"Medusa?" Soul hisses. Even though they aren't pressed flush against one another any longer, Soul can still feel the way his partner vibrates with anger.

"Yes," Maka growls, and for a moment, Soul is glad that he's got her up against the wall. He's not sure that she wouldn't have immediately gone after the notorious woman, despite the fact that they're in the middle of her club, have no identification, and no weapons. There's a look in Maka's eyes that he hadn't noticed before, and he thinks that he really should have. He's seen it before in some of the agents he's worked with - he knows what that means.

"We need a plan."

She darts wild eyes up at him. "I go after her."

Before she can act on her words, Soul moves, and Maka's trapped, his arms caging her in on either side. "The hell you do," he hisses.

"Don't try to stop me, Soul," she snaps. "Our target is right there and you want me to ignore her? What the fuck."

"You are going to ignore her because this is a situation with no way out. We know now for a fact that she does come here - that's info we didn't have before."

"But I can take her now."

"With what? You don't have a gun, you don't have any weapons. If you've got a pair of cuffs, I don't even wanna know where you're keeping them. And what about whoever was with her?"

"Giriko," Maka supplies, her eyes fixed down the hallway where their quarry disappeared.

Soul stiffens. "Really?"

"They seemed pretty buddy-buddy." Maka squirms a little more, but it's not as fierce. Soul hopes that's because she's finally letting her common sense take over, but he tenses his arms anyway, ready for her to try and make a break. She looks back up at her partner, searches hard red eyes, and exhales slowly. She knows that he's right. Logically there's no way she can get Medusa now and actually get out alive.

"Ok," she says finally.

"Ok, what."

She gives him a petulant glare. "Ok, you can let me go. I'm not going after her." Soul raises an eyebrow. Maka crosses her arms. "Do I need to pinky swear or something?"

Somewhat reluctantly, he backs away. "Later," he promises lowly, "we're going to have a discussion about you and Medusa."

She ignores him. "I won't try to take her out. But maybe I can find out where they went?"

"Alright. But I'm coming with."

Maka quirks her lips in a passable smile. "Of course. Follow me."

And with that, she slips past him, and cautiously makes her way down the hall. Soul follows, making sure that he's within grabbing distance of Maka and keeping an ear out for any unexpected visitors who might be coming up behind them. Soul doesn't have much trouble keeping his footsteps quiet on the marbled floors, but Maka's still got those heels on, and a moment later, she bends over with a frustrated grumble and slips them off.

"Stupid fucking shoes," she mutters.

Behind her, Soul swallows heavily, and tries not to think about how well those thigh highs hug her legs, or the smooth curve of ass he just glimpsed. Maka holds her shoes one-handed and continues, footfalls completely silent now. It only takes another moment before she stops again, and he nearly runs into the back of her.

"What's the hold up?" he whispers.

Maka turns her head to find his face inches from hers. "Dead end, genius," she murmurs back, keeping her eyes focused on his. Soul looks past her, and sure enough, there's naught but a little decorative table and lamp and the end of a corridor.

"That's - "

"Impossible?"

He gives her a little smirk. "I was going to say stupid. Why would there be a hall going to nowhere in a place like this? There's gotta be a secret door somewhere."

"Smug," she mumbles back, but she's grinning a little as she says it. She crouches down, stares at the floor for a moment, then looks back up at him. "Listen?" she asks, but Soul's already picked up on her intent, and moves to the walls.

Back here, the music from the main floor is muted, and he keeps a careful ear out for anything that doesn't fit in with the low throb of bass, his eyes scanning the walls for any small cracks or gaps. He's intent in his scrutiny and doesn't notice Maka attempting to get his attention until she lays a hand on his shin.

He looks down, startled, and she motions to the marble floor. For a moment, he's not entirely sure what she's trying to point out and he shrugs. Maka scowls a little, and tugs on his pants leg. He crouches next to her, and she takes his hand, running his fingers across the floor. The rough pads of his fingers drag against the marble and - there. He gives Maka a triumphant look, and she grins. Together, they follow the faint tracks in the floor to the wall. Soul can just barely make out the edge of what has to be the secret door. He looks back at his partner, eyebrow raised.

Maka just smirks, and reaches into her bra, pulling out a long, thin pin, and pressing it into the wall next to the crack. Soul grins back at her and stands, reaching out. Maka takes his hand and her shoes, and he pulls her to her feet effortlessly. Her stockinged feet slip a little on the slick marble, but Soul steadies her with a firm hand on her waist, and together they make their way back to the main part of the club.

They're almost through the hall before Maka groans and tugs on Soul's sleeve.

"Hold up a bit. Forgot about these damn things." She steadies herself on his arm and slips her heels back on with a grumble. "Alright." She straightens and moves a little closer. So close to the floor, the music throbs against her temples, but provides the best background for not being overheard. Maka leans in, sliding her arms up to Soul's neck and fists a hand in his hair gently. "We can go over this more later, yeah?"

Soul doesn't have to strain to hear her because her lips are so close they're brushing against his ear. He settles his hands lightly on her hips as she presses against him. "Sounds good," he says. "You wanna wait until tomorrow, or hash it out as soon as you get done with work?" He pulls back a little, critically examines her neck and collarbones.

"I'll drop by your place." She runs her fingers through his hair, gives him a stare, and then gives up, ruffling it thoroughly with both hands. "Better," she proclaims.

"Mm," he says articulately, still staring at her neck.

"What?"

"You could use a little more - " he starts, and then his mouth is on her neck again, teeth lightly scraping against her skin, sucking fiercely. Maka feels her left knee tremble and tries not to let out a low groan. He pulls back a moment later, releasing her neck with wet pop, and examines his handiwork. "There. That should do it. Nice and convincing," he murmurs.

Maka would like to argue, but instead just glares at his smarmy grin, and defiantly pops another button on her blouse and musses up a pigtail. "More convincing this way," she insists, and skews his shirt a little more.

Soul just grins. "Whatever you say, Kitten. I'll wait for you after work."

"You don't have to do that, I'll be fine - "

"I'll see you after," he repeats, and turns. Maka watches him go and emphatically doesn't stare at his ass as he struts away.

She catches glimpses of Soul throughout her shift. For the most part, he sticks with Black*Star and nurses ice water. Maka can only assume that he's getting them refilled himself, or by one of the other waitresses. Only once does she see a dancer approach him, and she watches him smile slowly and shake his head at the bombshell.

Part of her feels irrationally relieved at his reaction, even if it isn't any of her business if he...pumps his sources. She recognizes that he has a job to do and wonders if she needs to talk with him about that later. She doesn't want valuable information to escape just because he's afraid he might hurt her feelings - or "Kitten's" feelings, whichever is appropriate in this case.

Maka shakes her head, as if that will somehow chase her pesky questions away, and offers another smile to one of her customers. The lights dim a little and begin a slow strobe as "Sunshine" takes the stage. Even from across the club, Maka can make out the high, tinkling laugh of the younger Thompson sister as she practically skips onto the stage and leaps at the pole, executing a picture perfect spin. The girl has style, and for a moment, everyone in the club's eyes are on the blonde. It's genuinely only luck that Maka looks away in time to see Giriko coming out of the back hallway.

It's hard to make out from this side of the club, but his face looks thunderous. She winds her way through the tables, eyes darting between Giriko's menacing strut and the hallway, waiting for Medusa to appear. She carefully wipes down a table, trying to keep an eye on both until she hears her name being called from near the bar. She grumbles a little bit with the knowledge that she's probably going to lose both of her quarries, but it's not like she can refuse.

Maka's loaded down with a drink tray before she knows it and slowly makes her rounds to her patrons. She loses Giriko completely, but she's just setting down the last drink when she looks up and catches Medusa slinking her way along the walls of the club.

For a moment, Maka's vision goes red, and she's back in that alleyway, blood spatter soaking into concrete. She could just make out the numerous stab wounds past the badly burned and mutilated flesh of the two young cops. Only one badge survived the fire, half twisted from the heat, but she would have known who it was even without the identification - she'd certainly teased the kid enough about that bright pink hair. Even burnt, it was a dead giveaway.

She blinks, and Medusa is chatting with Blair. Maka can see the strained smile on Blair's face - she breathes deeply and tries to remember that Soul will murder her himself if she does anything rash.

Maka eases her white-knuckled grip on her serving tray and casually makes her way closer to the pair. She's close, but not close enough to overhear anything substantial - Medusa smirks and Blair lets out a high, false laugh in response. Medusa moves out of range, heading towards the stairs and Maka can't follow without being incredibly suspicious, so she settles for closing the distance to Blair.

"Evening, boss lady. Can I get you anything?" She takes in the set of Blair's shoulders, the way her jaw continues to clench even as she smiles.

"Kitten~" Blair purrs. "Get me a White Russian, would you, pumpkin?" She sounds normal enough.

Maka puts in her boss's request, keeping her eye trained on the older woman. She takes note of the way Blair's hands clench and unclench against the railing she's leaning on, and even her normal lusty smirk seems coolly detached. Whatever Medusa had been telling her, she did not care for it.

She returns with Blair's drink and hands it over. "Everything ok?"

Blair gives her a once over, eyes scrutinizing. "You're a cute little thing," she says, then narrows her eyes a bit. "How did it go with our 'special client' last night," she asks suddenly, voice deceptively neutral.

Maka blinks, and looks away, torn. She wants to rip into Blair for allowing what almost happened with her, and worse, for allowing it to happen to Cherry. "We were interrupted," she finally says. Her green eyes fix on Blair's. "After he tore my shirt off." She only notices the cloud that passes over Blair's face because she's watching.

"I see."

Maka takes a breath, and a risk. "Is Giriko why Cherry's out?" She knows the answer, but she wants to hear Blair say it. She seems like the kind of woman who wants her girls to be happy despite being under the thumb of Arachnophobia. It's a stretch, but maybe there's something she can do to get Giriko away from these girls.

Blair blinks, then nods once, slowly. "It's...not ideal." At Maka's incredulous look, Blair gives her a small frown. "It's also not a thing that I have control over." She gives Maka another scrutinizing glance, eyes lingering on her neck. "You said you were interrupted?"

"Yeah, someone came in and told Giriko he was being called. Dunno what about."

"Who was it?"

Maka doesn't like the calculating look in her boss's eyes, but out and out lying isn't going to do her any favors, either. She glances down, then back up, the picture of coy innocence. "Eater." She likes the wide smirk that Blair gives her even less.

"Oh really? Did you thank him properly?"

Maka sees the opportunity and takes it, giving her boss a salacious grin. "All night long."

"I see he lives up to his name," she comments, jabbing lightly at the hickey on Maka's neck, and Maka can't help the scarlet blush that creeps through her cheeks. Blair lets out a raucous laugh. "Oh, dirty girl~ Your neck looks like it's been feasted on," she says with a wink. "You should keep that one close."

Her words are light, but Maka still hears the meaning behind them. She nods. "I intend to." Blair's hands are tied, but that she's trying to covertly protect her is a strange, small relief, and Maka tucks it away for future reference.

"Now shoo; you've got patrons to see to," she says, shooting the rest of her drink.

Maka nods and heads back to the main floor, mind still turning over the strange conversation. She takes a deep breath and searches the tables once again, but sometime during her interlude with Blair, she's completely lost track of Giriko.

There's a small sinking feeling in her stomach when she glances at the table Soul and Black*Star had been occupying earlier, only to find Candy sweeping up some broken glass, an irritated scowl on her face.

Fuck.

Soul's lip really hurts. It's made worse by the fact that he's got his back against a shitty brick wall for the second time in as many days, and he's getting real tired of it. He's also none too pleased with the spitting ball of misplaced rage screaming at him or the fact that he can't fight back without completely blowing his cover.

"You two think this is fucking cute or somethin'?" Giriko is pissed and the part of Soul that's an FBI agent is amused by the thug's complete lack of control. The part of him that's just been slammed into a wall is less thrilled, however. He keeps his attention primarily on Giriko, who poses the most immediate threat, but Soul is keenly aware of the fact that Black*Star's there too, that he could throw Soul under the bus at any second. Technically, it's both their faults that the shipment - the shipment Giriko was responsible for apparently - got taken, but the blond seems to have it out for Soul in particular. "Answer me, you little shit!"

"No I don't think it's cute," Soul replies evenly, keeping his eyes trained on the older man.

Giriko snarls, and shoves Soul back against the wall again. "Little smartass. We lost a lotta fuckin' money because of you. How do you think we're gonna make that up?"

"I dunno, maybe make sure a shitton of dumbass punks don't find out where you're making your drops next time?" Soul probably should see the punch coming, but he just feels the fist slamming into his guts and barely manages to bite back a pained cry.

"That smart mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, Eater. How do I know you didn't set the whole thing up? Tryna get your own little side hustle going?"

Soul coughs. "You know it wasn't me 'cause I didn't know about the damn drop until Black*Star told me - right before we went to grab it. Besides, I'm just starting to make a name for myself - you think I'm gonna risk it for a little extra cash, then you're dumber than you look."

Giriko sneers. "Way I see it, you're doing a lot of grabbing at shit that ain't yours. You think I don't know what you were playin' at last night, tellin' me the boss wanted to see me?"

Soul's eyes widen and he feels his heart speed up. Fuck. At the time, he'd been too concerned with getting this fucking creep away from a seemingly helpless waitress. He hadn't considered the consequences of his little fib, had no way of knowing what that would look like in conjunction with the robbery.

"And then I see you got that bitch up against a wall tonight like I wouldn't know what's what? I knew I shoulda fucked that dumb cunt first instead of playin' around. Left you with sloppy seconds."

Giriko laughs, and Soul lashes out before he can stop himself, hand fisting into Giriko's stained shirt.

"She's not your whore, you fucking shit!" Soul shakes the mobster, who just cackles.

Giriko pushes back, wrenching Soul's hand away. "So what, she's yours? You went n' fell for some slut gets paid to open her legs up? That's fuckin' rich, Eater. Best fuckin' laugh I've had all week." He slams Soul into the brick wall again, and Soul winces, trying to keep his head from bouncing on the bricks too hard. "Still, you gotta big mouth on you for being so low on the pole. Show you what happens to little fucks who steal my shit."

"I didn't take your fucking package, and she's a goddamn person you fu - " The back of Giriko's hand slams into his face with a truly impressive amount of force, and despite his earlier efforts, his face cracks into the brick. "What the fuck is wrong with you," Soul snarls. It feels like his face is on fire, but Giriko isn't finished. Soul can see the punch coming this time, and the dirty bastard is aiming straight for his solar plexus.

"Dude." Giriko's hand stops, held back by Black*Star, who's finally moved. "That's enough."

Giriko turns on him, lips curling. "Who the fuck are you to tell me what's enough?"

Black*Star releases the blond's wrist and shoves himself between Giriko and Soul, pressing the other man back. "I'm the great Black*Star, bitch. He doesn't know shit about your package. I'm the one who told him about it, and I was with him the whole fuckin' time."

Giriko glares at him. "Yeah, and how do I know you ain't workin' with him? I'm about sick of your fuckin' attitude too, you uppity little shit - " He pushes back, and Black*Star stumbles a step.

Soul pushes himself off the wall and gets back in Giriko's face. "Don't blame us because you've got a leak somewhere. We're just trying to do our jobs. If you're gonna beat the shit outta me, at least do it for something I actually did - like steal the girl you couldn't close the deal with."

"You son of a bitch - "

Faintly, Soul hears the creak of the club's backdoor opening and wonders if Free's finally come out to try and put an end to the brawling. Instead, he hears her voice.

"Soul? What the hell is going on?!"

He wants to look to confirm that it's Maka, but Giriko is swinging again and he can't afford to divide his attention. If he can't fight back the way that he wants, the least he can do is try and dodge.

Black*Star steps in again, and blocks a punch meant for Soul's battered face. "Dude. We didn't take your shit. And what the hell are you doing getting so worked up over a fuckin' waitress for? That ain't like you."

"I don't give a shit about that skank, I just wanna beat this smug fuck's face in. He needs a lesson in respect."

"Yeah, I get that. He can be a pain in the ass. But beating his face in ain't gonna get you your shit back, and it ain't gonna make you feel better."

"I'm thinking it really will."

Black*Star gives Giriko a tight grin, teeth bared. "I'm really sure it won't, cause if you lay another hand on my fuckin' minion, I'm gonna break it the fuck off in your ass. I don't care who you are."

From behind Black*Star, Soul gives Giriko a slightly bloody smile. His cracked lip is seeping blood again and he can hear Maka's harsh breathing in the momentary silence of the alley. Her heels tap hesitantly on the concrete, and he catches her out of the corner of his eye, shakes his head. Maka gives him a firm look and sidles over to him anyway, wrapping one hand around his wrist. Giriko's eyes dart between Maka and Soul, then back at Black*Star.

His lip curls, and he sneers in disgust. "You're a real fuckin' badass, Eater. Gotta have your boss and a cheapass tramp defend you? Fuckin' pathetic. You ain't worth my time - you say you didn't take my shit? You better find a way to make it up to me," he glances over at Maka, eyes lingering. "If you don't, your little wench's days are numbered." He licks his lips and Soul can feel Maka's grip on his wrist tighten. He hadn't even realized he'd tensed up, ready to punch Giriko. "Maybe I'll show her what it's like to be with a real man before I slit her throat."

"Jesus fuck, Giriko. We'll pay you back, just go the fuck away," Black*Star rolls his eyes, arms crossed. "A god like me doesn't have time for this bullshit."

"I've got my eyes on you fucks," Giriko says. He gives them all one last glare, and it's Soul's fist that clenches this time as his eyes linger on Maka. Next to him, she's vibrating with what he can only assume is repressed rage.

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Black*Star watches the mobster go, strutting down the alleyway, then turns to Soul. "You ok, minion?"

Soul rolls his shoulders a little, and cracks his neck. "Been better, but I've also been worse. I'm starting to think being around you is bad for my health."

Black*Star throws his head back and laughs at that. "Come on, it's fun. Besides, I take care of my own."

"Coulda taken care of your own before he started slamming my face into bricks," he mutters.

"There's a hierarchy, dude - I had to see if you were loyal, you know that. Anyway, bricks build character." Black*Star frowns, and looks at Maka, taking note of her death grip on Soul's wrist, and the slight trembling of her shoulders. "You shouldn't've said that, though."

"Said what? I said a lot of shit to that asshole," Soul scoffs.

"Yeah, that's - Giriko's got a thing about chicks. 'S true you snagged her away from him?"

Next to him Maka releases his wrist and stands a little taller. "He kept me from ending up in the hospital like Cherry," she snaps. "He's good to me, not like that bastard." She spits on the ground, and Black*Star chuckles.

"Knew she was a little spitfire. Ol' fuckface isn't gonna be happy about that though, especially not since you really give a shit about her. He ain't joking about making her a target."

Soul toes his shoes off the minute he steps into his apartment, Maka a half-step behind him.

"I swear to god I am going to fuck that guy up," she mutters under her breath, bending down to unlace her boots.

"You're gonna have to beat me to it," Soul replies, just out of sight.

"I relish the challenge." She makes a beeline for the cabinets and pulls out her notebooks, then flops onto the futon, feet propped up on the coffee table.

"You want anything?" She looks up, blinking, and Soul gives her a little grin. "Drink? Coffee? Snack?"

She tilts her head and frowns up at him. Under the stark lights of his kitchenette, Soul's lip looks terrible. Maka can see what looks like a faint bruise forming on his cheek.

"You look like shit," she says instead, and gets up from the futon.

Soul brushes a hand over his eye and lip, then grimaces. "Thanks. I take it that you won't be wanting anything, because I'm sure as hell not going to make you anything now."

Maka scoffs and rolls her eyes. "I'm just stating the facts. I hope it doesn't come as a surprise to you that you had a number done on your face tonight."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Bathroom?"

Soul waves a hand in the general direction of the back of his apartment. "It's the door that isn't the bedroom," he says helpfully, and Maka just rolls her eyes at him again. He hears her rummaging around in there and wonders what the hell she's doing. Maka emerges a couple of minutes later, peroxide and cotton balls in hand. "What, really?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Yes, really. I'm not holding a conversation with you while you still have dried blood all over your face."

He scowls. "I washed my face!"

"Not well enough. Go sit, and stop being a baby."

Skeptically, he plants himself on the futon and crosses his arms. She perches on the edge of the coffee table and moistens a cotton ball. Maka gives him a look and crooks a finger.

"This is embarrassing," he mutters, but he scoots closer regardless, resting his elbows on his knees.

Maka snorts lightly. "It's only as embarrassing as you let it be." She gives him an exasperated look when he flinches away from the first cotton ball. "Relax, would you? I've got a lot of experience with this kind of thing."

He flicks red eyes up to meet hers. "Do you, now?"

"Yeah," she hums. "My mom was a doctor. Taught me a lot about how to clean wounds and patch up people. Easy stuff," she adds, dabbing carefully at his eyebrow. "But I can do some field dressing and basic suturing if necessary." Under her hands, he stiffens, and Maka shoots him a quick grin. It's mischievous in a way he doesn't expect, and lights up her face. "I'm pretty sure you're not going to need any sutures, Soul."

"Promise?" He grins back at her, and is pleased to note that she's comfortable enough to smile and tease.

"Mm. We'll see. The day is still young, technically." She wets another cotton ball. "Chin up," she says, and leans in closer.

"So your mom just taught you this stuff?"

She snatches his chin in one hand. "Hold still and don't talk," she murmurs, dabbing gently at his lip. For a moment, he thinks she won't answer, but she sighs a little and continues. "I learned mostly by watching. She used to fix my dad up a lot after he'd come home from work. He hates hospitals and doctors, so she was always the one who patched him up after a rough night."

"Cop?" he tries to mumble around her finger, and gets part of a cotton ball in his mouth for his trouble.

"No." She pauses and tilts her head to the side, as if considering something. "He was with the FBI for a good long while, actually." She leans back, satisfied. Soul works his mouth and tries to get the bit of cotton unstuck from his teeth. "Told you not to talk!"

Soul grumbles, but manages to get it out a moment later. "Thanks, by the way," he says.

"No problem. I'd tell you to get another ice pack, but your face is, ah. Probably going to be swollen anyway, and I'd get some neosporin or something for those cuts. I didn't see anything in your bathroom."

"I'll pick some up later today," he says, and she nods.

"Good."

There's an awkward beat as Soul stands to grab himself an ice pack anyway and Maka stands to return her supplies to the bathroom, and they're both in each other's space. For a moment, she can feel his chest rise and fall. Then she steps to the side, and he shifts.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

"It's cool," he replies, heading back to the kitchenette.

Maka makes it to the bathroom and carefully puts the supplies back where she got them. She catches a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror, and is startled to see that her face is red. Red enough, in fact, that it matches the enormous fucking hickey that graces her neck. She kind of wants to be angry with her new partner, but she's also pretty sure he's got a matching mark on his neck, and that thought is strangely satisfying.

She splashes some cold water on her face and wonders at the changes in her life in the past day. Soul is, at least, much easier to work with than she had thought he would be, and while she's still not entirely happy to be stuck with him, he's already proven himself useful, and she's reasonably sure he isn't going to get her killed.

She's not so sure about his ability to keep himself alive, if the last day is any indication, though.

"So," she says, coming out of the bathroom. "Wanna talk about how you got that split lip in the first place?"

Soul is still in the kitchen, banging through cabinets. "Are you more of a vodka girl, or a rum girl?" he asks.

Maka raises an eyebrow, watching as he opens a cabinet that she knows he already looked in. "Depends," she replies. "Generally, vodka." She settles back on the futon and grabs her notebook. "Is this a tactic to get me to drop the subject? Because it's not going to work."

"Nothing so covert, I assure you," he replies, and plunks down something that's kind of pink and -

"Did you just make me a cosmo?"

Soul's cheeks pink slightly, but he gives her a little smirk regardless. "Are you saying that you're too good to enjoy a well-made cosmo, Maka?"

She takes a slow sip and licks her lips. "Nope. Just a little surprised is all."

"It's the only thing I had that would work with vodka," he admits, eyes focused on the way she rests her lips against the edge of her glass.

"Clearly you missed your calling as a bartender. I bet you wouldn't have had to look up what a Singapore Sling was," she teases, enjoying the way his cheeks definitely darken.

"Truly, it is the manliest of drinks," he deadpans, taking a sip of his own cosmo and wincing a little at the sting on his lip. "Where should I begin?"

"I find it helps to begin at the beginning," Maka returns, and Soul raises an eyebrow at her, but smiles nevertheless.

"Fair enough. So, not long after you left for work, Black*Star dropped by and said we had a pick-up to do - " He gives her a more detailed version than he had at the club earlier, and she manages to write down a more thorough description of the gang.

She frowns. "These guys sound reasonably well-organized, but nothing about them seems familiar. Gangs aren't really my area of expertise, but everyone at the precinct is at least passingly familiar with most of the big ones around here."

"It's strange, but not that unusual. I don't know how much local PD's been keeping up with it, but part of Arachnophobia's MO has been to integrate local gangs. If they can't bring them into the fold, so to speak, they tend to eliminate them."

Maka shifts, and her pen scratches quickly across the paper. Soul tries not to stare at the way the tip of her tongue peeks out from between her teeth.

"What are the odds that it's an outside gang someone brought in just for this operation?" she asks suddenly stopping and looking at him.

He frowns, takes another sip of his drink. "I suppose it's possible. That brings in another question though - who is stupid enough, or strong enough, to steal from one of the largest mob operations out there?"

"And what is Arachnophobia moving that can't be gotten more easily from somewhere else?" They share a look, and Maka sighs. "I hate that this is raising more questions than it's answering."

"We'll figure it out," he says confidently. "Look at it this way...more questions means that we're getting a better sense of the whole puzzle. If we keep getting these pieces, all of this shit's going to start falling into place."

Maka finds his statement oddly reassuring. "I'm assuming that what went down in the alley is related to your little rendezvous gone bad?"

Soul scowls, staring at the bag of ice on the table. "That would be the right kind of assumption. You know, I'm not really surprised that he wanted to take it out on me. I just wish he hadn't decided to do it on my face. Or my ribs." His face darkens a little. "I expected him to be pissed about us losing the shipment, but I wasn't expecting him to accuse us of taking the fucking thing ourselves. I mean, does he really think that we'd go through the trouble of beating the shit outta each other - ?"

"Probably. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but Giriko doesn't really strike me as the most stable guy." Maka shudders slightly. "I spoke with Blair tonight," she adds, and Soul wonders for a moment at the non sequitur before it clicks.

"Any word on Cherry?"

Maka shakes her head. "She didn't say anything other than essentially confirming that Giriko is the reason she's not coming in to work. She also asked me how my little private session with him went," she bares her teeth at the memory.

"What did you tell her?"

"That you came to my rescue," she pauses, taking a slow sip of her drink, and then drops her voice a little. " - And that I spent the whole night thanking you...extensively."

Soul nearly chokes, giving her a wide-eyed stare. "You what?"

Maka smirks. "I implied that we spent the whole night bumping uglies. I figured it was a good way to cement our relationship status in a believable way."

"And to think that I could have been getting laid, when I was actually being arrested." He grins, and Maka gives him an unimpressed look.

"Only in your wildest dreams, Eater," she deadpans.

Soul's grin widens. "I'm starting to think you'll be featuring prominently in all my dreams, Kitten." He's rewarded by the faint red flush that creeps up her neck. He isn't completely sure if it's embarrassment or anger, and Soul is starting to find that he doesn't really care. If there is one thing that he's picked up quickly from being Maka Albarn's partner, it's that she is fun to rile up.

She sniffs, and turns up her nose. "If that's the kind of pick up line you're using, it's no wonder you aren't getting anywhere with the dancers."

"I think the reason that I haven't gotten anywhere with the dancers is that I don't bring dancers home." He leans in a little closer and adds lowly, "Just ill-tempered waitresses." She tries to keep a straight face, but ends up snickering. Soul chuckles and leans back, snatching his discarded ice pack from the coffee table. "So your boss is under the impression that we're doing the horizontal tango?"

Maka snorts. "Who says that?"

Soul glares at her. "You just called it 'bumping uglies.' No sane person uses that phrase."

"That is a perfectly acceptable euphemism!" They lock glares for a moment before Maka rolls her eyes and continues. "And yes. Blair is under the impression that I needed your rescuing and that I repaid you with some kind of marathon sex-olympics."

Soul bares his teeth in a grin. "Sounds like we had a wild night."

"Rather." Maka sobers, face pulling into a frown. "We also know that Blair is aware of the danger that Giriko possesses to her employees."

"I don't like it anymore than you do, Maka, but all of our intelligence indicates that Blair's ownership of the club is nominal at best. She's essentially there to run the day to day of the club and keep everything above board and legal for Medusa."

She knows that what Soul says makes sense, that it echoes what Blair herself has said, but in the past couple of weeks, she's really grown to like Blair and her girls. She can't imagine Liz or Pattie ending up in Cherry's place. "It's frustrating," she mutters, and Soul awkwardly pats her on the shoulder.

"I know." He hesitates a moment. There is a truth, ugly as it is, that needs to be addressed. "I don't - the fact of the matter is that Chupa Cabra and its employees aren't really our concern." She whips her head to glare at him, and he continues, "Not technically anyway, and certainly not part of our assignment parameters."

"You know what? I don't care if it's not in our fucking assignment." Maka slings back the last of her drink, any lingering good mood gone. "The faster we get to Medusa, the faster we can get that scumball out of there - "

"I know, Maka, I know. I swear I do. But right now - "

"Right now we can at least try and keep an eye out for these girls and keep that fucker away from them," she hisses.

He looks into indignant green eyes and sighs. She's not wrong, not really, and he recalls the look of muted rage in her eyes when he burst into the VIP room, her tattered clothes, and Giriko's face. Soul nods. "Ok."

Maka crosses her arms and gives him another glare for good measure. "Damn right, 'ok'," she mutters. Soul gives her a crooked little smile. He looks ridiculous with a bag of ice on the side of his face, but his eyes are serious as he searches hers. "What?"

"There's just one more thing I gotta know." She freezes, and he can see the way her shoulders tense and her mouth firms into a hard line.

"Can I get another one of these?" she asks before he can say anything else, raising her empty glass and shaking it.

Soul takes her glass and heads back to the kitchenette. "Why Medusa," is all he asks, uncapping the vodka.

Maka can hear the unspoken words behind his voice. "If I told you that it was none of your fucking business and that I didn't want to talk about it, would that stop you from bugging me?" He raises one white eyebrow and even from her spot on the futon, the gesture isn't lost on her. She sighs. "It was worth a try."

"Here." He sets down another cosmo, and her mouth twists. "I know that it's something you don't want to talk about. I get that, I really do. But this is my business; I need to know why this is personal for you. I need to know that I can trust my partner. I need to know what made you nearly run after Medusa with no game plan and no weapons and only me for backup. What did she do that's worth you getting killed over?"

His words are sympathetic, but she hears the steel underneath them, and she braces herself a little. Her cosmo tastes a little more strongly of vodka this time around, and she's absurdly glad for that. "Medusa's a cop killer," she says, and Soul nods.

"Yeah, I'm aware." He narrows his eyes. "This goes beyond that though. Who did she kill that you cared about?"

She doesn't flinch, though she kind of wants to. "It was a couple of years ago," she starts, stops, drinks. "Medusa's been on our radar since I started as a detective - suspicion of involvement in a couple of homicides, possible drug running, money laundering. She's got her fingers in a lot of criminal pies." At Soul's amused scoff, she scowls. "Look, it's a solid analogy, dammit. Anyway. She's big fish, and I didn't think much of it at the time. Except one day, they stuck me with a pair of rookies."

He gives her a suspicious look. "They put rookies with you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You barely look like you're out of training yourself."

"Hey, fuck you, buddy." She prods him in the ribs with a bony finger, and Soul hisses. "I may look young, but the Captain wasn't shooting his mouth off when he said I was one of the best." Her face darkens. "You're right, though. They really shouldn't have given them to me."

Soul knows what happens next. Maybe not the details, but the careful blankness in Maka's eyes is familiar enough. He's never lost a partner, but he's seen that look in the eyes of fellow agents more than he's really comfortable with.

He asks anyway. "What happened?"

"What usually happens? I finished up their training, taught them everything I could, and I let them loose - what you're supposed to do." Maka takes another drink. "And they were murdered."

She takes a deep breath, and resists the urge to pull her legs up onto the futon and bury her face in her knees. "They were running a sting on one of Medusa's operations. The report said it was drug smuggling. Bottom line, I helped make them good, but not good enough. Her goons found them, and - " she breaks off because that smell is still in her nose every time she thinks about it, burned hair and roasted flesh and it makes her want to vomit.

Instead, she knocks back what's left of her drink and contemplates asking Soul to let her do some shots. "They were stabbed to death. Actually," she chokes out, "they were stabbed repeatedly. The coroner said they were probably still alive but unconscious when they were set on fire."

"Jesus Christ."

"Special attention was paid, he said, to the abdomen. They would have died anyway, without aid. But it would have been slow and agonizing even without the whole burning alive end of the deal."

"And Medusa was responsible for it?"

She won't look at him, but he can still see the wetness on her cheeks. "She might not have been the one to light them on fire, but we managed enough of a connection to get her arrested and on trial. But Arachnophobia - she - it wasn't enough. She's still out there."

"Yeah." He stands carefully, taking her glass and pretending that he doesn't notice the way her shoulders curl in on themselves, or how damp her face is, or that she's starting to shake again. When he comes back, it's with two shot glasses and the vodka.

"I failed them. They were just kids - good kids with a lot of potential, and I failed them. I keep thinking that there was something I must have forgotten, some crucial piece of advice that I just - "

"Hey." He hands her one of the shot glasses, places a warm palm on her back. "You did what you could. Medusa is the one to blame here, not you, not anyone else."

She nods, and tries to put all of it back - the smell, the horror, the sick gnawing feeling in her gut as she approached the crime scene tape. "Yeah," she mumbles.

"What were their names, Maka?"

She finally looks up, and for a moment he can't breathe for the heartache writ large on her face, but he blinks and she blinks, and it's gone except for a little bit of dampness around her eyes.

"Chrona," she says. "Chrona and Ragnarock."

He holds up his shot glass, and she raises hers. "To Chrona and Ragnarock."

"They were good kids, good cops," she whispers, and he nods, and together they slam back their shots.