Soul catches sight of lank pinkish hair before his assailant turns to Maka, movements a little slower, more hesitant. He can see her widen her stance a little, collapsible asp in her right hand.
"How do you know my name? No one's supposed to know my name." The achingly familiar figure staggers towards her, and it's all Maka can do keep breathing. "That's my name and you can't have it and I WANT IT BACK!" Chrona's voice breaks in a fevered pitch, and staggering melds into a sprint.
"Chrona please, please stop! It's me, it's Maka you've got to - " she's cut off by the whistle of Chrona's knife perilously close to her face. Soul tenses. She doesn't even try to defend herself.
"Maka, makamaka nope no one here with that name, just you and me and him and him and you're not supposed to be here at all."
She backs away from another deadly flash and stumbles slightly as her back hits a stack of rickety crates. Maka could kick herself for not being more aware of her surroundings, but she's too focused on the face of her dead trainee, suddenly very much alive.
"You have to stop, Chrona we can help you, please!" She watches their gaunt face twist - dry, cracked lips curling into a sneer, and she's got nowhere to go.
"There's no help here got all the help in the world." The words trip over each other like a prayer.
Maka stares at the wickedly sharp blade as it scythes downward, asp forgotten in her hand, her stare fixated on the end of her life, the culmination of her failure as a teacher, a cop, a friend -
She hears the wet noise of flesh and cotton being bisected, wonders at the lack of pain and the smell of Soul's soap in her nose, and then reality snaps back into focus as her partner slumps down in front of her, his pained gasp cutting through the sound of blood rushing in her ears.
Even in the dim of the warehouse, she can see there's much too much blood - "Soul!" She can make out Chrona's deranged chuckle, the faint rise and fall of her partner's breathing, the drip drip of the knife, loosely held as Chrona surveys the damage. It has to be now.
Maka tightens her grip and lunges over her partner. Shoulder back, follow through with the motion, snap forward. The baton, 16 inches of steel, cracks into Chrona's wrist, and the knife falls, bouncing on the concrete. Chrona stares, head cocked slightly, at the cracked protruding bone.
"What was that for?"
Maka lunges forward again and tries to shut her brain down. She can't think about the kids that she started training, about Chrona's hesitant questions, Ragnarock's bravado. There is only an opponent and a situation that must be controlled. She tells herself that there is nothing here of the rookie she once knew.
Mostly, she believes it.
Lightning quick, she snaps the asp out and feels the shattering of a kneecap. Chrona doesn't register any pain, but stumbles regardless. There is a grim sort of satisfaction in her own efficiency as Chrona hits the floor.
Chrona writhes on the dusty concrete, eyes wide and rolling, and Maka takes a moment to make sure the knife is out of reach. Improbably, Soul is still conscious, and he gives her a wordless, desperate look, one hand clenched on the hilt of the knife he'd tried to hide away.
"Oh god, hang on, Soul." His eyes flutter shut and her heart stops for a moment until she can see the faint rise of his chest again. Chrona giggles, still twitching, noise scraping across her eardrums, and Maka turns her attention back.
"I thought you were dead," she whispers, and puzzled grey eyes, pupils dilated to an abnormal size, roll to look at her - at once familiar and completely foreign.
"I'm not?"
Maka feels her chest split in two, but brings her asp down in a sharp, controlled motion that knocks her former trainee unconscious.
Her first instinct is to call 911 and get an ambulance there as fast as possible. Instead, she slips out of Soul's jacket and tries to wriggle out of her hoodie at a speed approaching light. There's still so much blood, and she's not sure how deep the cut is. She takes the fact that Soul's still conscious as a good sign though, and she rolls him onto his back as gently as she can so she can press her hoodie against the gash. Anything to stop the blood, she thinks.
"Soul?" He groans slightly, and her heart pounds. "Soul, can you hear me?"
"Fuck."
She tamps down on her urge to smile at his roughshod voice. "Just hold on, ok? I'm gonna try to stop the bleeding and call 911."
Soul latches onto her wrist, wincing. "No, you can't."
"Are you insane? Of course I can - you're hurt."
"Our cover," he rasps.
"Fuck our cover; you're bleeding out, jackass."
"It's not that bad. We can get to a doctor - "
"One who can take care of your bisected torso? I don't think so, Soul." It takes every ounce of willpower she has to not scream at him and dial 911 anyway.
"Please, Maka. We still might be able to crack this still. I...I know somewhere we can go if you can just get me there. The minute an ambulance comes screaming down here, we've lost it all." She hates the look in his eyes because it's pleading and just as stubborn as any look she's given him, and she knows how this ends.
"Ok." Soul gives her a little grin, but can't quite hide his grimace. She manages not to drop her cellphone digging it out of her front pocket, but only barely, and she's punching Tsubaki's speed dial before she can talk some sense into herself.
"Can you get up?" she asks, phone braced between her ear and shoulder as she tries to wriggle back into his jacket. He groans, but shifts slightly, and she's there, legs bracing, helping him to his feet as gently as possible, trying not to jostle his makeshift tourniquet.
In her ear, Tsubaki's phone rings mechanically. "Ugh. Pickuppickuppick. Up."
"Maka? I was just about to go in to work - "
"Tsubaki! Please, I need you to get the car and come and get me and Soul. Please. Now."
"What? What happened? Where are you?"
"I can't - we're over by the warehouses...I don't have an address." She could kick herself for not paying more attention to the streets earlier.
"But - "
"We'll be waiting by Soul's bike. It's bright orange, you can't miss it. We're somewhere off of...Hawthorne? I think it's Hawthorne. You know where those warehouses are, right?"
"Hawthorne? What the fuck, Maka? Are you ok?"
Maka breathes. In. Out. Slowly, calmly. "I'm fine, Tsubaki. But Soul isn't and I need you down here 5 minutes ago. Do you know the place I'm talking about?" She doesn't think that she yells, but Tsubaki is quiet on the other end of the line, as if she's been screaming.
"Y-yeah, I do. Ok. Ok, I'll be there as fast as I can." The line cuts out, and Maka tamps down on her increasing panic. The blood has slowed a little bit, but there is still too much of it, and she doesn't know how she's going to get Soul to the bike without hurting him further. He's mobile, but only by the most generous definition of the word.
"Try and keep some pressure on your wound, ok?"
Soul grunts, but presses a shaky hand against the hoodie. Maka doesn't like the way that she can see the blood beginning to seep through the cotton. They stumble out of the warehouse with only minimal frustration, and Maka, paranoid, takes them through the first warehouse again rather than skirt the edge of the building in the open. Soul doesn't think that it matters, but he appreciates her concern. Plus, the route is marginally shorter, which he's definitely a fan of.
His bike is a sight for sore eyes, and Maka props him up against it as she tries not to look like she's one loud noise away from a complete breakdown. He keeps a careful eye on the crown of her head as she fusses over the hoodie-turned bandage. There are wisps of dishwater blond hair escaping from her bun, and they keep catching the last visible rays of light. He wants to tell her that he thinks she's cute, that he really likes the way she's kind of panicky, but what comes out when he opens his mouth is,
"Did I bleed on my jacket?" He wonders if it's the bloodloss. Maka's head rockets up and she stares at him incredulously.
"Are you serious?"
No. "Yes. I really like that jacket." His voice is almost conversational as he slumps against his bike and wonders how they're going to get it back to his apartment. He's 99% sure that Maka can't drive it, or if she even knows how to drive something with a clutch in the first place. He's sure as hell not driving anything anytime soon. The sky already looks like it's spinning.
" -oul? Soul!"
Maka's looking at him, and that panic is just a little closer to the surface. He blinks once, head tilting slightly. "Your eyes are really, really green. Can you handle a stick?"
"I - what?"
"Stick, Albarn," he enunciates, as though that's going clear things up. "Have you got any experience with driving stick?"
Her mouth gapes a little, then pulls into a thin, twisted line. Soul can't look away from it. "I think that you need to not talk anymore," she finally mutters, face flushed in the dying light. That urge is back again, he thinks, but then he's not entirely sure that it ever left. She twists her head, looking back towards the street, but doesn't take her hand from his shoulder. "Goddammit Tsubaki drive faster," she hisses.
"She's coming," Soul assures her. He can hear the faint sound of engine noise heading closer, and he thinks the odds that it will be anyone else are pretty slim. Soul can't help but be impressed with Tsubaki's speed - he was banking on her taking at least another ten minutes.
"You're hallucinating; I don't hear anything."
"I have very good ears," he insists, and she gives him that look again.
"You've definitely lost too much blood - " she starts, then stops, jaw clicking shut. "Son of a bitch."
The sound of a car is much more clear now, and Soul has enough energy to shoot her a smug look before Tsubaki's ancient Honda comes sliding into the parking lot. Tsubaki throws the car into park and is out of the driver's side in record time. Her eyes are huge and panicky and apologetic, and Soul wonders why for a split second before Black*Star is climbing out of the car, too.
"Tsubaki!" Maka's voice is somewhere between horrified and full blown panic. Soul can feel his heart simultaneously drop into his shoes and leap into his throat, with a pit stop at trying to burst out of the giant laceration on his chest. Her roommate is wide-eyed, and they're in the midst of having some kind of conversation based solely on frantic hand gestures and hissed monosyllables when Black*Star reaches them.
"Oh man, Soul, what the fuck, man?"
Soul blinks at his friend who is definitely not supposed to be here and starts to open his mouth when Maka interjects. "We've got to get him to a doctor, Black*Star. Soul said he knew someone?"
"No fucking joke. Shit, ok." The mobster takes a deep breath, and she's surprised to see that it's a little shaky. "Ok, yeah. I know the doc he's talking about. Can you walk, dude?"
"Why do people keep asking me that?" Soul mumbles. He starts to stand, but wavers a bit, and Black*Star's under one arm as Maka steadies the other.
"Oh, gosh, Soul, I don't know, maybe it's because you've got this gaping chest wound," she bites out, the sarcasm in her tone barely disguising the worry.
"It's not that bad," he argues weakly, and Maka looks like she might be about to scream. Soul thinks he can actually hear her teeth grinding together. They get him to the car without too much trouble, though she can't help but notice that Soul's not really managing to pick up his feet anymore.
"Can we even get him in the back?" Black*Star looks skeptical.
"I think we have to," Tsubaki murmurs.
"Right. Kitten, go ahead and get in the back, and I'm going to hand him in to you, ok?"
Maka resists the urge to glare and argue with him, if barely. She clambers into the back of the Honda as quickly as she can, and together she and Black*Star ignore Soul's weakening protestations that he can "get in the goddamned car on his own, thank you very much."
"Clearly you can't," Maka retorts as he grunts and crumples in pain. "Just - shut up, and let Black*Star help you, you ass." She doesn't even try to hide the panic in her voice this time, and Soul allows himself to be manhandled into the back of the car. Maka's hands are firm under his shoulders as she maneuvers him into the backseat. Black*Star manages to refrain from knocking his legs against the door frame too much, and before he knows it, Soul's crammed into the backseat of Tsubaki's miniscule Honda hatchback, his head and shoulders resting on Maka's lap, his legs curled uncomfortably. Black*Star slides into the passenger's seat and slams the door. Soul cranes his head a little, and just catches a glimpse of his ride.
"My bike - " he tries to protest; the thought of leaving it here, of all places, sits poorly with him.
Unconcerned, Black*Star shrugs. "It'll be fine, dude. You know I can't drive one of those things." He smirks, "Besides, someone's gotta give the driver directions, and I bet your happy ass is about to pass out."
"Am not," he mutters, but it sounds faint and petulant even to his ears. Maka lets out a soft wuff of laughter underneath him, and he can feel the heat of her hand threading into his hair; the other rests gingerly across the front of his shoulders. She very carefully does not smooth out the lines his mouth is twisted into; Maka's not even sure he realizes that he's grimacing.
"We'll come back for it," she says. "Now shut up and hold still. You're heavy, Agent Tubs," she whispers this in his ear so softly that he isn't even positive she said it at first. But he hazards a glance up, and she gives him a familiar smirk. He tries not to focus on her expressive eyes. His chest really hurts, and his nose is full of the smell of his leather jacket and something that's purely Maka.
"Where do I go?" Tsubaki asks from the driver's seat. Her voice is only a little shaky, but her shoulders are tense and her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. She resists the urge to constantly check her rearview mirror.
"Make a left when you pull out of here and head towards Samhain Ave," Black*Star says. She nods and hits the gas, turning all of her energy towards simultaneously breaking the speed limit and driving like a grandma so as to not jostle Soul and his wound.
The drive is tense. Soul finally passes out - at least, Maka thinks that he passes out, but he might just be sleeping. She's torn between constantly checking to make sure that Soul's still actually breathing and trying to figure out via landmarks just where, exactly, they're going.
"Hey," Black*Star's voice is quieter than Maka had thought him capable of. Tsubaki gives him a quick sideways glance, and he slips his hand over her knee. "You're ok, yeah?" Her smile is small, but there and Maka looks away, focusing instead on their surroundings.
"Yeah, I think so," she hears Tsubaki reply. Black*Star tugs on a lock of her hair gently, and gives her a wide, if somewhat forced, grin.
"Hey now, aren't you glad I came with you? You and scrawny back there never would have gotten Soul in here on your own."
Her death grip on the steering wheel relaxes. "Thank you for putting those big strong muscles to use," she says. From her place in the backseat, Maka definitely is not paying any attention to what is totally not in any way, shape, or form flirting between her roommate and one of the mobsters she's working to put out of business. Nope. Not happening.
In her lap, Soul groans and shifts, his shoulder digging painfully into the bone of her hip. Figures, she thinks. Even passed out, he still gives her grief. She's kind of starting to get used to it. Her hand runs through his hair absently, and she watches as some of the tension eases from his face. Outside, the buildings flash by as Tsubaki makes use of a lead foot that Maka didn't know she had. Black*Star continues to give her directions. The surreality of this entire situation dances through her brain - Black*Star's voice calming and soothing her poor roommate, her partner slowly bleeding out in the back of a 1982 Honda Civic, their cover probably blown to bits. Maka shuts down any train of thought that begins or ends with pink hair. If she thinks about that, she'll lose it.
She can hold it together for a little while longer; she has to.
Black*Star pulls out his cell while they're stopped at a red light and hits what looks like a speed dial button. He holds the phone away from his ear, and waits.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Maka can hear the woman's voice crystal clear from her spot in the backseat. Black*Star doesn't even wince at the woman's volume.
"Hey Mira."
"DON'T YOU 'HEY MIRA,' ME!"
Black*Star rolls his eyes and shoots Maka a smirk. "Yeah, I'm good, thanks for asking. Also, I'm gonna be at the clinic in like - " The light turns green, and Tsubaki floors it. Black*Star's free hand clutches the dash. "Soon. Thanks see you there ok bye!" It's not a request, and Maka can hear upset squawking from the phone before he hangs up. "You're gonna wanna make a left up here, and then a right on Ghengis." Tsubaki's jaw clenches, but she nods.
Black*Star's estimate of "soon" was pretty accurate. Another few minutes, and Tsubaki practically drifts the Honda into a parking space next to an animal clinic that Maka's never seen before. The whole drive took just over fifteen minutes, despite her brain's insistence that this was, in fact, the longest car ride she'd ever taken. Black*Star's out almost before Tsubaki puts the e-brake on, adjusting his seat so they can try to maneuver Soul back out of the hatchback.
She doesn't like Soul's unresponsiveness as they jostle him out of the car. It's rougher than she wants it to be, but there's no help for it, and Maka grits her teeth and tries to keep his shoulders and head steady. It's harder while he's dead weight, and she feels the familiar flicker of panic when he doesn't so much as twitch.
"Can you get him?"
She flashes a quick glare at Black*Star. He's her partner, of course she can get him, she wants to snap, but she just nods instead. She knows he only sees the girl he knows is a waitress at a strip club when he looks at her. And then Tsubaki is next to her, helping support Soul's back, and the side door of the little clinic is opening. The tightness in her chest refuses to ease.
Mira Nygus, Maka learns quickly, is brusque and professional despite the fact that she's apparently running an under the table medical operation for the mob. Together, they get Soul inside and laid out on a table. Maka wonders about the cleanliness of the place for a moment, but the stainless steel table seems as clean as anything she'd find in Stein's morgue - and that had been the only other option she'd been able to think of.
"I will be expecting an explanation, Star," Nygus says, giving the mobster a quick glare as she snaps on her gloves. He gives her a small grin, but his eyes are focused on Soul.
"If I told you it wasn't my fault this time, would you believe me?"
Nygus wastes no time cutting through the remains of Maka's hoodie and Soul's shirt. "Hmph. We'll see later. Don't think you're going to squirm out of it."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, and it's the most solemn thing she's heard out of Black*Star to date. Maka doesn't dwell on his tone, however. Her attention is riveted on Soul. It's the first time she's gotten a clear look at the damage to her partner's chest, and her heart leaps into her throat. His tan skin is worryingly grey, and the cut stretches from his collarbone to the top of his hip. She can't look away as Mira begins to clean the wound.
"Is there a reason you all are still in here," she snaps, eyes intent on her patient as she removes stray fibers from the gash. Black*Star shuffles a little and tugs on Tsubaki's arm.
"C'mon," he murmurs. "I know where she keeps the hot cocoa. You do like hot cocoa, right? Cause if you don't, now's the time to tell me." Maka can hear Tsubaki's low response, her eyes focused on the watered down red of Soul's blood.
"Maka?"
"I'm not leaving," she replies, and Tsubaki hesitates in the doorway. "I'm fine, but I'm not leaving." The smile Maka gives her roommate is strained at best. Tsubaki doesn't buy it, but the exchange is enough to make Nygus look up from her patient. She gives Maka a very blatant once over, from her dishevelled hair to the bloodstains on her hands and clothes. She lingers for a moment on Maka's face, and Maka stares back, jaw set. She isn't sure what, precisely, the woman sees in her face, but Nygus nods after a moment.
"You can stay. Sink's over there if you want to wash up. That isn't a suggestion. Scrub down - I'll need your help with some things here in a minute."
Maka nods and moves to the sink mechanically. She lathers and begins to scrub, the movement familiar and soothing and ingrained from years of watching her mother. Her eyes wander to a poster of an overly fluffy kitten and its musculature. And vascular system. A vet. She exhales shakily. They're in a vet's office, she reminds herself. Mira Nygus is a veterinarian. Maka's not sure if that makes her feel better or worse. She towels off and puts on a pair of gloves.
"How bad is it?" she asks, turning back to the table. Nygus finishes cleaning the gash and gestures with her head.
"Could be worse," she says. "Could be a lot better, though. Can you fix up a needle for me, please?" Maka stares at the table for a moment. "Big curvy needle, thread it up. And I'll need those things that look like pliers, if you would." She blinks, still staring at the implements, and suddenly the world comes rushing back.
She knows what these things are - she had watched her mom practice suturing before she could even walk. She can do this. Focus. Maka takes a deep breath and sets up the needle without further instruction, fingers trembling but still sure in their movements. It's not all that different from gauze and bandaids and Soul with a split lip that hasn't fully healed yet.
Breathe. Her hands steady as she passes over the needle.
"What else?"
When he wakes up, it's to the low murmur of voices, fluorescent lights, and traumatizing pictures of heartworms. His feet are hanging off the edge of a metal table, his chest hurts, and he's cold. He grunts a little as he tries to sit up and suddenly she's there, green eyes focused on him, hands reaching out to steady him as he moves.
"How're you feeling?" Maka asks, voice carefully blank.
"Like I got hit in the chest with a fucking truck."
She smiles slightly. "I suppose that's not far from the truth. What's the last thing you remember?" He closes his eyes and recalls thin fingers in his hair and blood.
"The backseat of Tsubaki's car," he grumbles, "and my leg cramping up. Why couldn't you have put me up front?"
"What, and trust you to give directions?" Black*Star interjects. Soul catches the small flash of annoyance that crosses Maka's face. "I wouldn't trust you with directions when you aren't bleeding out."
"There is nothing wrong with the way I give directions. It's not my fault you can't tell left from right."
"Now, now, boys. Since Soul's awake, maybe you two want to tell me what brings you here this fine evening?"
Soul gives the woman a little smile and gestures to his wrapped chest. "I should think that would be obvious. You know there's no one we trust more with delicate matters of the flesh." He tries for flippant, but he can't remember the last time he was in this much pain.
Nygus crosses her arms, and raises an eyebrow. "Flattery isn't going to get you shit, Soul Eater." She turns to Black*Star. "I think I've been abundantly patient, all things considered. You know how I feel about these little late night visits. What. Happened."
Black*Star gives her a little shrug, and shoots Soul a look he can't quite decipher. "You know, Mira, that's a really good question. One I'd love to know the answer to. Soul?" Maka shifts a little closer to Soul. They hadn't discussed this - never thought that their trip to the warehouse would be anything more than a quick in and out and done type of deal. Maka puts her hand on the steel table, and he can feel the warmth of it next to his thigh. It's nothing more than a small shift to place his hand over hers. Black*Star doesn't miss the movement.
"There was an…unexpected fight," he says. "I got ambushed, and I wasn't fast enough."
"No fucking joke. Who was it?" Black*Star asks.
Soul glances at Maka. Her face is pinched and pale and she clenches her hand underneath his. He shrugs. "I've never seen 'em before. Pink hair. Crazy skinny. Crazy. Just came after us with a knife almost as long as my forearm. Barely got away with just this scratch."
"Scratch?" Nygus scoffs. Next to her, Black*Star frowns, but doesn't show any signs of recognition at Soul's description.
"It could have been worse. The kid was faster than anyone I've seen before, and single-minded."
"Where'd he go? How'd you get away?"
Soul smirks a little. "Kitten knows kung-fu."
She startles. "Soul! I do not."
"Well, whatever you wanna call it, you kicked some serious ass." He runs his thumb across the side of hers, and she gives Soul a half-hearted glare. Black*Star glances between them and Maka shrugs, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.
"A girl's gotta know how to protect herself."
"Hm. And you just what - left him there?"
"What else were we supposed to do? Soul was bleeding out," she snaps at the mobster. "I called Tsubaki cause she has a car and we needed to get him to a doctor, fast." Tsubaki shifts uncomfortably and looks anywhere but at Maka.
"As much as I hate to see you under these circumstances, better me than nothing," Nygus sighs, and Soul gives the vet a faint grin.
"Does that mean that I can go home now, doc?"
Nygus sighs and gives him a once over. "Against my better judgment, yes. But only because I know it'll be pointless to try and keep you here."
"You're damn right it would." Soul gingerly edges off the steel table and doesn't even pretend he isn't grateful for Maka's steadying hand. His entire torso feels like it's on fire. "What do I owe you," he asks.
"Hm. $22.50 for those scrubs we had to stick you in. Stitching and antibiotics are gonna cost you." She smiles at Soul's pained look. "We can settle the rest of it at the end of the month, though."
Soul hisses in pain as he goes for his wallet, and Maka finds herself on the end of a stare that is part pleading and part pure, unadulterated mischief. "Can you help me out, Kitten?"
With a look that promises retribution, Maka slips deft fingers into his back pocket, pulls out a worn leather monstrosity, and hands Nygus $30. "Don't worry about change," she says with a small smile.
Nygus returns it. "You're too kind." She walks them to the clinic's door. "Keep those stitches covered and make sure that they don't get wet for at least a full 24 hours. Watch out for redness or pus, and don't scratch them. They should dissolve in a week or two." She frowns a little, hesitating. "I know I can't keep you here, but seriously. You need bed rest for a while, not that I think you'll listen. I don't want you tearing those stitches before they set. The wound is already worse off thanks to all that moving around earlier. You're going to want some good pain meds, too. Unfortunately, I don't have anything on hand that you can take."
"Ah - you don't have to worry about that, Dr. Nygus. I have a, uh. Resource. It should be fine," Maka insists. Soul raises an eyebrow, which she just returns with an implied, later.
"Good. Let me know if it falls through. If you give me a day or two, I should be able to come up with something. And call me if anything starts looking or smelling weird."
Soul grins and gives her a little half-wave. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thanks, Mira."
The vet huffs a little, but gives him a fond look. "I won't say it's my pleasure. I don't want to see you in here again, Soul Eater. And you," she says, turning to Black*Star. "It wouldn't kill you to call your dad every once in while."
He waves a hand dismissively. "Whatever. I'll give the geezer a call when I remember. Later, Mira." He slings an arm around Tsubaki, and they make their way out to the car.
They drop Soul off first, and Maka squeezes out of the backseat to make sure he gets inside. He slips an arm over her shoulder, and she wraps hers around his waist. Soul likes to pretend that it's for the benefit of Black*Star, but he knows he wouldn't have made it up the stairs without Maka's support.
"I wanna make sure that Tsubaki gets home ok - in light of...events," she starts. He fumbles around in his pockets for a moment for his keys.
"You think Black*Star's going to cause trouble?" He stops groping at his pockets and instead reaches for his jacket, still draped over her smaller frame. She squeaks a little, startled. Soul fishes into the right pocket and triumphantly. He jingles the keys at her irritated look.
"I don't know, and that worries me," she says, after a moment, face red. Soul unlocks his door without too much trouble, still grinning, and turns to look at her. His eyes are darker in the hallway's light, or maybe it's the pain beginning to kick in in force. He wavers a little in the doorway, and Maka makes up her mind. "Give me your key," she demands. "I'm coming back as soon as I make sure Tsubaki's settled."
"Don't you have to go into work?"
"After this? Are you crazy? I already called Blair and told her I wasn't going to make it."
"What'd you tell her?"
She can't help the little smirk she give him. "Food poisoning."
"Really."
"It worked, didn't it?"
He huffs a little bit. "Seems like this would be the perfect time to go in. See if anyone is talking about the attack - "
Maka stops him. "What? Are you serious? First off, you got sliced up by someone I thought was dead. I'm not leaving you alone tonight. Second, if I go in there and anyone's talking about you getting attacked, they're probably going to know I was there, and then they're going to clam right the hell up. I'll ask Liz and Pattie to keep an ear out."
He meets her unflinching stare, and she watches his shoulders slump. "I guess you got a point."
"Of course I do." Eyebrow raised, she holds out her hand. "Key, please."
Soul grins slowly. "You just want to take advantage of me, don't you? Admit it."
She rolls her eyes. "If I wanted to take advantage of you," she retorts, "I would have done it when you were drunk the other night. I certainly wouldn't do it when you're incapacitated. Takes all the fun out." She wiggles her fingers.
"Those were different circumstances," he protests weakly.
"And so are these." Maka gives him a small smile. She'll never admit that she's enjoying their banter, that she feels some kind of spastic fluttering in her chest possibly related to the fact he's feeling up to teasing her at all. "Mostly," she adds, "I just don't trust you to take your antibiotics."
"You caught me." He presses his apartment key into her palm. "I'll be looking forward to Nurse Maka later tonight."
"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."
"Hm. No promises," he says. Maka turns to go, but Soul's hand on her wrist stops her. "Be careful, yeah?"
"Of course." From the stairwell, Maka can hear the Honda's horn blare.
They drop Black*Star off next. Tsubaki drives straight to his apartment; he doesn't put up a fuss, for which Maka's grateful. As soon as she stops the car, Black*Star's out of his seatbelt and facing Maka. She's expecting him to say something, but she isn't prepared for the calculating look he's giving her.
"I don't know why you were there this afternoon. But I'm glad. Soul's a good minion, and I prefer him in one piece."
"Are you going to do something about this?" she asks.
"I told you, he's my minion. I'll find a way to do something about it." He nods decisively and turns, and Maka looks away as he presses a kiss to Tsubaki's lips. She tries to ignore the way her friend arches into it and the heated look they exchange. "I'll call you later," he murmurs, and then he's out of the car and sauntering into a decent looking apartment complex.
From her seat Tsubaki clears her throat. "You...wanna sit up front?"
The apartment is completely dark when they get back, and it's surreal to be coming home before last call. Tsubaki hits the lights, and Maka fights the urge to shuffle over to the couch and pass out. She still feels incredibly stressed, but mostly just exhausted as the last of the adrenaline drains from her system. She looks up and locks gazes with Tsubaki, neither quite willing or sure how to start the conversation, how to ask the first question.
The silence shatters as Maka's stomach gurgles loud enough to wake the dead.
Tsubaki grins a little, and Maka flushes. "Hungry?"
"Maybe a bit."
Tsubaki moves around the kitchen. "Want anything in particular?"
"Tsubaki, you don't have to cook for me. I can do it myself," Maka protests, reaching for a pan. Tsubaki holds it out of her reach.
"I like cooking, Maka. It's fine." Maka kind of wants to protest, but Tsubaki pulls a box of mac and cheese from the cabinet, and shakes it. "Best comfort food," she offers, and Maka nods slightly. She's addled, but not enough that she doesn't recognize this as Tsubaki's way of apologizing.
She wants to accept it quietly and move on. What comes out of her mouth instead is, "I'm not saying that I'm not glad Black*Star was there tonight, because I am. I'm just not sure why he was there."
Tsubaki shuts off the faucet and puts the pot on the stove. "It wasn't intentional," she says finally, glancing over her shoulder. "He was there when you called, and I couldn't get rid of him."
"Couldn't get rid - "
"He could hear you over the phone. You were kind of loud." Tsubaki clicks on the burner and leans against the countertop, crossing her arms. "Besides, I don't think the real question here is why Black*Star was there. What the hell were you doing, Maka?!"
Maka stiffens. Of all the reactions she was expecting from her roommate, this was not one of them. "What do you mean? I was doing my damned job! I'm supposed to be helping take down a criminal organization, Tsubaki. There are inherent risks involved."
"Pink hair, Maka? I heard what Soul said. What the hell is going on? I thought Chrona - "
"Yeah. I thought so, too," Maka snaps, voice cold. She doesn't want to deal with this, doesn't want to face the fact that her friend is not only alive, but apparently working for her enemy. There had been no recognition in Chrona's eyes, nothing to indicate that there was any memory of her at all. She didn't know how the kid had survived, or gotten to this point. "Chrona came out of nowhere and just went apeshit. I don't know what happened, Tsubaki. I'm going to find out, though."
The pot begins bubbling. "At what risk, Maka?" she asks quietly. She dumps the noodles into the water and stirs absently. "Soul was seriously injured tonight. It could have been you, easily."
Maka blinks rapidly. It should have been her, she wants to say. That blow had been meant for her, and Soul had taken it - thrown himself in front of her as she froze and taken the hit without a second thought. "Yeah," she rasps. "It could have been." Tsubaki looks concerned, and Maka gives her a weary half-smile. "I need to call Kid. And pack a few things. I'm going to head back to Soul's to make sure he doesn't kill himself doing something stupid in the night."
She can tell Tsubaki wants to say something else. It's on the tip of her tongue. Instead the brunette nods and turns to the fridge. "I'll let you know when the mac is done."
"Thanks."
Maka retreats to her bedroom to call her boss. There are some things that don't necessarily need to be open information to her best friend. She takes one look at her inviting bed and whines a little before grabbing a duffle bag from her closet. As tempting as her bed is, she's still got shit to do, and if she lays down, she won't be getting back up, not even for mac and cheese.
She hits the speed dial for Kid's personal number, and starts throwing some clothes into the bag. He picks up on the third ring.
"Yes?"
"Hey Captain."
"What's the word, Albarn?"
Maka bites her lip. "We've got trouble." She appreciates the fact that Kid doesn't yell into her ear, just waits quietly for her to continue. "We went to check out the warehouses and were ambushed. Soul is severely injured, and in the rush to make sure we got him stabilized, we left Soul's bike and the...perp behind."
"Ambushed? By Medusa?"
"Not exactly."
"Albarn, what - "
"It was Chrona, Kid." Suddenly the quiet on the other end of the line is much less reassuring.
"We buried Chrona and Ragnarock, Maka. With full police honors. You identified the bodies yourself."
Her throat feels thick. "I know."
"Is there any other possibility?"
She shakes her head before remembering he can't see her. "It was Chrona, Kid. I know it was Chrona. I don't know what happened, but we buried the wrong person."
"And you what, left Chrona at the warehouse?"
"...with ah, busted kneecaps, yes."
"Jesus Christ, Maka."
"I didn't know what else to do. I called Tsubaki to come and get us, but Black*Star came too and I couldn't get away long enough to call you, and my partner was losing a lot of blood and - "
"Ok, ok. Slow down. One thing at a time. Was your cover blown?"
"I don't think so. Chrona didn't seem to recognize me at all, just kept chanting and mumbling. I couldn't make any sense of it. Black*Star might be suspicious, but he's hard to read."
"All right. Now, what do you need?"
"I need you to send someone to pick up Soul's bike and see if Chrona is still there. And I need your ok to use Stein tomorrow. Soul is going to need medication, and it's going to need to be off the books."
"Of course. I'll keep you posted on what we find."
"Thanks, boss."
"Get some sleep, Albarn. Call me if anything, and I mean anything else comes up."
"Yessir." She hangs up and checks her phone briefly. No new messages. She hopes that's a good thing. She takes one last longing look at her bed before taking her bag and leaving. She had toiletries to pack and mac and cheese to eat.
Soul's key feels strange and weighty in her fingers. She stares at it for a moment before unlocking the door as quietly as she can. If she's lucky, he'll be asleep already, drained from the physical and mental toll of the day.
If she had her choice, Maka knows she'd be passed out. Instead, she pushes the door open to the sight of Soul half sprawled on his futon, watching the TV. It takes him a moment to react to the fact that she's in his living room, and that, she thinks, is a pretty good indicator of just how worn out he must be.
"Hey," he rasps, giving her a half-hearted wave. She rolls her eyes and tosses her bag in the vicinity of the futon.
"You look like shit," she says.
He gives her a slow grin, eyes surprisingly focused. "That's a good look on you, you know."
Maka raises an eyebrow and looks down at herself. "What? Bedraggled and," she frowns, " - still spattered with your blood? Dammit." On the futon, Soul stretches a little and winces.
"I meant my jacket, actually." He thinks the pink blooming on her cheeks is a pretty good look, too, but he's not quite far enough gone to say that one out loud.
"Sorry," she murmurs, shrugging out of the leather coat. "I meant to give it back to you when we dropped you off earlier."
"It's fine. You kind of lost your hoodie, so I figured that you might be a little cold. I'll replace that by the way."
"You really don't have to," she says, shifting awkwardly.
He grins. "Ok, let me rephrase - the FBI will replace that for you. As long as you don't mind waiting 8-12 weeks for the reimbursement to come through."
"We'll see," she says, mouth quirking. "Are you hungry? Did you eat anything?"
"Nah, I'm fine. Feeling a little queasy from whatever it was Nygus gave me to keep me knocked out."
"You have any soup? Something light?"
"Maka, I'm fine. You don't have to wait on me. You don't even need to be here - you should be home and relaxing."
She stiffens a little at that, but brushes off his words. "Well, too bad. You're stuck with me anyway. I'm going to make you soup."
"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"
"What, suddenly you have a problem being taken care of? You were so excited about Nurse Maka earlier," she gives him a look he can't quite decipher as she opens a cabinet. "And here I even brought my nurse outfit."
From the futon Soul chokes a little, and Maka hides her smirk. "You do not have a nurse costume," he sputters. Maka triumphantly digs out a can of off brand chicken and rice soup.
"Well, I guess you'll never find out now, will you?" Soul gapes at her over the back of the futon. "Where the hell's your can opener?"
"Um."
"Nevermind, found it!"
Soul watches his partner putter around his kitchenette. She stares balefully at the hotplate for a moment before sighing and digging out a microwave bowl. Her movements are sharp and efficient, and he likes the way she invades his space - like she's always been in his apartment.
"I'm starting to see exactly why you're always getting take out. It isn't the hours, it's the kitchen. Can you even cook?" She asks, putting down his bowl of soup. He scowls a little.
"Of course I can cook." It's not exactly a lie. He's never had much of a chance to do a lot of cooking for himself, but he can at least manage the basics. "Well, I can do a mean grilled cheese," he admits. "It's a little harder not having an actual kitchen to work with."
"Being able to make a good grilled cheese is an underappreciated life skill," Maka replies mildly, sitting down next to him. His hands barely shake as he tries to eat while still reclining.
"My mom certainly thought so. Fortunately, my brother knew the true value of a perfect grilled cheese." He slurps his soup and keeps his eyes trained on the TV.
"Sounds like a smart guy," she offers. Soul nods, and despite her urge to pry, she doesn't inquire further. She's shocked when, after a few more spoons of soup, Soul offers,
"He is. He's the one who helped me build my bike." He gives her a weighty stare. "My baby. That you made me leave at the warehouse."
"Well, what were we supposed to do, Soul?"
"I don't know. I did ask if you could drive stick. Can you?"
Maka's face goes scarlet. So that's what that had been about. "That's hardly the point," she snaps, avoiding his question. "There's no way I was going to leave you bleeding out just to move your stupid bike!"
"It's not stupid," he scowls, setting his bowl on the coffee table.
"Well, it doesn't matter anyway. What's done is done." She snatches his bowl and stomps into the kitchen. "Besides. Kid is going to send someone to take care of it."
"Take care of it how?" For a brief moment, his mind is filled with images of his motorcycle, mangled and scrapped.
"He's probably just going to send someone to bring it to the station. It'll be fine. Tomorrow we're going to go and get you some pain meds, and see...what else needs to be taken care of." Her throat feels strangely thick again, and Soul, hearing the catch in her voice, shifts on the futon to look at her.
"You told him?"
She shoots him a look. "Of course I told him. He's my captain. He was...Chrona's captain, too. I had to tell him."
"What's he going to do about it?"
Maka shrugs her shoulder, rinsing the bowl. "They're going to see if Chrona's still where I left him when they pick up your bike. After that, I don't know. Maybe exhume the body, see if there's any way to find out who it was I actually identified." She hears the squeak of the futon springs as she shuts off the water, and a small grunt from Soul, and then he's shuffling across the room.
"Hey," he murmurs, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You gonna be ok?" She turns, eyes dark and mouth tight. He'd gotten rid of Nygus's scrubs before she'd gotten there, and her eyes are drawn to the faded plaid of his flannel shirt. He didn't bother to button the whole thing up, and she can see the bandages wrapped around his torso. The irony of his question isn't lost on her.
She doesn't want to look at his face and see the pity she thinks might be there, so she focuses on the worn-through fabric at the hem of his collar instead. "Yeah," she says, shrugging her shoulder. Soul's hand remains firm, warmth sinking in through her shirt.
"Just like that, you're fine?" he asks, skepticism clear in his voice.
"I will be. There's nothing I can do about it now," she snaps. Soul sighs softly; her eyes are glued to his collar, and if she's that fascinated by faded flannel, he'll let them scrap his bike.
"Hey." Unbidden, his hand slips up to cup her cheek, and while he gets her to face him, her eyes keep slipping away, looking anywhere but at him. "It's not your fault."
She flicks her eyes at him for a second, and then it's back to staring at his collar. "Except it is. I identified Chrona and Ragnarock. They didn't do DNA on my identification. If they had, maybe we would have had more to go on with Medusa, and she wouldn't have gotten away in the first place and - "
"Maka. Stop." To his complete surprise, Maka does stop, her mouth gaping. He's aware that he shouldn't find that cute, but then her jaw snaps shut, and she meets his eyes. There's something there that he can't quite place.
"I can't, Soul. I have to do this."
His shoulders slump a little, and she tries to ignore the feeling of his palm on her cheek, fingertips just brushing the slipping strands of her hair. "Just try to remember you're not in this on your own, ok?" She blinks slowly and allows a moment for what if before she nods, mouth quirking slightly.
"I know."
She eventually gets Soul settled in his room, despite numerous protests that he wasn't, in fact, tired at all, and would she please stop mothering him, and no that wasn't a yawn. Maka pretends that she doesn't see the occasional worried glance he gives her, or that they're really more than glances. She knows that she shouldn't blame herself for this mess, not really.
But the rage and the hurt she'd thought she was past kept boiling to the surface, augmented by her confusion. She couldn't make the pieces fit, and it gnawed at her - snarling failure and incompetence. She props her feet up on Soul's coffee table, leans her head back, and stares at the ceiling for a while. From the bedroom, she can hear Soul's soft snores.