passionately, channeling her irritation into her glare and into making sure she presses her teeth a little too hard to his lips.

His hands flex, and she can feel his fingers digging into her hips. She slips one hand into his hair and the other takes firm hold of his ass. She knows how to escalate, and she's going to sell their charade.

Against her mouth, Soul lets out a noise that's part frustrated grunt, part moan and presses against her fully. She can feel the rapid thump of his heart against her chest, his knees knocking against her own. He disentangles his mouth from hers and lowers it to her neck, left exposed by her pigtails. He nudges the flimsy collar of her button down away, and she can feel his voice in her skin.

"Who is it?"

She blinks, because his teeth rest against her skin and it's distracting in a way that she's never considered before. Soul rolls hips into hers and she doesn't bother to bite back her groan. She hooks her chin over Soul's shoulder as he worries her neck lightly and keeps her eyelids partially lowered. It's all she can do to keep them open at all, but she wants to get a good look at who's about to catch them.

"Fuuuck," she groans quietly, burying the sound against Soul's shoulder. He can feel her mouth latch onto his neck, teeth sinking into his skin, and his hips jerk against hers in reaction.

Fuck indeed, he thinks as her hand tightens in his hair and the other grips his ass. He can feel her heartbeat speed up, but he keeps his face to the wall.

The footsteps don't stop, though they do pause and whatever low conversation the two had been having ceases. Maka freezes against him. He can hear a sharp bark of laughter that rings familiar in his ears but he doesn't respond, except to press another kiss to Maka's soft skin. The interlopers pass by, and marginally, Maka begins to relax against him. She releases his neck with a wet noise that sends mixed signals to his dick.

"Is it clear?" he asks. He doesn't hear anything, but there seems to be some kind of rushing noise in his ears that might have something to do with blood going places it shouldn't, and he can't really be sure.

"I - I think so." Maka wishes he would stop talking into her skin; it sends goosebumps down her arms and she's having a hard enough time not shaking.

Mercifully, he pulls away from her, and she unwinds her arms from around him. Soul narrows his eyes as he takes a closer look at his partner. "Are you all right? You're shaking."

She had hoped he wouldn't notice. "I'm fine; I'm just pissed."

Soul swallows a little. Perhaps shoving his face into her neck hadn't been the best idea on the planet, but he hadn't really been thinking much at that point.

"Any idea who that was?" he asks, hoping to steer her in a direction that won't get him slapped again.

Maka clenches her fists, and growls, "Yeah. That was Medusa."