He didn't think it was possible for his chest to hurt anymore than it did the night before, but as Soul wakes up, he learns that he was badly mistaken. Everything aches, and he wants to pass right back out, but the pain makes it impossible. He groans, and shifts on his side a little. He meets resistance and freezes.
Maka stirs, and he hisses involuntarily as her fingers slip over his stitches. Drifting in and out of wakefulness, that snaps her conscious in a hurry.
"Soul?" She sits up suddenly, and he winces.
"You expecting someone else?" Any worry she might have harbored disappears, and the glare that she shoots him is almost worth the jostling.
"You're awfully mouthy for a guy with a giant slice in his chest."
He rolls carefully onto his back, and she shifts automatically to accommodate him. "It's because I'm in pain. And starving."
"You're always starving."
"You're a very observant partner, you know." He couches it as teasing, but he means it, and he thinks that she can pick that out. Her lips quirk slightly, and she wonders at the fact that they're in bed together and it's not as awkward as she would have thought.
"Well, I can take care of one of those things immediately, at least. Assuming you have anything to eat in here?"
"Um."
Maka raises an eyebrow. "Well then." She slips out of his bed and pads her way towards the kitchenette, pausing long enough to fix her partner with a stern glare. "Stay."
"I'm not a dog, Maka." Her brow creeps up a little further, and he huffs, "Yes, ma'am." She at least waits to smile until her back is fully turned.
The microwave flashes the time, and she tries not to think about 9:17 AM and how early that is and why this keeps happening. His fridge is pretty bare, which was about what she suspected, but one of the tiny cabinets yields a few packs of instant oatmeal and a questionably aged packet of s'mores Poptarts that make her sigh and roll her eyes. She starts the coffee, and it's the work of a few minutes to make up the oatmeal in the microwave. The Poptarts taunt her from the counter, and she scowls at them as the microwave beeps.
Juggling two cups of coffee and two bowls of oatmeal is not the easiest thing she's done, and she finds it ironic that her time at Chupa Cabra's has probably made it possible.
"You got that all right?" In her absence, he'd managed to prop himself up on his bed, and she doesn't miss the sickly pallor of his normally tan skin. She gives him a frown.
"I've got it. I thought I told you to stay."
"I didn't go anywhere." He takes the coffees out of her hands, placing hers on the nightstand, and she hands over his oatmeal and sits on the edge of the bed.
"You're going to strain something, and then you're going to regret it."
"Nygus is good at her job, I'll be fine."
"Has it escaped your brain that Nygus is a vet?" she says, incredulous.
He sucks in air over a mouthful of hot oatmeal. "Of course I haven't forgotten. That wasn't the first time we've had to use her."
She doesn't look impressed. "Yeah, so I gathered." She doesn't ask, but it doesn't take a mind reader to know that she wants more information.
"Mira Nygus is married to one Sid Barrett," he recites, taking a sip of his coffee. "I met her not long after Black*Star...adopted me. Most of my visits to her have been directly in relation to some stunt he's pulled, and I wouldn't have even known about her connection to Sid until you mentioned his name the other night. Vet or not, she does know what she's doing."
She doesn't want to admit that Soul's right; she'd seen Nygus work, and the woman was skilled. "Most?"
He shrugs a shoulder carefully. "Well, I have been infiltrating a massive organized crime syndicate. Accidents happen."
"I'm sure they do. Having Black*Star for a boss hasn't helped, I'm sure." She's not sure why she feels the need to keep pushing the issue.
Soul gives her a wicked grin over his coffee mug. "How about we play a little game of you-show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine? I know you haven't survived your years on the force unscathed."
"I think I've already seen everything worth seeing. Besides, I hardly think you're in any position to be showing me anything," she says dryly, one eyebrow arched.
"Only one way to find out," he wiggles his eyebrows. She rolls her eyes, but he'll take it because she's got that little grin playing around the corners of her mouth again.
"I think you're actually delirious. I wouldn't have thought the infection would have set in so quickly, but clearly it's gone to your brain, and we'll have to amputate."
"But I need that."
"Could have fooled me," she teases.
They're almost done with their breakfast when her cell goes off, sending her digging around in the pocket of her sweat pants. Her caller i.d. confirms it's Kid, and she answers with a brisk, "Hello?"
"Morning, Albarn."
"Captain. What's the word?"
"Body's up. We're transporting the remains to Stein now."
Beside her, Soul gives her a look. She stares at the wall. "Understood. I'll be there shortly."
"What'd he say?" he asks as she hangs up.
"Looks like it's go time."
"Did he say anything about Chrona?" He doesn't miss her faint cringe.
"He said last night they'd brought Chrona in, still alive, if only barely." She takes his empty bowl and slides off the bed. "I'm going to get dressed," she murmurs, and he nods, eyes still intent on her as she leaves.
She puts their bowls in the little sink and runs some water over them. The motion belies a kind of domestic familiarity, despite the differences in their apartments and kitchens. For one brief moment, she closes her eyes and contemplates another scene - one where she's not a cop and he's not a fed and they're not in danger from the country's biggest crime organization, where there isn't this lingering pain in her heart, and maybe Soul's laying in bed waiting for her in an entirely different context. She can feel her face heating up, and shakes her head violently. These kinds of daydreams, these urges, aren't like her. She's gotta keep her head in the game.
She blinks down at the sink and shuts off the water. At the very least, she can take care of the bowls when she gets back. But for now, she's got work to do. She grabs her overnight bag from next to the futon and slips into the bathroom. Ratty sweats are exchanged for comfortable jeans and a button down. She'll save the shower for later. She brushes her hair back into a low ponytail and shoves on a baseball cap. With the addition of her hoodie -
She stops and frowns in the mirror. Her hoodie is currently in shreds and soaked with Soul's blood. With a groan, Maka rubs the bridge of her nose.
Soul's still propped up against his pillows when she peeks her head back in his room. "Can I aaaah, ask you for a favor?"
Startled, he stumbles. "Uh - yeah, sure. Anything."
"Do you haveahoodieIcanborrow?"
It takes him a minute to parse her question, but once he does, he grins. "You sure you don't want to wait for that FBI reimbursement?"
Maka rolls her eyes. "Soul - "
"Relax, it's cool. Check the closet; there ought to be one in there. Unless you want to borrow my jacket again?" He looks hopefully at her back, and hopes that she doesn't notice.
Maka hesitates, already halfway in his closet. The thought is incredibly tempting. "Nah. I need the hood."
"Suit yourself. It should be in there."
His closet is surprisingly neat and sparse. It doesn't take her long to find the hoodie, but she can't help but linger over the selection of suits he's got squirreled away. She knows it's a part of his job at the FBI, but she's yet to see him in anything other than street clothes and scrubs. She can't quite wrap her head around Soul in a full suit. She slips on the hoodie and closes the door to the closet. The thing is huge on her, almost a much as Soul's leather jacket had been, but she kind of likes it. She flips the hood up.
"How do I look?"
From the bed, Soul's expression is almost unreadable. "Like that thing's about to swallow you."
"Good," she grins. "Oh, before I go - "
Soul blinks and she's gone, slipping back into the living room. There's something happening in the vicinity of his chest that's got nothing to do with stitches and everything to do with his partner's burgeoning habit of borrowing his clothes and dodging his concern.
She pops her head back in a moment later and tosses something at him fast enough that he doesn't have a chance to react. "I'll see what I can do about your precious baby," she makes a face at the thought of his bike. "Also, hopefully that oughtta tide you over if you get hungry before I get back." He looks down at the foil packet of Poptarts. By the time he looks up again, she's gone, and he can hear the front door shutting.
Soul holds up the packet and tries to remember the last time he bought Poptarts.
It's a grey day outside, matching her mood, and Maka hopes that it will at least wait to rain until she can catch a bus. She left her bag at Soul's, choosing to travel light with her wallet and phone. The little vial they went through all that trouble to find in the warehouse is shoved into the front pocket of her jeans. She slips her earbuds in, but doesn't turn the music on. Maka jogs to a bus stop - not the nearest to Soul's apartment, but one a few blocks away, and lets the steady pounding of her heart and the slow burn in her calves soothe her.
Days like today, she misses her regular morning jogs, misses that time when she can just let everything around her go and focus on the thump thump of her feet against the pavement. Some people do yoga. Maka jogs (excepting, of course, those days when Tsubaki is home and manages to bully her into a DVD of bikram). The bus stop is pretty dead, and she keeps Soul's hood pulled low and her eyes moving.
She ignores the 5 bus in favor of the 23. The 5 would take her two blocks from Stein's office, but after last night, she's feeling more than a little paranoid. She'll switch buses midtown and take the 17 to the Death City Public Library and walk the five blocks. It's a simple trick, but a fairly effective one, even if it does double her transit time. As she exits the 23, she slips out of the hoodie and pulls off her baseball cap. Earbuds come out and get tucked into her pocket, cap folded into a little hoodie bundle, and suddenly she's a dressed down young professional and not a high school delinquent.
Forty-five minutes later, she walks into the old brick building that houses the DC County Coroner's office. The smell of the place is the kind of familiar that invades your bones, and she's reminded once again how frequently she's been a visitor here.
They stuck Stein down in the basement, despite his position as county medical examiner. She's never been able to figure out if his placement was his idea or the county's. It's hard to tell with Frank. She knocks on the door to his office and waits for the quiet, "Enter."
Dr. Frank Stein looked pretty much exactly the same now as he did when Maka had first met him more than ten years ago. He and her father had gone to school together, and Spirit was fond of using Stein as a resource on tough cases. Her mother would have had a royal shit fit if she had found out that Spirit was letting Maka tag along to the morgue, but by that point, she was long gone, and Maka had tried not to think about her too much.
Stein looks up from the organized chaos that is his desk as she walks in. "Ah, Maka. I was expecting you."
"Yeah, sorry about the delay, doc."
He gives her a measured smile, and pushes up his glasses. "It's not a problem. I haven't started yet. There was extra paperwork, what with the exhumation and all."
If he notices her flinch, he doesn't mention it. "Of course."
"Did you wish to be a part of the autopsy?"
Her heart pounds a little faster, mouth drying as she tries to speak. "Y-yes." He stands and walks out from behind the desk, and Maka has to crane her neck a little to maintain eye contact. He pauses next to her, and puts one large, cold hand on her shoulder, patting it once.
The autopsy room is through another door in Stein's office, and is, by necessity, freezing. Maka slips back into Soul's hoodie once she closes the door behind her, and tries casually to cover her nose with the overly long sleeve as Stein suits up. He's already got the body laid out, and while time had not been kind to the corpse, the coffin had slowed the rate of decomp fairly significantly. It isn't the first autopsy she's been present for, not by a long-shot, but like everything else related to this case, this is far more personal.
She's only half-listening as Stein's flat voice intones details into the digital recorder. Stab-wounds, immolation - there's enough flesh left for a DNA sample, which Stein goes ahead and pulls, along with samples from around the stab wounds and under the nails. All in all, it doesn't take him that long to finish with the body.
"I'm going to send these off to the lab," he says, taking off his gloves. "I feel like I've done you a disservice, Maka."
"Huh?"
"I signed off on the original autopsy, but I should have done it myself. It was shoddy and half-assed, and I fear that we might have prevented some of this by being more thorough."
She gives him a little smile. "I somehow doubt it. We brought Medusa in, and we couldn't keep her then. She was prepared for us. I just hope we can catch her off her guard this time."
"Indeed. I'll let you know as soon as I get the results from the lab."
"Speaking of the lab - " she digs in her pocket and pulls out the little vial. "I need you to get this analyzed. I need it quick and thorough, and I need it done by someone that you trust implicitly."
"Ohh?" Stein's eyes light up as he carefully takes the little bottle from her. "This little thing, huh?"
"We think it's the new drug that Arachnophobia's pushing out. It could crack this case wide open."
"Well, well. I'll make sure I hand this off to Ox, then. I think he'll be your best bet."
Maka wrinkles her nose automatically. She remembers Ox Ford from school, and they'd never really gotten along. Still, the guy was brilliant and a stickler for justice, even if she hated his constant competition for class honors. "Thanks, Stein. One more thing - do you think that once the vial's analyzed, you could compare the results against the blood work for this guy," she jerks her thumb at the corpse, "...and against Chrona's blood work."
Stein gives her a thoughtful look. "Chrona's fresh blood work?"
"Kid debriefed you?"
"Right around 4:00 AM, in fact," Stein says dryly. "Speaking of, I have a little something for your partner." He moves back into his office, and Maka trails behind him. "Kid mentioned that, ah - " he snaps his fingers absently.
"Soul," Maka provides.
"Ah yes, Agent Evans. Got a nasty little cut, didn't he?" He looks just a little too interested in her partner's injury.
Maka folds her arms across her chest, and gives Stein a look. "Do you have the meds, or not?" If at all possible, she wants to avoid one of Stein's trips into creeper-land.
He looks mildly affronted. "Of course I do. And you're sure that he's got an antibiotic?" She nods and rattles off the name. "Those should do just fine." Stein hands her a bottle. "Now, make sure he eats something with these, and no more than two in a 24 hour period, understood?"
She takes the bottle and rolls her eyes a little. "I've taken Vicodin before, Stein. I'll make sure Soul knows."
"Good. As soon as we're able to get the contents of that vial analyzed, I'll let you know."
"Thanks, Stein. Can you make sure I get a copy of both autopsy reports?"
"I'll make sure it happens, Maka."
She gives the grey-haired man a wide smile. "I knew I could count on you."
He smiles, escorting her to the door. "Any time." He holds the door open for her, and she's almost out when Stein pushes up his glasses and gives her a measured look. "Oh, and Maka?"
"Hm?"
"Does your father know?"
Her voice catches in her throat for a moment; she hadn't intended to tell her father anything, lest he freak out like he did last time she got tangled up in Arachnophobia activities. She steels her jaw, and cocks her head slightly, "Does my father know about what?" she hedges.
Stein's grin widens, and Maka's heart plummets into her guts. That smile has never once boded well for her. He gestures to Soul's hoodie, draped over her frame. It takes her a moment to wrap her brain around what he's suggesting, and when she does, she's dismayed to feel her face heating up. She glares at her godfather. "Frank Stein, don't you dare - "
"I wouldn't dream of it, Maka. Merely curious."
She gives him one last vicious glare before leaving; Stein merely smiles serenely and waves goodbye.
Maka tries to be quiet as she unlocks Soul's door. She kind of hopes that he'll be asleep and she won't have to face him, but as she cracks open the door, she can hear his voice, low and a little irritated, from the bedroom.
"I don't wanna leave you hanging, dude. No, I know I left you hanging yesterday. I said I had something to take care of, didn't I? I'm sorry man. Look, I gotta go, just - remember that favor for me, ok? I owe you."
She shuts the front door with her hip, and puts the small bag of groceries on the countertop before heading towards his room. Maka rests against his doorway and holds up the small brown paper bag of medication for him to see. Soul startles a little, but looks at her gratefully.
"Yeah, call me when you're done. Later." He hangs up and gives her a smile. "You come bearing the good drugs, I hope?"
Maka rolls her eyes. "As if I would come back empty handed. How're you feeling?"
"About the same as when you left. Shitty."
"I have Vicodin. Have you been a good boy?" She jiggles the bag again, and bites back a laugh at the way his eyes follow it.
"You know, treating me like some sort of pet is not nearly as cute as you seem to think it is," he mutters. She does laugh this time, as she makes her way over to his bed.
"I dunno. I think it's pretty cute," she teases, checking to make sure he's got water as she shakes out a pill. "Did you eat those Poptarts recently?" He makes a face.
"Ugh, yeah. I think those may have been here when I moved in."
She cringes. "Well, I got you a few things while I was out, hopefully enough to tide you over for a couple of days."
The look he gives her is unabashedly warm, and she ducks her head to avoid it as she gets his antibiotic. "You didn't have to do that, Maka."
"Er, yeah, I kind of did." She shifts from foot to foot while he downs his pills. "Your fridge is bare and," she inhales quickly, "Icouldn'tgetyourbikeoutofimpound."
It takes him a second, and Maka's glad that she waited to share her news until after Soul had swallowed his pills. "What?!"
"I can't get your bike out of impound."
"Why the fuck not?"
"Well for one thing, they won't release it to me, and for another, I can't actually drive the damn thing, even if they would."
"I thought you said that Kid would take care of it," he scowls.
"He says there's only so much that can be done until you're well enough to come and claim it for yourself." Soul groans, and she pats his back consolingly. "I did explain that it was very valuable to you, though, and he said he'd try to make sure that it didn't get messed up."
"That's it. As soon as I'm better, I am teaching you to ride."
"The hell you are!"
The look he gives her is sharp toothed and knowing. "Come on, Albarn. You can't tell me you've never wanted to try it."
"I have never wanted to try it."
"Liar," he teases. "It'll be fun. Don't you want to live a little dangerously?"
Maka snorts, and gives him a glare in an attempt to cover up the way her lips quirk. "I think my life involves enough danger already, thanks."
Soul shrugs a shoulder. "Suit yourself. I didn't think you were one to back down from a challenge, but if you're scared - "
Her eyes narrow. "Oh, that's just playing dirty. Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Evans. I am on to you."
She's not sure why his smirk makes her skin feel hot. "I should hope so."
He hasn't been this on edge in years - not since he first broke into the ranks of Arachnophobia and left his foster family behind. Black*Star's fingers are in constant motion as he cruises through the Blue district. Soul should be here with him, just like he should have been with him yesterday, making their usual rounds. He still can't get a good explanation out of his friend and partner-in-crime, and that puts him on edge, too.
He collects from three different businesses with an easy grin and only a few suggestive cracks of his knuckles. Sometimes he wonders why he does this, but the money is easy, and Arachnophobia doesn't care that he has a juvie record a mile long. He thinks about Soul and Kitten - Maka, he remembers Tsubaki calling her, and finds his fingers twitching again. He kind of wants to punch someone, but all the usual suspects who give Soul and him trouble in the Blue district are on their best behavior.
Black*Star's twitching increases, even as he stops off at the nearest Circle D. His brain keeps mulling around Soul and Ki - Maka and that warehouse and what the fuck they were doing out there. He can understand and even forgive being ditched for a hot piece of ass - he is a forgiving god, after all - even if said hot piece of ass has no rack whatsoever. But he can't figure out why Soul would ditch him to go back to the warehouse with a waitress. He doesn't care how hot her ass is, it just doesn't make sense. Even he's not dense enough to think that a warehouse makes for a romantic evening.
He scrubs a hand through his hair roughly, groaning. There is a thought on the horizon, one that he doesn't like one bit...
The slamming of a car door startles him out of his thoughts and nearly makes him drop his King Cone. He scowls and finds himself face to face with a sneering Giriko.
"What's the matter, Black*Star? Weren't expecting to see me here, were you?"
Black*Star raises an eyebrow and takes another bite out of his ice cream. "Uh, no. Not really." Giriko is looking a little more unhinged than normal, which, Black*Star notes, is kind of an impressive feat.
"Of course not. You think Arachnophobia's just going to sit back while you and that little shit of a partner try to fuck us over?"
"Are we seriously back to this, dude? I told you, Eater and I had nothing to do with your shipment getting stolen." He rolls his eyes. "This shit's getting old."
"You're right, it is getting old. Which is why we're going to settle it now. We know all about you and your little boyfriend and your narking problem."
Black*Star straightens, eyes narrowing. "Did you just call me a fuckin' rat? Are you shittin' me? What, did you buy another bad batch of coke or somethin'?"
He sneers at Black*Star. "You can deny it all you want, but Medusa's figured out your little game, asshole, and I get the pleasure of making you pay for it." He cracks his knuckles, and Black*Star tosses what's left of his ice cream cone, rolling his shoulders.
"Seriously, dude, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on. The cops showed up right after you left last night. Did you seriously think that wasn't going to be suspicious?"
"After we left...the warehouse?" He shifts from foot to foot and eyes Giriko warily. That horizon-thought is steadily getting closer and clearer, and he's not sure what to do with it.
"Yeah. Not so smart now, are you, fuckhead? Now, where's that little shit you call a partner?"
Black*Star widens his stance subtly. "He's out sick," he sneers, fists clenching, loosening the muscles in his shoulders and arms.
"Oh well. I'll get his punk ass later," Giriko shrugs, and then he's in motion. Black*Star's ready for him, though - he's been waiting for this since Giriko first started talking. He doesn't think about the mobster's words; there is only the fading afternoon sun, and the feel of the fight.
His heart races as he dodges the wicked looking knife Giriko pulls, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face. He's never liked Giriko, and he can't say that he's upset by the opportunity to beat his ass. Giriko swings wide, and Black*Star ducks in, cracking him across the face. "You know, I told you if you came after my minion or me again, I was gonna fuck you up."
"You can fucking try."
"I intend to." Black*Star knows that he's arrogant, but he also knows he has the skills to backup all his talk. Giriko is a joke, as far he's concerned. They circle around each other, and Black*Star doesn't bother to keep the smirk off his face. Giriko darts in, faster than he anticipated, and Black*Star barely dodges this time, knife whistling perilously close to his face.
He responds with two quick jabs to the body, which don't slow Giriko down quite as much as Black*Star would like. Out of the corner of his eye, Black*Star can tell that they're beginning to draw a crowd, though a quite circumspect one, hidden behind storefronts and surreptitious glances at cell phones. Black*Star kicks out with a booted foot, intent on snapping a kneecap, but Giriko darts back and to the side, trying to swing around for another slice.
This time, he manages to grab a fistful of Black*Star's shirt, and Black*Star twists just enough, the collar of his shirt digging into his throat, that Giriko's knife slides against the skin of his ribs instead of into them. He grunts, fist flying into Giriko's face. The other man ducks his head to avoid the worst of the blow, grip still strong. Fucking cocaine, he thinks. Black*Star growls and brings up a knee, hitting Giriko square in the stomach. He blanches and loosens his grip, and Black*Star dances back, just out of reach.
"You got anything else for me, dipshit? The great Black*Star doesn't have time for your games."
"I got something else for you, motherfucker." Giriko straightens and pulls his gun out.
Shit. He squeezes off two rounds rapid fire, and Black*Star flinches, feeling the burning sting of a bullet graze his arm. He dives for his SUV in time to hear another bullet ping into painted steel. His blood boils, but there's no cavalry coming and Giriko is well past fucking around. Black*Star doesn't waste time getting in and getting his baby started.
Retreating stings, but hey, he decides - it's only really retreating if he goes back. Black*Star revs the engine, blares his horn, ducks his head, and slams the gas, aiming towards Giriko and his car. There's a muffled, "Fucking shit!" and the crunching squeal of metal hitting metal, and then he's away.
He's never been one for introspection, but once he's clear and the adrenaline rush begins to fade, Black*Star recognizes that he's got a lot of thinking to do regarding his continuing position within Arachnophobia. He's got two grazing wounds from a guy that he's supposed to see as a superior - as far as he's concerned, Giriko's barely even a man, much less a boss.
Arachnophobia was never supposed to be a permanent solution. Black*Star knew that when he turned 18 and left Sid's care, but it was easy to fall back into a lifetime of bad habits and quick money. His stereo pounds steadily, and he feels it in his bones. He thinks of a woman with long dark hair and a soft smile just for him.
He thinks of the night before - of Soul and Maka and the contained worry on Mira's face and her words - and picks up his cellphone.
Soul doesn't want to admit it, but he doesn't want her to leave. She's actually kind of...puttering around his apartment, and it's entertaining to watch her from his spot in the bedroom. It would be more entertaining if he didn't know that her restlessness was a result of her anxiety bubbling up. He wishes he could give her an outlet for all her nervous energy, but he's effectively stuck where he is. If he so much as leaves the bed for anything other than a piss break, she'll be all over him.
And not in the good way. Soul groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
"Makaaa," he finally calls out.
Her response is immediate, head up like a shot. "Is everything ok?"
Everything is more than ok now that the Vicodin has kicked in, he thinks, but he's pretty sure he manages to keep that thought on the inside. "It's fine except for that part where you're making me dizzy and wearing a hole in my floor."
She stops her pacing suddenly, and he almost laughs at the guilty look she shoots him. Almost. "Sorry," she mutters, and he snorts just a little.
"C'mere." He motions, and, a little reluctantly, she moves forward towards his room, pausing in the doorframe. "You're making me nervous," he says, and she squirms a little.
"I'm sorry. I'm just - " words fail her for a moment. How does she express the nervous energy coursing through her? "It feels like we're on the edge of something big, Soul. Like we're almost there."
He sighs softly, lips quirking. "I know that feeling. If you'd let me out of bed, I'd be pacing with you. Maybe we could go for a jog?" She raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to let me out of bed, are you?"
"Not on your life, pal."
Soul groans, but doesn't argue. He's bored, but not enough that he's going to push his luck with his partner. Besides, she'll have to leave soon enough, and she won't be able to stop him them. She narrows her eyes and then turns on her heel with a smile. Soul furrows his brow. Maka's smiles rarely bode well for his sanity. She returns moments later, and he knows he was right. "Aw, man."
"You did say you were going to take a look at the footage."
"I'm injured."
"Just means you can't go anywhere. What better time?"
"I'm drugged. Delirious, even."
She gives him a look. "Why are you fighting this?" He holds his hands out, and Maka gives him the chunky government issued laptop.
"Cause it means you aren't pacing around my living room anymore waiting to go into Chupa Cabra's." Her mouth drops open, astonished, and he grins, slow and wide at her expression. "It worked, didn't it?"
"You - "
He opens the shell and begins the booting process. "Me," he agrees. She sighs, exasperated, but he sees the hint of a smile out of the corner of his eye.
"I should head out," she says.
"Probably," he agrees to the sound of the Windows start noise. "Maka - " She cocks her head slightly, and he focuses on logging in. "Just be extra careful out there. The closer we get, the more dangerous it is for all of us, especially after last night."
Part of her wants to protest that she knows and she'll be careful and doesn't he trust her, but he's not being condescending, and he's barely even looking at her, just a warning from one partner to another. She stamps out the reflex.
"I will."
"Good." He shifts a little. "Ah, look - I also called Black*Star."
That stops her. "What? Why?"
"You need someone to watch your back while I'm stuck here."
Maka feels her temper flare up again. This time, she doesn't bother reigning it in. "Excuse me?"
"It's just while I'm laid up."
"Soul, I don't need a fucking mobster watching my back. We're taking enough risks as it is, don't you think? Who the hell knows what he's going to do after last night!"
"He's not going to do anything other than watch your back, Maka!" He sits a little higher, fists clenching in the sheets. "I thought you agreed that things were going to be getting more dangerous."
"Of course they are, but I can look after myself!"
"Are you forgetting Medusa's little buddy Giriko and how he wants to rip you into pieces? Cause I'm not." He couldn't forget Giriko's threats even if he tried.
She refrains from stamping her foot, but only barely. "Dammit Soul, of course I haven't! I'm a fucking cop. I know the risks. I always know the risks. There is always going to be some asshole out there like Giriko who thinks that he can intimidate me, and it's not going to happen!"
"Dammit, Maka, I know you can take care of yourself. This isn't about your capability as a cop or a woman, or whatever - "
"It sure sounds that way." Her hands are braced on her hips, nostrils flaring. Soul tugs a hand through his hair roughly, growling in frustration.
"This is because I'm your partner, and I can't have your back, dammit. You know what it's like to lose a partner, Maka. I don't want that, not when I can do something to prevent it."
Maka recoils as though Soul had physically struck her, and for a long, very quiet moment, Soul wishes he could take it back. "That's not fair, Evans." She breaks the silence first, voice soft and glass hard all at once.
"No," he agrees just as quietly. "It isn't."
"And Black*Star - you trust him?"
"He's had my back since he took me into Arachnophobia. He's loyal to his own."
"And me?"
He hesitates, but at her look, he swallows. "You're mine." He watches her face flush and braces himself for the backlash. When it doesn't come immediately, he continues, "You're...Tsubaki's too, and I've never seen him like this about a girl before." He watches her shoulders slump, and wishes he'd just kept his big mouth shut.
"Ok."
"Ok?"
"Yeah. But I swear to god, if he even looks like he's going to rat me out..."
"He won't."
She nods once. "I have to go in now."
"Y-yeah, alright." Soul reaches over and gives her a light punch on the leg closest to his bed. Maka laughs roughly and carefully slugs him in the arm, barely a tap. "See you later?"
"Yeah, I'll drop by tonight when I'm done."
He watches her go, laptop forgotten for the moment. "Hey, Maka?"
"Yeah?" She pauses at the door.
"What if I hadn't told you?"
The look she sends him tells him everything he needs to know, and when she shuts and locks the front door silently, he slumps back into his pillows.
Free opens the door for her with a strained smile that evening, and it puts an already tense Maka even further on edge. Before she can get all the way into the club, he's got one enormous hand lightly grabbing her elbow, and she stops immediately, heart pounding in her chest. She keeps her smile light and vapid as she looks back and up at the bouncer.
"Miss Blair wants to see you as soon as you change out," he rumbles, and gives her a little smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better." She suspects it's supposed to be reassuring. It isn't.
"T-thanks, sugar!" she manages, turning up the wattage on her smile and hoping it's appropriately distracting. He grins goofily and gives her arm a friendly pat.
At this rate, she's pretty sure she's going to start giving herself ulcers.
The dressing room is dead when she gets there, and Maka changes into her "uniform" quickly, trying not to dwell on what Blair could possibly want. As paranoid as she is, she doubts that her cover's been blown - if it had, Maka's pretty sure she would have known the minute she stepped through the door. With a sigh, she tugs up her thigh highs and straps on her ridiculous heels.
Her heels click forcefully against the polished marble of the hall, the noise loud and strangely reassuring. It feels a lot like her first trip; she doesn't want to admit nervousness, but so much has happened in the last day, she can't help it. At least this time she doesn't have to worry about getting lost in the maze of hallways. Maka keeps her breathing steady and knocks on Blair's door.
"Is that you, Kitten? Come on in."
She slips in the door and closes it behind her. "You wanted to see me, boss?"
Blair looks up from the papers on her desk, and Maka immediately notices the dark circles under the woman's eyes. She's clearly tried to cover them with makeup, but Maka can tell that Blair is tired and stressed - even more so than the last time she'd seen her. "I did, Kitten." She smiles, but it lacks her usual sparkle. "I've got good news and bad news. Bad news is that we're going to be short a dancer indefinitely, and I'm not allowed to hire a new one," she says it with a barely concealed sneer.
"And the good news?" Maka asks. She doesn't see how anything good can come of this; she knows it must be because of Cherry's hospitalization, and she doesn't doubt for one second that Medusa is holding Blair's purse strings. She worries that Liz and Pattie and the other girls are going to have to work overtime to make up for Cherry's absence. She doesn't expect the next words out of Blair's mouth.
"You've been promoted, Kitten!"
The rest of her shift passes in a blur; Maka is still reeling from Blair's proclamation, and she stumbles through drink orders and grabby handed patrons. She keeps an eye out for Giriko, mindful his threats and Soul's paranoia, but doesn't see any sign of him. Ultimately, she's glad. She hates the unsettled feeling that Giriko leaves her with, but she's not sure that she can deal with him right now without things getting very messy, very fast.
She's overwhelmingly relieved when it's quitting time, waving off the look of concern from the bartender. She changes out quickly. The Thompson sisters have had the whole night off, and as a result, the dressing room feels more subdued. There's still the end-of-night chatter that she's grown used to, but she feels disconnected from it.
"Hey Kitten, congrats on the upgrade!" Roxy gives her a smack on the ass and a little grin. Maka startles, but dredges up a grin and slaps back.
"Thanks."
"What's the matter? You don't look too happy about it," Ginger pipes up. She brushes her hair back into a ponytail and keeps an eye on Maka in her mirror. Maka shrugs a shoulder as she slips off her tie.
"It's just unexpected, is all. I didn't think Blair would make me a dancer. She told me I wasn't the type when she hired me." She says it all with a wry smile, and the other girls chuckle.
"You've got tits, you're the type," Ginger says.
"Barely," Maka mutters, unbuttoning her blouse. Roxy gives her a small pat on the shoulder.
"You'll do fine. Don't worry about it so much - you know how easy our clients are to please. And if you want, I've got some falsies from my kid sister you could borrow," she teases. Maka's snort of laughter is unexpected, but genuine.
"Speaking of easy to please - I feel like I oughta give you a high five or something. I can't believe you hooked Eater." Ginger only looks a little bitter as she pulls on her shirt. "I've been trying to land that one since he came here."
"What?"
"He's like the great white whale of patrons, sweetie. Loves to look but doesn't exactly, aaaahh, seal the deal very often, you know?"
Roxy snorts. "I would think she'd know better than anyone," she nudges Maka. "So just how great is the white whale?"
She can't help the smirk. Oh, she's going to have a field day telling Soul about this later. She shrugs modestly. "He's a beast." The other girl burst into laughter.
"I bet," Roxy grins. "I saw that hickey you got the other night."
"I think everyone saw the hickey she got the other night."
Maka can feel her face heating up. "Yeah, well, it's those teeth." She jams her foot in her other boot and laces it up. "Speaking of which, I've got a date." She makes her escape from the dressing room to raucous catcalls, and is surprised to discover that she feels a little more relaxed and less stressed. Right up until she steps out the back door and into the alley. She slows her steps, eyeballing the huge dinged up SUV that blocks her only exit.
The window crawls down, and she's presented with a familiar shock of blue hair. "Get the fuck in, Waitress. I'm giving you a ride home." Part of her wants to resist, but she recalls clearly the argument she and Soul had earlier. She climbs into the passenger seat of the Black*Star Mobile and tries not to look too disgruntled.
Riding with Black*Star is both exactly how she imagined that it might be, and nothing like it at all. He never uses more than one hand, unless it's to flick off another passing vehicle, and he listens to the most obnoxious music. It's strangely at odds with the way he never goes more than 10 over the speed limit and the fact that he's wearing his seatbelt. And aside from the music, he's quiet.
It's weird, and she doesn't like it.
The ride to Soul's apartment is short, but awkward, and she's more than ready to escape.
"Thanks for the ride, Black*Star, I really appreciate it." She's just about to bolt out the door when Black*Star reaches over and grabs her wrist. His grip is firm, but light enough that she knows she could break out of it if she really wanted. She stills under his touch, waiting for his next move.
"I brought you back cause Soul's my minion - my friend - and he asked me to. But I want some answers before I let you go back up there, ok?" His tone is serious in a way that she's not heard before, not even last night while Soul was injured.
She rolls one shoulder. "Shoot," she says, voice light. In the dim light of the car's interior, her eyes pick out the rip of fabric along his arm and side.
"Who are you?"
She exhales slowly. "Maka," she says. "Kitten is just my stage name."
"And how long have you and Tsubaki known each other?"
"Ahh, a long time now. She's one of my oldest friends."
"Is she in any danger because of what you do?"
This stops Maka cold. Of all the questions she had anticipated answering, this wasn't one. "What do you mean?" she asks carefully.
"I mean that you're not really a waitress, are you?"
Her heart pounds. She wants to run because she's been made by Black*Star, of all people. Instead, she deflects. "Who gave you those?" she asks, nodding towards the rips in his clothing.
Black*Star looks down and wiggles a finger through the hole in his shirt. "Courtesy of our little friend Giriko earlier."
"Are you all right?"
"Pft. Like Giriko's got anything on me."
"Why'd he go after you?" Her palms are sweating as she asks.
"See, that's the funny thing. I thought it was just because Giriko can't let a fucking thing go. But he kept running his mouth, and said some pretty interesting things."
"Oh?" She's casual. Completely and totally casual.
"For some reason, he thought that Eater and I were rats. Seemed real insistent on the idea that we had called the cops last night."
Soul's words trickle through her brain and she feels like she's walking the knife's edge. What she's about to do is certifiable and goes against everything she's ever known about undercover work. But hell, she's never been all that good at following the rules before. Why start now?
She breathes in, out, and hopes that Soul's faith wasn't misplaced. "Soul said you're loyal to your own."
Black*Star stops fidgeting, and they exchange looks for a long, quiet moment. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears, and just when she thinks that she's truly and completely blown it, Black*Star gives her a little half-nod. "I'm loyal only to myself. And to my minions."
"And Soul's a minion?" He nods. Maka swallows. "And Arachnophobia?"
"They sent Giriko after me. What the fuck do you think?" He stretches out in the driver's seat a little. "Tch. I mean, really. They wanna get rid of the great Black*Star and they're going to send one pathetic fucker like Giriko to do the job? That's just insulting." Maka smiles faintly. "Now, I've been more than generous. You wanna answer my question?"
"I don't know," she answers truthfully. "It's always a possibility. Do I think she's in danger now? No. At the least, she's not in anymore danger from being my roommate than she is from dating you." She thinks that she might be imagining Black*Star's faint wince.
"Yeah, all right. Point made."
"So..." She tries not to let herself hope. She may have just screwed up everything, or she may have gained them an ally.
"So what?" Black*Star shrugs. "You're my minions, yeah? Then you're under my protection, obviously. If I'm not going to let Arachnophobia fuck with me, why do they get to fuck with you?"
She can feel the tightness in her chest loosen up. "Alright. Are we good?"
"We're good."
Maka nods and stretches out her hand; Black*Star grips it firmly. "Detective Maka Albarn, DCPD."