Maka doesn't slam out of his apartment, and they're not exactly fighting, but he still feels like the world's biggest ass. If Black*Star were there, he'd make a wisecrack about how Soul mostly just had the world's biggest ass, and that's about when Soul realizes that perhaps the pain medication really is kicking in full force. The physical pain in his chest has subsided into mostly a dull ache, and he would really prefer to go back to sleep and not dwell on the exchange he just had with his partner.

Instead, he turns to his laptop, government approved boring background glaring irritating at him. He doesn't really want to go through the surveillance footage; that kind of grunt work, along with writing reports, is probably his least favorite part of being an FBI agent. But he doesn't have the benefit of an office here, or even a support team, so he pulls up the footage and settles in for the long haul.

He drifts off a little here and there, and grumbles when he jerks awake because it means rewinding back through footage lest he miss something. The third time it happens, he nearly throws the laptop across the room. Instead, he takes a few deep breaths, and sets the computer aside. His chest seems to be holding up alright, and his Vicodin hasn't worn off, so he swings his legs out of bed and gingerly gets to his feet. With a small glare, he grabs the laptop again, shoves his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants, and shuffles carefully into the living room.

Maka will kill him if she finds out he got out of bed. At the same time, it's probably worth it if it means he isn't going to fall asleep every five minutes going through this footage. He deposits his burden with a muffled thump on the couch and trudges into the kitchen to make a little bit of coffee and to see if he can rustle up a snack out of whatever it was that Maka brought back from the store. He's going to have to start all over again to make sure he hasn't missed anything.

Three hours later, and despite the two cups of coffee and having consumed most of the baguette Maka'd bought, he's on the verge of passing out again. He catches a flash on the screen, and he fumbles for the touchpad to stop the playback and rewind a bit. It's the third time Giriko's turned up on the camera, and the second time he's shown up with Cherry. The first time had Soul cringing, but hadn't yielded anything. This time, Soul can already see the violence lurking in Giriko's eyes before Cherry even shows up, and he feels his stomach recoil.

The surveillance camera is of a high enough quality that he can really see more than he ever wanted to, and while that will certainly help when it comes to court evidence, at the moment it just imprints the look of fear on Cherry's face, and the way that her arms begin to mottle with the strength of Giriko's grip, into Soul's brain. He wants nothing more than to stop the video. Technically, he's got what he needs. Still, he forces himself to watch the whole thing. There's too much at stake if he misses something. He does his best to detach himself from what he sees - to retreat into the analytical part of his brain where this is just evidence, and he is just an agent doing his job. It doesn't work.

The worst is the audio. He can clearly hear Giriko's low, vicious demands, hear every slur and curse he slings at Cherry. There is no mistaking her choked off sobs for anything else. Soul thinks that he might actually be sick as Giriko tires of Cherry and throws her to the ground with a self-satisfied smirk. She doesn't dare move until he swaggers his way out of the private room, and then Soul watches as she curls into herself, still crying. Blair eventually comes in and helps the battered woman to her feet, but not after nearly ten more minutes of broken tears.

Soul stops the playback there, and for a long moment, he just sits and stares up at the ceiling. He has the proof that they had been searching for, but it doesn't feel anything like victory ought to.

He isn't entirely sure how long he sits there and stares. The ceiling doesn't provide him all that much in the way of comfort or oblivion, but it does, unfortunately, let his mind wander, and soon he finds himself turning the video back on. He tells himself that it's all in the name of work - that he's got to compile as much damning evidence against Giriko and Medusa as he can, but despite the truth of it, it tastes like an excuse. He's looking for one moment in days' worth of moments.

He fast forwards through a few lap dances between dancers he recognizes and patrons he knows by sight alone until that leering face pops back up on his laptop screen. Soul can feel his shoulders begin to tense and his jaw tightens. He knows, effectively, what's going to happen here. Or at least, he knows how this particular interaction ends, but he doesn't know the in between. In a Pandora's Box moment of bad decisions, he stops the fast forward and presses play, watching as the door to the VIP room opens and Giriko's oily smile widens.

It almost doesn't feel real, watching Maka this way. Between what he knows now, and what he knew then, and the impersonal observation of the camera, he is having a difficult time reconciling this shy, mousy school-girl act with the woman he's come to know as his partner. He strongly suspects, eyes tracing her coquettish movements, that if she hadn't taken an instant dislike to him - hadn't given him those brief moments that hinted at her true nature - he might never have suspected her of being anything but the waitress she portrayed.

He watches as Giriko slides his hands along her bared skin, and he's distantly aware of the way his blood pressure rises as he paws at Maka. She dances away from him with a slow shimmy, and Soul's eyes catch her stuttering fingers on the buttons on her blouse a moment before Giriko tears the thing off her completely. Dimly, Soul feels his nails bite into his palms, but he keeps watching as she shakily drops her skirt and Giriko's hands are back.

He's never been so happy to see himself in his life. He knows that Maka's scared face and intimidated noises are a part of her act, he knows that she can take care of herself, but it stirs something angry in his chest, something possessive and unexpected. He watches for a few more minutes, reliving their interaction as he sees it played out on the screen, and tries to calm down. This is his partner, after all. It's not unreasonable for him to be upset when someone so blatantly disrespects his partner, especially when that someone is a Grade A shitbag. That unsettled feeling sticks with him, and he almost regrets watching this part of the tape. It's all too easy to imagine Maka in Cherry's position, and the bile rises in his throat.

Soul manages to make it through the rest of the video without breaking anything or throwing up his baguette. Unfortunately, it doesn't yield anything else that they're going to be able to use. He hopes, not for the first time, that what they've got here and Cherry's testimony are going to be enough to keep Giriko locked up for a good long while. He can feel his eyelids start to droop again, and as much as he has on his mind, he can't quite fight of the potent combo of exhaustion and medication.

Maka unlocks the door to his apartment to find him snoring lightly on the couch. He doesn't even wake up when she closes the door none too gently. She takes a moment to stare at him, her nerves still a little shot from her conversation with Black*Star. She wants to be irritated that he disobeyed her strict orders to stay in bed, but he looks surprisingly peaceful.

She can smell the lingering scent of coffee from the kitchenette, and there's the last tiny end of the bread she bought earlier in the day sitting on the coffee table. Maka rolls her eyes and retrieves his laptop from where it rests precariously on his hips. She jostles the touchpad accidentally, and the machine whirs back to life. Maka sees the video file pulled up, and notices that Soul has pulled out her casebook, and made careful notations about the surveillance footage. It's even, she notes, done in a careful mimicry of her own style.

She closes and sets the laptop aside, and takes one last look at her partner. She needs to talk to him about tonight, but she's pretty sure that's drool hanging from the side of his mouth, and she can see the bandages peeking out from underneath his shirt. It can wait, she decides suddenly.

Maka nudges his shoulder carefully, and rolls her eyes as he twitches away from her, but doesn't wake up.

"Soul." She shakes him a little harder to no avail. She leans in a little closer, smiling mischievously, mouth next to his ear, "Evans!" His eyes snap open at that, and he might have thrashed his way off the futon entirely, had Maka not still had one hand firmly planted on his shoulder.

"Maka - wha - "

"You fell asleep on the couch," she smirks.

He scrubs a hand over his face. "And you needed to wake me up, why?"

"Didn't want you to wake up with a cramp in your neck." Her voice is sweet as she holds out a hand to help him sit up. He glares half-heartedly at her, but takes it anyway.

"Yes, and I'm sure the minor heart attack you just gave me is much better for my well-being."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, partner."

"I am injured and you are cruel and unusual," he grumbles, heart calming; he doesn't resist as she pulls him towards the bedroom.

"Some of my better qualities," she agrees. She can see his eyes start to droop again, and she steers him to the edge of his bed. He flops onto the mattress, and she gets no further arguments as she pulls the sheets up over him. "Go back to sleep, Soul." It doesn't take long for his breathing to even out, and for his faint snores to start up again.

Shaking her head, she makes her way back into the living room. She gets herself a few pieces of cheese to eat with the last of the bread Soul massacred earlier, and sits down to review the notes he'd made for her. She's got more than a few things to add herself.

She wakes up Tuesday around noon on Soul's futon-couch again, and it's surreal to think that, in the week since she'd given him half a lapdance and gained a new partner, that she's spent nearly half her nights sleeping in a bed that isn't her own. The smell of coffee pervades her nose, and she's equal parts grateful and irritated because it means that Soul's been up and about.

She finds him on the edge of his bed, partially reclined and barely dressed. She fights down the urge to blush, instead crossing her arms and scowling. His eyes flicker open, and for a brief moment, he has the grace to look ashamed.

"I wanted to take a shower," he mumbles, eyes landing somewhere around her collarbone. "And then I couldn't get the bandages back on right."

She sighs. "I ought to let you just suffer, you know."

"Probably," he agrees. "But maybe after you wrap my gaping wound?"

Her scowl deepens. The stitches look angry and red, and as much as she blusters and picks at him, she still feels more than a little responsible for his injury. "Come here," she demands, and he stands, handing her the dressings from his nightstand. She's quick and efficient, hands moving nimbly around his torso. They're close by necessity, and, much like the other night, Maka deftly avoids meeting Soul's eyes. She can smell his soap, and his skin is still a little warm from his shower. If her pulse is pounding a little faster than normal, she thinks it's pretty reasonable to blame it on her irritation with Soul.

"Have you taken your antibiotics yet?"

"Yes." She risks a moment of eye contact for a particularly potent glare. "And the Vicodin," he adds mulishly.

"Good." She secures his bandages, smoothing them down carefully. Under her fingertips, Soul tenses slightly, and for a moment, she regrets shifting her gaze because her eyes are filled with the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Now get back in that bed."

She can't quite decipher the look he gives her as he obeys, but it's not helping her pulse rate any.

Maka manages breakfast for the both of them, and with Maka perched on the edge of the bed, they compare notes from yesterday. She doesn't mention the fact that he's written in her casebook, or that she's kind of weirdly touched by the fact that he made an effort to stick with her system, and he doesn't either.

Through bites of toast, he glosses over the surveillance footage and Cherry's assault, and if he doesn't mention that he kept watching for her interaction with Giriko, well, he's still trying not to think about it too hard. She seems subdued, and he thinks that it's probably due to the violent nature of the evidence, until she clears her throat and mumbles,

"I took your advice."

He stops chewing. "Hm? About what?"

"Trusting Black*Star." She fidgets a little bit. "He gave me a ride back last night, and we had a talk."

"See, I told you we could trust him."

"Well, I hope you're right cause I took a chance and told him who I was." It's quiet enough that she can hear the blood in her veins. Her eyes don't leave Soul's as he gapes at her.

"You did what?"

"You heard me."

"Why? What on Earth would possess you to do something like that?"

"You said you trusted him, right?"

"Well yeah - enough to keep Giriko out of your way at least, but not enough to blow our cover!"

"Well too bad," she says with a nonchalance she doesn't feel. "Besides, I didn't blow your cover, just mine."

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "How?"

"I think he had it half-figured out anyway. Giriko confronted him and seemed to think that it was the two of you at the warehouse and not the two of us."

"That's...kind of good."

Her lips quirk. "Yeah. He's under the impression that you and Black*Star are snitches. And he tried to get rid of you both in a more permanent fashion yesterday. Fortunately for you, you weren't there."

"And Black*Star?"

"Giriko didn't do any serious damage. Other than apparently give him some food for thought."

Soul relaxes marginally. "Good. Now, are you trying to say I couldn't take Giriko, because if that's what you're saying then I think we need to reevaluate our partnership."

Maka rolls her eyes. "Not with that, you couldn't." He rubs his bandages lightly and grimaces.

"Yeah, well."

"I'm sure you'll get your shot at him, FBI guy."

"As much as I'd like to break his face, I hope I don't get the chance. You're going to send Kid that information, right?"

"Yeah. I'll get it to him ASAP. In the meantime, it looks like we have a new ally." Maka fidgets a little. "If you want, we can keep your cover up."

"We're in this together, yeah? I'll talk to him about it later."

"You sure?"

He shrugs a shoulder slightly. "Yeah."

She gives him a small smile, "I need to spend some time at my place today - are you going to be all right here by yourself?"

"I think I can manage," he says drily.

Maka stands and motions for Soul to give her his empty plate. "Well that's good. I've got errands to run and a new job to start prepping for."

"New - what?"

She can't help but tease him, just a little, especially since his face is all scrunched up in confusion. Consider it, she thinks, payback for all those times he manages to get her off her guard. "Mm, yeah. Did I forget to mention? Blair promoted me yesterday."

She grins and lets that sink in as she takes their dishes into the kitchen.

The good news is that she doesn't have to start her "new job" for another week. She managed to finagle that much out of Blair at least. In the back of her mind, she crosses her fingers that they can wrap this case up before that ever becomes necessary. A girl can dream at least.

She's got a tray full of martinis for a table full of particularly rough looking guys and she's cataloging the various half-healed cuts and bruises they're sporting out of habit when she hears a shout from across the club. She jerks, and sets down the tray carefully before looking towards the source of the noise. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the table full of goons tense, but her attention primarily focused on the drama unfurling before her.

Maka didn't know that the doors of Chupa Cabra's could slam, but Giriko somehow manages the feat. Even across the room, she can see his eyes are wild, and he looks fit to kill as he searches the club. She freezes as they lock gazes and watches, fascinated and horrified as his face shifts into a snarl. She estimates she has maybe 30 seconds before he's coming for her, and she thinks with startling calmness, This is it.

If she can slip away, into the back rooms, she might be able to dodge him and get out of the club. If her cover is well and truly blown, she could go ahead and finish this now with Giriko-but she doesn't dare do it in a room full of people who are Giriko's allies. She'll run, and he'll chase because he can't not, she decides, and she tenses, ready to explode away from the table the moment he starts in her direction.

Except she never gets the chance. Before Giriko can move, he's being restrained by two uniforms. Maka recognizes one of them by the greying blond of his hair - the other one is an unknown. But she's more than familiar with the set of her boss's shoulders as he arrives on the scene. She hangs back and takes her cue from the other patrons - all of whom are doing their level best to look like they aren't actively avoiding the cops. Even restrained, Giriko spits and thrashes, his eyes once again finding Maka's.

"You think this is gonna take, huh, bitch? I don't know what you assholes think you're doing, but you can't hold me - do you know who I am?"

"Giriko 'the Chainsaw' Sharp, you are under arrest for the assault and battery of Kim Diehl. You have the right to remain silent - " She could almost laugh at Kid's cool intonation and Giriko's startled look, except he's still looking right at her, like he knows somehow. The click of the handcuffs is audible in the silence permeating the club.

"I'll fucking show you my right to an attorney. You just fucking wait. I know who's behind this, and they're gonna regret it."

She can hear his screeching proclamation clear as day, and it's like a nail in her chest because he's speaking right to her. It's ridiculous, but she can't help the shiver that look sends up her spine. They have to practically drag Giriko out of the club. She would have thought that, knowing Kid had the maniac under control, she would feel better, but she doesn't. Instead, it feels like they've just taken this game to a whole new level.

Black*Star is waiting for her when she gets off work again, and she scowls a little.

"I really don't need the bodyguard detail," she insists, climbing into the front seat. Black*Star shrugs a shoulder partway.

"That's not what Eater said."

"He's overprotective," she mutters stubbornly. "They picked up Giriko tonight anyway. Speaking of," she turns and gives him a good, hard stare. "If you're supposed to be looking after me, where the hell were you tonight? I thought Giriko was coming straight for me when he burst into Chupa Cabra's tonight."

Black*Star doesn't even have the grace to look ashamed. Instead, she thinks she sees the hint of a smirk around his mouth. "I know. I saw the whole thing from outside."

Her mouth gapes a little, and he laughs, loud and honking. "Well that would have been nice to know."

"What? Like I'm going to march into Arachnophobia central when there's a hit on me and Giriko's the one out for it? I ain't afraid of him, but that motherfucker's crazy."

"And now that Giriko's out of the way?"

He shrugs again. "I'm gonna be keeping my eyes and ears open, ya'know? Mostly for you guys. I know they're gonna be after Soul once he shows his face again, and you by extension." He doesn't mention Tsubaki, but he doesn't have to. It's in the set of his jaw and the fact that Maka knows he hasn't spoken to her roommate since they had dropped him off Sunday night.

She makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. "Tsubaki should be all right," she says finally, and Black*Star glances over at her, surprised. "Her connection to me is minimal, especially given how much time I've been spending at Soul's apartment."

He snorts a little. "Man, you really are a cop, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! 'Sides, just cause you haven't been seen together with her much doesn't mean they haven't seen me with her lately. I'm not going to be the one making her a target."

Maka bristles a little at the implication that she is making her best friend a target, but settles on, "She's going to kick your ass, you know."

Black*Star does smile this time, big and wide, "Yeah, I know." He seems pretty pleased by the prospect.

"God, at least call her."

He rolls his eyes. "Stay out of it, short stack. It's between Tsubaki and me, ok?"

She gives him a disgusted look. "You really are going to get your ass kicked. Do me a favor and drop me off at home. I need to go to Soul's tonight, but I need to grab some stuff first." He grunts and gives her a suspicious look. "What? Look, if you're that worried, you can just drop me off at Soul's and I'll walk home. Might be a little less conspicuous than this thing."

"Oh, I know you did not just insult the Black*Star Mobile."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she says, voice Sahara dry.

"Hmph. That's what I thought." A few minutes later, he pulls over and parks along the side of the street, and Maka gives him a look. She recognizes the spot as just about halfway between her apartment and Soul's. "Soul will be upset if I let his partner go wandering around by herself after all this trouble. And I am nothing if not an accommodating god."

She lets it slide because, as she's coming to realize, that's just Black*Star. He's also answered a question that she didn't particularly want to ask, which was whether or not Soul had keyed Black*Star into his real identity. The (former?) mobster seems completely unphased by the whole ordeal, and she envies him. Ultimately, she suspects he's convinced himself that on some level he already knew his...minions...were working for the man.

They walk back to her apartment reasonably quickly, and when it looks like he's going to lurk on the sidewalk like a total creeper, she invites him in. He glares a little.

"What did I tell you about not butting in?"

"Look, you're going to draw way more attention to us by lurking out here like a fucking creep than if you just come in the damn building," she hisses. He grumbles but follows her in, and upstairs, and a part of her can't believe that she's actively showing Black*Star where they live, when just a few days ago she was terrified by the notion. Maka's a little surprised to find that they've actually beaten Tsubaki back, but she's more used to walking back than hitching a ride, so that figures. "Just uhh...stay in the kitchen until I get back," she says. "If you want a snack or something, I think there's some chips in the cabinet next to the fridge."

"Yeah, yeah." He waves a hand at her and she can see him zeroing in on said cabinet as she disappears into her room to grab a change of clothes.

She throws her dirty clothes into her hamper and stuffs some clean ones in a backpack without much thought - jeans and another t-shirt will be more than adequate. She pauses for a moment at her drawer and considers throwing in a few more changes of clothes. Just in case. She hesitates over her underwear, then hears the sound of the front door opening and hastily throws in a few more pairs and a couple of extra shirts and socks. It can't hurt, she tells herself, and does not at all dwell on what it might mean that she's keeping extra clothes at her partner's place. It is, after all, practical.

She takes a quick peek out of her room to see Tsubaki in the doorway of their apartment, looking flabbergasted at the sight of Black*Star, who's got a mouthful of ridged potato chips and is looking equally startled. She'd laugh, but she'd rather not break the moment. Maka ducks back into her room and gives them a few moments alone and she absolutely does not eavesdrop. She'll give them ten minutes, she decides, and pops out her phone.

Coming over in ten. Ok if I stay?

alwauys ok~ His response comes almost immediately, and Maka can imagine him laying in bed with his phone next to him. Judging from his typing, he's at least still taking his Vicodin. She smiles a little.

Go sleep, dummy. I'll let myself in.

Mfjine.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't stop smiling. As obnoxious as it can be, she kind of appreciates his stubbornness. Maka checks the time again. She can still hear the murmur of voices, and she's kind of impressed that Black*Star is managing to keep it to a dull roar. She sucks in a breath and and steels herself for going out into the living room.

"Hey, Tsubaki," she says as she emerges.

"Hi Maka." Her roommate's reply is more than a little distracted, and she's not sure if that's a good thing or not. At least Tsubaki isn't glaring needles at her for letting Black*Star into their apartment. That has to mean something positive, doesn't it?

Black*Star is almost completely focused on Tsubaki, and Maka thinks for a moment that she might be able to just slip out the front door and avoid having another round of bodyguard time with Black*Star. Her hopes are dashed when Tsubaki cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow. "You're going out again?" she asks, nodding at Maka's bag.

"Ah, yeah. Figure it can't hurt to keep an eye on Soul for a little while longer. I'll be back tomorrow though to uhhhhh..."

"Get the help with the thing?" Tsubaki supplies, lips quirking. Maka wants to be irritated with her, but Tsubaki had agreed to help her out preparing for her new position.

"Yeah."

Her smile turns a little bit wicked, and Maka thinks that maybe this is the payback for forcing a confrontation between her roommate and Black*Star. "You know, maybe you should just stay over at Soul's. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give you all the help you need."

"T-tsubaki!"

"Just saying."

Maka glares at her, but gives it up after a moment. She can feel the flush still on her face, but she can't really be mad at her roommate. "Are you ready to go?"

Black*Star looks between them, but nods. "Yeah, I'm good." He gives Tsubaki a look that Maka doesn't want to interpret, and she makes a point of going ahead and leaving. Black*Star follows her a moment later, grinning widely, and she's got a feeling that Tsubaki might not be spending the night alone.

"Did you want to come up?" She asks mostly for courtesy's sake, and isn't the least bit surprised when Black*Star declines. "Are you going back to your car or my apartment?" she can't help asking. He gives her a little eyeroll.

"I asked you to stay out of it, didn't I?"

She shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about, and that didn't answer my question."

"You are crazy obnoxious, you know that? Fine. I'm going back to your place."

"Cool." She gives him a little wave before heading inside. "Have a good night." Black*Star looks confused as she goes, shaking his head.

"Yeah, whatever. Later, short stuff."

She lets herself into Soul's apartment as quietly as she can. She doesn't actually expect him to be asleep, but on the off chance he is, she'd like him to stay that way. The TV's on when she steps in, and she sighs a little because he's back on the couch again, and really, it's starting to feel like a routine. Red eyes flicker open as she shuts and locks the door behind her.

"Hey," he says, voice scratchy with sleep and probably the remnants of his last pain pill. She'd be lying if she said that it didn't make something in her gut twist. She blames it on Tsubaki's sly suggestion, and tries not to think about what want feels like.

"Hey there."

"You gonna yell at me?" He stretches a little, eyes following her through his living room. She absolutely does not think the way his toes curl and flex is even slightly attractive. She shakes her head slightly.

"I don't know, should I yell at you?"

"Mmnope. I've been good."

She gives him a skeptical look. "I'm sure." She toes off her shoes and he scoots his feet over so she can sit on the futon. "You're the very soul of innocence."

He smirks at her, still sleepy. "You know it. How'd it go tonight?"

She rolls her shoulders, "Pretty decently. Giriko made a scene, but Kid took care of it." Maka hesitates, wondering if she ought to bring up her paranoia about Giriko.

"Kid came himself?" The moment is past, and she pushes it to the back of her brain. After all, Giriko's out of the picture and she's still got a Black*Star shadow.

"Yeah. Wanted to make sure nothing went funny, I guess."

"I bet it made a pretty strong statement to Medusa, too."

"I didn't see her, but I have no doubt she's gotten the message."

"Hm." Soul looks a little pensive, but just stretches a bit more. "You're staying again?" He keeps his voice casual.

"Yeah, if that's all right? I was going to stay home, but I think that ahhh, Black*Star and Tsubaki need some...time. I figured I'd take the futon, if you'd ever stop sleeping out here," she adds accusingly.

"What?" It's totally not a whine, really.

"You have a nice comfortable bed, and yet every time I come in, you're out here on the futon."

"Maybe I'm just waiting for you to get back? Maybe I don't like sleeping in that big bed all by myself?"

That throws her for a loop for a moment, but she recovers quickly, narrowing her eyes. "Or maybe it's because the TV's out here."

"Mmmm you've found me out, Detective."

She pokes the bottom of his foot, and he can't help twitching. "Come on, then. Bedtime for injured agents."

"Seriously?" She prods both his feet, and he bites back a bark of laughter. "Ah! Ok, Jesus, woman; you're gonna make me pull my stitches!"

"Then get up and get in bed, and we won't have this problem, now will we?"

He gives her a half-hearted glare, and she stands, shifting his feet to the floor and holding out a hand. He lets her tug him to standing, and if he leans on her a little more than normal, he tells himself that it's because he's still tired and a little drugged and not because he likes the way she smells.

"Are you tucking me in?" he asks as she throws back his comforter. Maka just raises an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, yeah, ok." He slips in between the sheets and lets her tug up the covers. He expects her to leave, but she stands there for a moment, face contemplative. "You want in?" he asks, and he's mostly teasing, keeping his voice light. She cocks her head slightly.

"I've got a lot to do tomorrow. I could use a real bed, maybe. If you don't mind?"

He tamps down on his immediate response, which is something to the effect of are you fucking kidding me, and nods instead. "You know I don't," is what comes out, and that raspy quality is back in his voice. Maka shakes off the goosebumps that trail down her arms.

"Cool. I'll be in in a bit. I need to wind down." He nods. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," he replies. She gives him a small smile and clicks off the light as she leaves.

He wakes up long enough to feel it when Maka climbs into bed, but he doesn't check the time. He likes the warmth of her body under the sheets, and her careful, quiet, "Go back to sleep, Soul."

Maka waits to go home for what she's pretty sure is a more than reasonable length of time. The last thing that she wants is the explicit confirmation that Tsubaki and Black*Star are doing the deed in the form of walking in on Black*Star in any stage of undress.

She still gets an eyeful of shirtless mobster when she lets herself in. "Aw, geez. Come on, guys! I gave you like, twelve hours!"

Tsubaki scrambles for her own shirt, face flushed. "M-maka!"

"And on the couch?"

"What's the matter? You jellie?" Black*Star helps himself to a cup of coffee. "Eater isn't taking care of your needs?"

"What." She keeps her voice flat, but she's desperately afraid that her face is starting to heat up.

"What what? You mad cause he didn't have the follow through? No untz untz untz? Baow wow chicka baow wow? Don't take it out on me just cause he didn't rock you like a hurricane." He takes a sip of his coffee and gives her the once over. "Or maybe he did and he wasn't up to the challenge? All pop no sizzle?"

"Do you ever listen to yourself speak?"

Black*Star just waggles his eyebrows. "Nope! I'd much rather hear Tsu - "

"Black*Star." Tsubaki's embarrassed admonishment is enough to get him to be quiet, although, Maka notes, not enough to keep him from leering at her.

"What Eater does or doesn't do for me is none of your business, buddy," she manages to get out before stomping into the kitchen.

"He is not tapping that proper," Black*Star completely fails at whispering to her roommate. Maka considers it an iron feat of will to not chuck the coffee mug she's just grabbed at his head.

In spite of her embarrassed frustration, it's almost another half hour before Black*Star vacates their apartment, and by the time he does, Maka feels like she's a wired ball of tension. She's not sure if it's just something inherently obnoxious about Black*Star, or if it's specifically because he seemed incapable of not making a suggestive comment about her and Soul every other sentence.

It shouldn't bother her. He's just giving her shit because that's what he does and it doesn't actually mean anything. She's overheard him doing the same thing to Soul. But it does, and if she's willing to contemplate it, she thinks that it might have something to do with the way she's been staying with Soul - how easy and comfortable it's been to sort of slip into this role. It doesn't feel strange that she lets herself into his apartment. Sharing a bed feels...well, she doesn't want to think about that, but it doesn't feel as weird as it probably ought to.

What it boils down to is that she hates how easily her face shows a blush, and she already loathes Black*Star's cackle. "He's injured," she says for what feels like the tenth time. "And it's not like that, Jesus."

"Yeah, yeah," he agrees easily, before pecking Tsubaki on the lips and slipping out the front door.

"So," Tsubaki announces from the couch, immediately getting down to business. "How do you want to do this?"

"Um." It's about all she can muster. It's one thing to act like she can pull off a few stripper moves for Blair. It's another entirely to think that she can actually put together her own dance routine. She's seen the caliber of dancing talent at Chupa Cabra's, and she knows now what she didn't know when she started - she's going to have to work at this, or Blair's going to be able to tell right away that she's a fraud.

"Have you got music?"

"Um."

"Maka!"

"What? I wasn't exactly expecting to suddenly be a dancer, you know."

Tsubaki fingers the bridge of her nose lightly. "Have you talked to your insider sources yet? Maybe they're better suited for this than I am."

"They can't today, but I need to get started on this. Liz said she'd help me out tomorrow, though."

"Well, that's a relief. I mean, I guess we can pick you out some music at least? Come on, Maka."

"Huh?"

Tsubaki gives her an eyebrow. "To YouTube. How else are we going to find good stripper routines for you to emulate?"

Together, they get more accomplished than Maka expects, and when she calls to check on her partner, he insists that he's fine and she doesn't need to come and make sure he has dinner. In the background, she's pretty sure she can hear Black*Star rummaging in the fridge, so she lets it go and ends up having a nice dinner at an almost reasonable time with her roommate.

She goes to bed in her own room, in her own perfectly comfortable bed, and if it takes her a little longer than normal to fall asleep, she tells herself that it's because she's nervous for her lesson with Liz and Pattie that she's got planned for tomorrow. It absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that her sheets aren't flannel and don't smell like one Agent Evans.

Nope.