Morning, which Maka has come to define as "whenever the hell she gets up," is subdued. She nurses her second cup of coffee and fries up a couple of eggs for herself and Tsubaki, who has yet to make an appearance. Her brain is once again running full force on the hamster wheel of thought. Soul and Black*Star are on that wheel, and then she thinks of Tsubaki, and she hates that her brain thinks more like a cop than like a compassionate friend.
When her roommate finally emerges, Maka's mind is made up, and she adds fresh toast to the fried eggs for Tsubaki and fixes her a cup of coffee. Tsubaki looks tired still, but she slips onto her barstool and gives Maka a smile.
"Morning."
"Hey there, sleepyhead." Maka pushes the coffee and the food at her friend. "I can't believe I managed to beat you getting up."
Tsubaki shrugs, a small movement, and inhales her coffee. "Had some trouble sleeping." She gives Maka a speculative look, dark eyes gleaming, "You have a late night?"
Maka feels her face heat up a little. There's no reason for it to, but there's something about the other woman's tone that makes Maka want to hide. She resists the urge and settles for an exasperated, "Yes, and get your mind out of the gutter."
Tsubaki grins. "What? He's a good looking fellow."
Maka rolls her eyes and swallows another bite of egg. "He's my partner."
"So?"
"So that's a recipe for disaster, and you know it."
"Weren't you just telling me yesterday how being partners means something?"
Maka huffs. "It means I trust him to watch my back and back me up, not that I'm going to have sex with him."
"I don't see why the two have to be mutually exclusive," Tsubaki mumbles around her toast.
Maka tries not to spit out her coffee. "Tsubaki!"
"Just saying~" Her roommate finishes up her breakfast and tosses her dishes in the sink. "I'll take care of your stuff too, if you're in a rush," Tsubaki offers as an unspoken peace gesture.
"That would be great if you don't mind. I still gotta shower."
"Go for it."
Her hair is still a little damp from her shower and she's trying to decide whether to leave it or put it in a ponytail when her phone buzzes on the bathroom countertop. Maka checks it reflexively.
Downstairs when you're ready.
She twists her hair back into a low bun instead and slips the phone into the front pocket of her jeans. Tsubaki gives Maka a look from the sink as she shoves her feet into her boots.
"You heading out?"
"Mm, yeah. Be careful tonight, okay?"
Tsubaki smiles a little. "I will. I'll play it cool, I promise. I can take care of myself."
"I know you can." Maka takes in the tenseness in her friend's shoulders and backtracks to give her a quick hug. "If you need anything, you have my number, and you have the Captain's direct line, right?"
"Yeah, I've got it." Maka looks at her roommate, bottom lip sandwiched between her teeth. Tsubaki's eyebrows knit together. "What? Have I got something on my face?"
"Ah, no. I just - " Maka lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She hopes if she can get the words out fast enough, this will go a little better, and she's been thinking about this all day already. "Would you - I mean, if Black*Star comes by while you're at work in the future - would you watch him for us? Keep an eye on him?"
Tsubaki freezes, eyes sharp on Maka's face. "Are you seriously asking me what I think you're asking me?"
"No! I mean, nothing that would put you in danger, just if he mentions something or if you can get any information from him safely..."
"Yes you are asking me what I think - didn't you listen to me at all last night?"
"Ah, yes?" Maka is somewhat taken aback by her vehemence.
"Clearly not. Maka, I really like Black*Star. I...I don't want to spy on him."
She couldn't have heard that right. "What?"
"He's been a real gentleman, and I can't spy on him just because he likes me."
"Can't or won't?" she asks, eyes narrowing.
"Won't," Tsubaki returns, arms crossing. "That's not fair, Maka. I'll let you know if he says something that I think you guys can use, but I can't, in good conscience, manipulate him just to get you information that you could get from other sources."
"Even if it's information that could break this case?"
"If it's that important, I'd doubt he'd tell me anyway. Don't give me that look, Maka. I can't believe you'd ask me to do this! That's almost as bad as breaking doctor-patient confidentiality."
"No it's not, because he's not your patient."
"No, he's not, but it would be incredibly unethical of me, especially since I still want to see him!"
Maka can barely remember the last time that she heard Tsubaki yell, but she remembers that she didn't care for it then, and she doesn't care for it now. There is a streak of steel underneath her roommate's normally calm exterior. "You're still going to see him?"
Tsubaki flushes a little. "Maybe. Even if it's not right now, I'd like to not ruin something that could be really great." Maka's not entirely sure how to handle this, and she's left staring blankly at her roommate. Tsubaki sighs and gives her a gentle nudge. "I can't explain it, okay? I'll do what I can if he gives me anything to go on."
"I - okay. Just. Whatever you can get is appreciated."
Tsubaki sighs a little. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Now go on before your date starts honking."
Maka's glare is half-hearted but unamused. "Stop that."
"Go on, scoot." The brunette is completely unrepentant, and Maka settles for grumbling slightly as she slips out the door.
There is, she thinks as she exits her apartment, a god, and his particular goal today appears to be throwing her under the bus. She stops dead in front of her building, staring at her partner in shock.
"What is that?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, but instead of looking insulted, Soul just looks absurdly pleased.
"This is my baby."
Soul's so-called "baby" is a pumpkin-orange monstrosity of indeterminable origin. He runs a possessive hand over the handlebars and tries not to smirk at Maka's worried expression.
"How did I not know about this?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. You never asked, and I've been hitching rides with Black*Star more often than not and walking home with you the last few days." Maka's brow furrows a little at the mention of Black*Star, but she doesn't say anything. "You can put your bag in one of the saddlebags," he adds.
"Where did you keep it?"
"Wherever I can find the parking for it. You ready?"
"And you're sure it's safe?"
"I've been riding it for the last ten years. Of course it's safe."
"And you built it?"
"Hey! I resent that implication." Maka raises an eyebrow. "Yes, it's safe. I promise. I even have an extra helmet."
"You'd better. I'd hate to get pulled over by someone I know on that thing."
"Dammit woman, stop insulting my bike and get on."
She carefully stuffs her messenger bag into the left saddlebag and takes the helmet from him, plonking it down on her head. It's a little snug with her bun in the way, but not enough that she wants to take her hair down. She fastens the chinstrap and stares at the bike for a long moment, unsure how to proceed.
"Ever ridden a horse before?" She shakes her head and wonders if he has. "Left foot on the peg, and swing your right leg over. Use my shoulders to brace, and don't worry, I've got us steady." Despite her trepidation, she does as instructed, and finds herself nestled behind Soul, the low thrum of the bike's engine resonating in her bones. Soul glances back at her, lips twisted upwards. "All right. You're gonna wanna hold onto me - shoulders or waist, whichever. When I turn, make sure that you don't counterbalance too much. Keep straight and in line with the bike, and let me worry about the rest of it. Got it?"
"Yeah," she nods, gripping his shoulders. Soul gives her another little grin and pops the clutch.
"Hold on!"
She doesn't squeal, though the sudden motion has her heart jumping into her throat and making a valiant attempt to stay behind on the pavement. Maka tells herself that he's not even going that fast, because really, he's not, but getting that message from her brain to her heart and the pit of her stomach doesn't appear to be happening. Slowly he picks up speed, and Maka can feel the smooth shift of gears through her feet and thighs, and she can feel Soul's low chuckle through his back as she clenches her fists a little tighter into the shoulders of his jacket.
She's glad that she chose to wear jeans and her boots today. The fall air has begun to crisp up slightly, and that, combined with the wind from the bike, makes for a bone-cold ride. She makes it to the first red light before she realizes that she's shivering. Her light hoodie is less suited to the wind than she'd hoped.
"You gonna be ok back there?" Soul asks as they idle.
"Cold," she shivers. His face is amused as he shrugs off her hands and unzips his jacket.
"Here." He offers her his jacket. "Quick now, before the light changes."
"Won't you be cold?" she asks. It's more courtesy than anything else. She's freezing. He shrugs a little.
"I'm not quite as cold-blooded as you are, apparently. I'll be fine. Ready?"
"Hah?" The light changes and he shifts again, and Maka has just enough time to finish zipping the jacket and make a panicky grab for Soul. She latches her arms around his waist and presses close, and tells herself that it's because it was the easiest place to grab him and she feels guilty for taking his clothes.
By the time they reach the warehouse park, she finds herself more or less used to the bike. They didn't have much of a chance to go too fast thanks to traffic, and even the windier streets began to feel more exhilarating than terrifying. When he asks her what she thought when they stop again however, she just sniffs and hands him her helmet.
Soul gives her a smirk like he knows she'd enjoyed it anyway and tosses the helmets into his saddlebags. He thinks about asking for his jacket back; he's a little colder than he'd anticipated being, but he figures that he'll warm up once they get moving, and it's kind of worth it to see the worn black leather hang off her frame.
As soon as the rumble of the bike dies, Maka understands Soul's dislike of the place. It feels dangerous. The large buildings manage to make the lot feel congested and enclosed, despite the fact that there isn't much else around. The location was well-chosen, she has to admit. It's not quite on the outskirts of Death City, but in one of the older commercial districts - just run down enough to be mostly empty, but not enough to have to worry much about squatters and a reputation as a high-crime area.
Which, Maka thinks, is pretty ironic. She makes a note of the area, though there is no visible street address that she can see. If they're really lucky, she can pull the appropriate records and deeds and see if it's possible to tie this place to Medusa or Arachnophobia. She doesn't doubt that it's a track that's already been covered, but when she mentions it to Soul softly, he nods.
"Can't hurt."
Maka kind of hates how much that phrase has become the central theme to their investigation. In the last few days, they've simultaneously jumped forward and crashed to a halt when it comes to leads. It makes her want to tear her hair out. It feels like they're so close to something busting wide open, but it just keeps slipping out of their grasp. She feels a soft pressure on her wrist and glances at her partner.
"This is where you guys had your fight?" she asks. He nods.
She stoops down and examines the pavement for a brief moment before digging into her pocket and pulling out a latex glove. Maka snaps it on with practiced efficiency and scrubs her finger through the dirt and gravel of the parking lot. "Can you grab my bag?"
Soul returns a minute later with her satchel and hunkers down next to her. It's not her usual purse, and he figures out why when she asks him to open it up. It's filled to the brim with little boxes and bottles, all very neatly arranged.
"Hm."
Maka gives him a little grin. "Forensics isn't really my area, but I know enough to get by when I need to."
"Did you make this up yourself?" She can hear the admiration in his voice, and she ducks her head a bit.
"I wish. I've got a friend in the precinct, our forensic pathologist. He made me up a...ah, field kit for when I'm out on assignment and I can't really get the normal kind of forensic back up. Can you hand me the bottle with the pink lid and a swab?" He hands the items over, and she squeezes a bit of liquid on the tip of the swab, and runs it along the broken pavement. "Now the spray bottle?" Soul obliges, and she mists the swab and waits. And frowns when nothing happens.
Soul's played this particular game before. He's never been on the forensics area of FBI work, but he's watched them enough to know the drill. "That should be pink," he states.
"Yes. Yes it should." Maka turns sharp green eyes on him. "Are you sure this is the exact right spot?"
Soul scowls. "Well it might not be the exact coordinates, but this is the spot, and I can assure you, there was plenty of blood." The words come out stiffer than he'd intended, cold and factual. He's not proud of the particular talent he has for violence, useful though it is.
"The phenolphthalein should have picked up any blood traces left," she mumbles, tilting her head to the side slightly. She glares at the swab, as if willing it to turn pink.
It stays frustratingly clear. "Baggie?" Soul hands her one, and she puts the swab in the ziploc and starts the process all over again in a new location a few inches over. Soul can see her getting more and more frustrated, but he keeps his mouth shut and systematically puts up her samples and hands her new supplies. After about ten minutes, Maka finally gives up, rocking back a little. "They must have used some kind of heavy duty cleaning agent. You say there was blood here, but I can't find a single trace - no evidence of anything we can take back and have analyzed or anything. Son of a bitch."
Soul crouches beside her and helps her repack her kit. "When Black*Star and I came by yesterday it was this way. He said that he'd called a cleaner after we left; by the time he got here, everything was spotless. No bodies, no wounded, no blood, no traces."
Maka makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "Well whoever the hell cleaned it up did a damn good job." She scowls at the pavement. "Assholes." Despite their mutual frustration with the situation, Soul can't help but chuckle a little at his partner. Her lips twist in displeasure, but she accepts the hand he shoves at her as he stands, and lets him pull her to her feet.
"Satisfied?"
"Hardly," she grumbles. "But there's not much that can be done about it. I can maybe get something from the swabs I took, but it's highly unlikely if they're not registering blood at all." As one, they move towards the warehouse. If she didn't know better, she'd say that the whole place was a strong breeze away from falling down around their ears. She takes in the rickety stairs and catwalks, dark despite the few windows near the top of the walls, and the haphazard stacks of crates in twos and threes. "Please tell me that you at least suspected an ambush in a place like this."
He sniffs. "Of course. What kind of guy do you take me for?" Soul pointedly ignores Maka's smirk and raised eyebrow. "I was not, however, expecting the ambush outside. Especially given that we weren't in here very long. The whole operation must have been some kind of setup."
"Probably so. By who, though?"
"Could have been Giriko," he offers, scanning the area where they had made the package exchange.
"You think?" Maka's skepticism is clear. He's wondered before, but given Giriko's reaction, that doesn't sit right.
"It's possible? I don't think he's that good of an actor, though." He catches sight of the faint impression of a shoe. "Over here."
"Whatcha got?"
"Shoe print. There's some scuffling in the dust here - "
Maka makes her way over, keeping an eye out on the floor. She digs for a moment, and pulls out her camera, snapping a few shots. "Whose do you think it is?"
Soul orients himself a little, recalling their meeting. "That should belong to our contact. I didn't see the entirety of the transaction, but Black*Star was standing there - " he points, and Maka notes more of the dust scuffs. "And the parcel was there." The dust is clearly disturbed, and Maka crouches again. Whatever was in the box was heavy, and it wasn't a small package, either.
"Nothing," she determines with a sigh. "What about these crates?"
"We didn't get a chance to examine them when we were here. Black*Star didn't seem interested, and I didn't want to damage potential evidence with him around." He looks at the pile closest to him. "There sure are a lot of these, though. You got a spare pair of those gloves?" There is a latex slap as Maka tosses her spare pair at his face. He glares half-heartedly at her as he tries to tug them over his larger hands. "Unnecessary."
"Totally necessary," she retorts, and moves to a different stack. She pulls a small flashlight out of her purse and shines it through the rickety slats of the crates. Nothing. With a slight frown, she moves onto the next stack and the next. Nothing. The crates look as though they've been in the warehouse for years, but she doesn't notice any sort of decaying cargo, no remnants or traces of goods.
Another stack, and her light merrily bounces through the cracks between the wood. She scowls a little and goes to move onto the next stack. Her light bounces, reflects, and she stops. The hell.
"Maka, are you finding anything? Cause I'm not and it's really strange."
She peers more intently at one of the boxes. "I don't know," she finally replies. "Maybe, though probably not what you're expecting." She hears his boots clearly along the warehouse floor, but her gaze remains fixed on the box.
"Did you find something we can use? Cause that's all I care about right now."
"I'm not sure yet. What does this look like to you?" She straightens and runs her flashlight along the top of the crate, then along the joints.
"Those look like brand new nails."
"Ok, glad that isn't just me imagining things."
"Why are there new nails in ancient crates in an abandoned warehouse?" He looks over at Maka and she twists her lips.
"That is the million dollar question, isn't it?"
They spend another half an hour doing a cursory check of the crates, and all they end up having to show for it are a few loose fibers that Maka manages to spot. She collects and tags them, carefully repackaging them in her kit. "I think that's gonna be it for this place," she says when she's done.
"There are a few more warehouses that Black*Star overlooked. I didn't think that it was, aaah, prudent to push the issue with him."
"You think that we should check them out?" she asks, stepping back into the rundown parking lot. It's only late afternoon, but the sunlight is beginning to wane, and Maka shivers lightly at the lengthening shadows. The surrounding buildings aren't tall, but they're solid still, heavy and imposing in a way that's hard for Maka to quantify.
"Seems like a plan."
As one they move to the next building - quickly and cautiously. Maka continues to keep an eye out for anything that might be evidence, and doesn't have to wonder if Soul's doing the same. The door is locked, and looks as though it hasn't been opened since the place shut down. Soul presses against it, but it doesn't budge. "Dammit," he mutters.
"Can you pick it?"
Honestly, he's not entirely sure, but he likes that that's her first question. "Probably, but they're going to know that someone's been in the stuff if I do." He watches her face carefully, can see the way she mulls the idea over in her brain before she nods.
"Do it. They're not gonna know who did it, just that someone busted into their warehouse." She gives him a cheeky smile. "For all they know, maybe it was the gang that interrupted your transaction."
"As you wish." His voice is mild - too mild for the fact that he's suddenly in her space. "I need in my jacket," he says. Maka blinks and nods, but before she can remove it, his hands are there, slipping carefully into the inside pocket. She freezes as his fingers deftly retrieve a small slim case that she hadn't even felt before. Before she can blink, he pulls the case out and gives it a cocky spin, and Maka ignores the noseful of Soul's soap smell she inhales.
Taking a half-step back, she raises an eyebrow and exhales slowly. "You keep lockpicks in your jacket?"
He crouches in front of the door and grins back at her, a quick twist of the lips before turning his concentration on the lock. "What, you don't?"
She can't help the snort that escapes.
It takes him longer than it should have for this particular type of lock, and he nearly breaks some of his picks in the process, but eventually he hears the satisfying click of tumblers rolling into place. With a small groan, Soul stands and pushes the door open, gesturing for her to go ahead.
"Such a gentlemen," she says, rolling her eyes faintly. She gets a faceful of cobwebs not three steps into the building and she barely manages to stifle her startled yelp, hands flapping wildly as she tries to clear away the clingy, dusty strands. Behind her, Soul chokes back a laugh, and she shoots him a withering glare over her shoulder. He lets the door close behind them.
"Thanks for clearing the way," he grins. It's difficult enough resisting the urge to wipe her hands on her jeans, much less the urge to wipe the smile off his face.
"Jackass," she mutters. Soul's smile doesn't diminish, but he does lengthen his stride to catch up with her.
His grin morphs into a smirk. "What can I say, I know how to show a lady a good time." She considers this too silly for words, so she just snorts and doesn't acknowledge the way he keeps slightly ahead of her as they begin their exploration.
It's darker than the last building, and Soul doesn't know if that's a function of the lateness of the day or because the windows that line the top of the walls are so dusty and grimy that the daylight didn't have much of a chance in the first place. It's unsettling, even more than the first warehouse or the oddly scoured parking lot, and Soul is already on edge when Maka pulls out her flashlight and stops dead in her tracks.
"The hell?" The beam scans across the floor, highlighting air thick with grit and dust motes, and what she can identify as a few more of the same crates they'd seen in the first building. Despite the apparent disuse of the building, the floor itself is surprisingly clean. There's only a thin layer of accumulated dust on the concrete. "Do those look like - tire treads to you?"
He stoops for a closer look, and she angles the flashlight. Soul feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "Small, but yeah. Larger than a bicycle, smaller than a motorcycle - "
"Maybe something like you'd find on a dolly or a hand-truck?"
"You think they were storing something in here," he states, glancing her way.
Maka looks a little thoughtful and a lot cautious. "Whatever was here must have been removed pretty recently. There's not much of a dust build up at all."
"And you think the treads are from whatever moved the cargo?"
Maka shrugs one shoulder. "I think it's pretty likely." Her flashlight sketches a fairly clear path along the faint tracks. They're broken periodically by scuffs that are likely the work of whoever was pulling the wheeled mystery cart, but overall she feels comfortable with the idea that someone had removed something from the warehouse not that long ago.
"Well they didn't take everything," he says with a nod at the other stacks. "I wonder if these are as empty as the last ones." Maka's flashlight still panning across the warehouse floor. The light bounces across something that doesn't quite fit with the monotonous grey of the concrete and the faded wood of the crates. "Wait," he reaches out and touches her wrist lightly. "Did you see that?"
Maka nods, already treading lightly across the floor to the stack of crates. Her heart speeds up as she approaches, eyes taking in decayed wood . "Soul! Look at this!"
This is it, she's certain. The little vial glints, partially hidden under a mostly broken crate. Had her flashlight not hit it at just the right angle, Maka doubts that they'd have caught it at all. Careful of the splinters, she picks up the small glass vial; it's filled with something that looks mostly liquid, if thick and viscous, and nearly black.
"What do you think it is?" he asks, taking it from her gently. He runs a careful eye over it, but nothing about it is striking any chords. Soul thinks that he might be able to identify it a little better via smell, but that can wait until they're not in the middle of investigating a rundown warehouse.
"I've never seen anything quite like it," she admits. "But I bet it's just what we need."
"What makes you say that?"
She gives him a little smile. "Call it a hunch."
He grins back. "A hunch, huh? You always struck me as more of the hard evidence sort of girl."
"A little vial of black stuff in what's supposed to be an empty warehouse? Seems like hard evidence of something," she retorts, digging for an evidence bag. The look on her face is teasing, though. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with a good old fashioned hunch to get you moving in the right direction. It's a time honored police tradition."
"Mm, and that's why I went into the FBI," he smirks.
Maka scoffs, wrapping and tucking the little vial away in her bag. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the higher pay grade and the fancy badge."
"The suit's good for picking up the ladies, too," he adds, teeth flashing.
With the discovery of the vial, Maka feels as though a weight has been lifted from them. Here at last is something concrete, something tangible and testable, and something that at least has a chance at forging the tenuous connection that they need to strengthen their case against Medusa and Arachnophobia. Soul's smile is infectious, and she finds herself grinning back at him, wondering if he can feel the change in the air as well.
"Shall we keep exploring?" she asks.
"See if our luck holds out?" Soul sketches out a theatrical half-bow. "After you."
She nudges his shoulder. "Oh no, I think I've learned my lesson. No more cobwebs in my hair. After you, I insist."
Soul chuckles. "Clever girl."
And that's when all hell breaks loose as the back door explodes inward with a wailing screech and a white hot light that has them both shielding their eyes.
Maka's eyes sting from the sudden brightness and she reaches instinctively for a gun that she's not carrying. She can hear the warehouse door crash to the ground, and the soft slide of metal and leather that tells her Soul is at least is armed. She can make out an erratic set of footsteps before her heart stops in her throat.
"I see you." The voice is rough, but on the high side of baritone and tickles something in the back of her brain. It pauses, light almost directly in Maka's eyes. "I don't know how to deal with intruders; what do you think we should do?" Another pause and a light chuckle that makes Maka choke, her eyes wide even against the brightness. "I like that idea."
The light flashes, and if she doesn't have her own gun, at least she's not helpless. She retaliates with her own flashlight, hand reaching into her back pocket, heart slamming in her chest as her light skips over a slim, short figure in black. She only has it for a moment before it's gone, weaving and dodging almost drunkenly. Her vision is spotted, and she can't imagine that Soul is doing much better, but he manages to squeeze off a shot as Maka highlights their assailants.
Soul can see the slight stutter as his bullet impacts, but it doesn't slow the figure rushing them down. "Shit!" He risks a glance at his partner, but all he can catch is the impression of wide eyes and blanched skin and shaking shoulders. "Maka, snap out of it!"
She blinks and inhales sharply, dodging a wild slash. He realizes belatedly as she stumbles back, that she's mumbling under her breath.
He can't focus on her anymore though because the figure is practically on top of him now, and it's all he can do to avoid the flash of a wickedly sharp knife. "You shouldn't be here," it singsongs, and for all of the staggering movements, the hand holding the blade is surprisingly skilled, pushing Soul back towards one of the piles of broken crates. He hears a rasping hiss, and Maka's voice ringing out,
"CHRONA!"