Author's Notes: I actually have an insane amount of Daddy Spirit feels and they wormed their way into this chapter hardcore.
As for Mackheath- he is the titular Mack the Knife a la the song. You can hear all sorts of versions of it...my playlist for Affinity has eleven versions total. (My favorites are the Kevin Spacey, Rosemary Clooney, and Michael Buble ones; Louie Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Bobby Darin's are the classics. The original song comes from the German Threepenny Opera.) The song is incredibly influential to the story, as well as the Threepenny Opera itself.
Maka's thinking song as she's sitting in the kitchen- the one Soul falls asleep listening to- is Fly by Ludovico Einaudi.
As you might have guessed, there's a lot of music involved in my writing process, so if you want my playlist for Affinity, I would be more than happy to supply it for you.

It was quiet in the Death Room. Maka and Soul knelt at a low table set upon the room's round platform. Before them, Shinigami-sama sat drinking almost daintily from a cup of tea that looked comically tiny in his hands. Instead of drinking the bitter matcha in his cup, Soul pondered the logistics of his boss being able to drink through his mask and Shinigami robe. Maka seemed to be thinking very deeply, her mind awhirl with musical notes that Soul only barely registered. She drank from her own cup pensively.

Soul gave his drink the evil eye. Not only was it tea, something reserved mainly for old people and invalids, but it was also nearly fluorescent in the strength of its green color. It looked more like toxic waste from some sort of cartoon. He wondered if the reason why Shinigami-sama's hands were as large as they were due to his constant drinking of the stuff.

"Do you not find the tea to your taste, Soul?" Behind his mask, it was impossible to read Shinigami-sama's expression, but his expressive voice depicted a mix of amusement and concern. Soul blinked at him.

"Ehh, no, it's…uhm…" His fingers traced the rim of his cup. "It's fine. Just waiting for it to cool, that's all." He took an experimental sip, attempting to keep his face neutral as his senses processed the bitter sting of the tea. "So you said you had a new mission for us, sir?" The question was ground out through his grimace.
"Ah, yes!" Enthusiasm filled the deity's voice and he set his cup down. Maka snapped out of her deep thought, straightening her shoulders and focusing on Shinigami-sama. Soul, on the other hand, fixated on the table.

"We've been getting reports of an old enemy reappearing in Chicago. He's quite the dangerous fellow."

"Reappearing, sir?" Maka asked, her tone surprised.

Shinigami-sama's posture indicated embarrassment. "I am afraid so. The pair I first sent in response to his actions never managed to find him. He vanished without a trace. We searched a long while. Azusa was even put on the case; two years with no sign of him and we had concluded that he died."
"Why did he disappear, though? Don't kishin eggs normally pursue their behavior to excess? It would be easy to track his methods if he relocated…"
Shinigami-sama shook his head. "That's where he got us. As far as we could tell, this kishin egg just dropped off the map. He was just gone."

Maka's brow furrowed in thought, but Soul was too preoccupied to notice the musical flow of her mind working on overdrive. His own mind was filled with dissonance. Quietly, he raised his gaze to the deity before him.

"Shinigami-sama, why…" His hand reached out and grasped his boss's cup. "Why were you drinking a different tea than us?!" The tea sloshed over from the side of the little black cup, the liquor a deep brown color.

Maka radiated indignation as she aimed a jab at her partner's arm. "Soul! We're talking about something important."

The weapon growled at her, sloshing the cup so that the little Shinigami face emblazoned on it was even with her chin. "Look at it, though! Smell it! He's been drinking somethin' different the whole time and we've been stuck drinking this bitter stuff that looks like it could turn me into a mutant."
Maka frowned, but upon sniffing the cup delicately, she turned a suspicious eye on Shinigami-sama. "Is this…Earl Grey?"

Shinigami-sama raised a hand in warning of a Shinigami Chop, effectively cowing both weapon and disgruntled meister. Maka's expression remained petulant, however, and Soul remembered that Earl Grey was her favorite.

"As I was saying, we've heard reports of a kishin egg whose actions are much like those of Mack the Knife, and I've decided to send you two in to investigate." The playfulness in his voice faltered a bit. "I'd like to warn you. He's not to be underestimated—this kishin egg is old, and very cautious. This mission will be long term. You'll need to lie low and watch for a while before you strike. Learn his methods and patterns."
Maka leaned in. "Why don't you send the original pair that tracked him? Wouldn't they know his methods better, despite the years?" She tugged thoughtfully at a pigtail.
Shinigami-sama's posture stiffened. "They are…no longer compatible. You and Soul are the next best choice." He waved his hand at her fondly. "But you really are one of the brightest meisters I have ever had the pleasure of training, Maka. I'm sure that you and Soul will do an excellent job."

Soul raised a skeptical eyebrow, but said nothing. Crimson and olive eyes met in an even gaze that spoke volumes. Maka gave an almost imperceptible nod. Her tone hardened into what Soul knew as her mission voice.

"When are we set to leave?"

"Tomorrow at six in the evening," the death god responded with equal precision. "I've arranged for you and Soul to fly out of Reno. Soul's bike will take far too long—" Soul gave a grimace of displeasure at the slanderous comment towards his darling. "—and if you fly in on Soul himself, it would be far too conspicuous." Shinigami-sama's tone darkened. "Mack the knife will know to be on the lookout for any members of Shibusen. We can't afford the risk."

Maka scanned a look over her partner, eyes halting a little at his teeth. She turned to Shigami-sama, mouth opened to speak.

"I've taken care of airport security, don't worry. You two will just need to give this note to them—they'll take you through from there." He pointed to a piece of paper on the corner of the table.

Soul chuckled a bit at this. "Thanks, there. I don't know how they'd handle a walking, talking weapon."

Maka shot him a playfully scathing look. "They'd have far more than what they'd bargained for, that's for sure." Soul raised an eyebrow, but he kept quiet, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Now, do I need to arrange for a car to the airport, or can you two get there on your own?" The god's voice was cheerful. Soul blanched at the memory of the last time he and his meister were put into a car with Stein. Beside him, Maka's face mirrored equal horror.

"N-no," Soul choked out, pulling a hand out of a pocket to make a placating gesture. "My bike will get us to Reno just fine."

"Excellent!" The death god straightened, ringing with enthusiasm. "You'd best be off to take care of packing—I know this is short notice, but we need someone on this fast. Spirit will keep you updated with any briefings on the mission." He gave a dismissive wave. "Bye now!"

With a grunt, Soul stood and turned to leave. He felt something brush his arm and he paused. Maka's eyes met his with an even gaze and for a moment, the musical tinkle of her thoughts intensified. A moment of understanding passed between them and she stepped forward.

"Shinigami-sama?" Soul noticed that her gaze when facing the death god was less direct than her glance to him. She was staring up at the robed figure through a curtain of ashen bangs and something akin to uncertainty tugged at the corner of her mouth. Soul quietly stepped behind her and she felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. She straightened. The music of her thoughts sharpened and Soul grinned despite himself.

"Hmm? Did you have any questions?" If Shinigami-sama noticed Maka's faltering moment, he made no indication. His tone was as cheerful as it had always been.
"The pair that you sent to fight Mack before…" A hardness in Maka's eyes turned their soft olive into beryl. "They were my parents, weren't they?"
Silence fell over the Death Room again—Soul's hand tightened on her shoulder as the music of her thoughts ceased. A breathless moment passed.
"Yes." The response from the death god was clipped. Soul laughed internally at the feeling of almost-irritation from him. Shinigami-sama himself had said that Maka was one of the brightest meisters he'd ever trained- knew that she had a certain sensitivity to anything that involved her mother or her Deathscythe father. He should have known that Maka would latch onto any vague hints he left. Soul just couldn't figure out why the god seemed so reluctant to give the information. Maka tensed under Soul's grasp.

And then the moment was gone. Shinigami-sama tilted his head and asked with renewed cheer, "Was that all?" Soul stuffed his hand back into his pocket when he felt Maka relax. Ashen pigtails waved as she shook her head with more vigor than necessary.

"Let's go, Soul." Gratitude softened the emerald hues in her eyes. "We're going to need to pack for cold weather."

He gave a tremendous eyeroll. "Chicago's not cold in the summer, Maka. No need to break out the winter gear." He followed his meister as she hopped off the platform, shoulders hunched in his typical slouch. She poked her tongue out at him and he responded in kind, his face looking all the more fearsome for his sharp teeth. Maka giggled, merriment returning to her voice as her partner flashed a grin.

"We're still going to need extra time to pack all your toothbrushes, though."

Soul's arms laden with their baggage, Maka shuffled through their paperwork.

"I've got the boarding passes right here, but if we can just find the note that Shinigami-sama wrote out for you—" She bit her lip as she spoke, the words somewhat muffled. "—ah! Here we are!" She pulled out a slip of paper with Shinigami-sama's flowing signature on the bottom. Soul noted that the stationary was perfectly symmetrical and restrained laughter. Kid was surely responsible.

"We're gonna be fine, Maka," he grumbled, shifting a bag slung over one shoulder in discomfort. "The big guy said that we'd be taken through security when they took the passes."

Maka frowned. "The note is just in case! We don't to start a scene in the airport, Soul, and that's exactly what it would be if we tried passing you through a metal detector."

Soul let out a groan of frustration, but his meister's point was valid. Weapons and metal detectors were never a good match and airport security was definitely not cool to get caught up in. Scratching his head, he shifted the weight of the bags hanging off of him. He mournfully wished that he had been able to convince Maka to pack lighter. A dull soreness had formed in between his shoulder blades and he was not looking forward to the plane ride to Chicago that was only certain to make it worse because they were flying coach. Maka didn't like "wasting" Shibusen's money and was more willing to endure aching legs for it than Soul was. Even the security line was moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. It felt like the entire world was taunting Soul and the two hours of sleep he had gotten the previous night.

At first glance Maka looked no worse for wear, despite the fact that Soul didn't think she slept at all the night before. She had spent the whole night packing and buzzing around in the kitchen, occasionally calling friends to let them know that she'd be out on a mission. The ninja's boisterous voice could be clearly heard even in Soul's room, louder even than Maka's insistence that no, he need not come visit before they go and no, she didn't know when they'd be back but she'd let him know as soon as she did and would he please put Tsubaki on the phone because she had something important to say to her.

He'd come out of his room after she got off the phone, looking every bit as sleepy as she did flustered. Soul noticed the bags under her eyes and told her to go to sleep. She'd shaken her head and said that the still had some work to do in the kitchen before she could sleep. Soul had looked at the spotless kitchen and halfheartedly tugged at her arm, knowing that expecting for her to go to bed was futile. He had made her promise him that she would sleep after she was done with the kitchen. Then he'd slouched back to bed and fell asleep to the musical flow of Maka's thoughts.

"Hey, if I'm not allowed to fall asleep standing here, neither are you." A thin finger poked at Soul's side, startling him from his dozing position in line. The people ahead of them were ambling forward and Maka was pulling on his arm—Soul groaned and stepped forward with a venomous glare at his meister. Her responding smile was teasingly sweet. He started to snarl out a response, but he was cut off by a sardonic voice from the other side of the security line's partition tape.

"Ah, Soul, Maka, there you two are." The pair turned to face Stein. An arched eyebrow pulled at the stitches that ran through his face. "We thought that you'd already gone through the line. I'm glad we caught you before you went through."

Maka tilted her head. Her bangs shifted and Soul could see the dark circles under her eyes in the sallow fluorescent lighting of the airport. Not quite as hale as he had thought. "We?"

Stein jerked a thumb to point towards a redheaded man headed in their direction. The corner of Maka's mouth twitched as she recognized her father, but she was too exhausted to react with her normal level of disdain. Spirit seemed less himself—his gait was more shuffling than normal and he didn't exude enthusiasm as he spotted his daughter. Though his eyes brightened when he noticed Maka, the smile on his face was unusually thin.

Stein held up the partition tape. "There's no need for you to wait in this security line. We've arranged for an agent to escort you." He shot Spirit a look of disappointment as Maka and Soul ducked under the upheld tape. "I would have thought someone would have told you that."

Spirit scowled. "Don't look at me like that, Stein, I was going to meet up with them before they left, but they were gone by the time I came to the apartment."
"Don't be upset, Papa." Maka motioned for Soul to hand her one of the bags that he had been holding. She pushed their paperwork into Stein's hands. The older meister blinked at the documents with dull curiosity. "Soul and I needed to leave early so that he could fill up the motorcycle's tank."

"She also insisted on gettin' a few snacks," Soul drawled, his free hand now rubbing at a sore shoulder. "On top of just leavin' early in general. We probably coulda left thirty minutes later than we did and come out of it just fine."

Maka opened her mouth to argue, but Stein intervened by shoving the paperwork back into Maka's hands and clearing his throat. "This should get you through the security checks with no problems. Wait here while I go get the security agent, would you?" His departure was a swirl of labcoat, leaving the weapon to stand between an uncomfortable Maka and her out-of-sorts father. Remembering the exhaustion in her eyes…and Stein's horrible driving abilities, Soul turned to face the older man beside him.

"Hey, Deathscythe." Though Soul himself had been a Deathscythe already for quite some time, he couldn't bring himself to call Spirit anything else. The thought of calling him Mr. Albarn set Soul's hackles on edge, and calling him Spirit would cause more arguments than it was worth. Spirit's disapproval of Soul had lessened over the years, but their progress had only gone as far as an unsteady truce. Not rocking the hastily patched boat was their unspoken policy. "Did you come up here with Stein?"

Spirit's face paled a little. "Unfortunately. Why?"

Soul ran his fingers through his stark hair, a motion two parts exhaustion and one part awkwardness. "Would you mind drivin' my bike back down to Death City? It's gonna cost the school a pretty penny to leave it sittin' here in the airport lot for Death knows how long and I'd be more comfortable if my baby were left somewhere more safe."

Spirit looked uncomfortably in the direction of Stein, who was gleefully leading a TSA agent towards them, and nodded. "Yeah. I haven't ridden a motorcycle in a while, but I'll take it slow. I'll get her there safely." He awkwardly clapped Soul on the shoulder, looking around the weapon to see his daughter, who was purposefully looking in another direction. Spirit cleared his throat in an imitation of Stein's actions before. "Maka, sweetie…"

She made awkward eye contact, too tired to put up her typical wall of antagonism. "Yes, Papa?"

"Um." Spirit edged closer, carefully nudging Soul to the side. The white-haired scythe obliged with an irritable look. "I love you."

He was leaning over his daughter, worry etched into his face. A small blush warmed hers. "I…love you too, Papa." She crossed her arms in obvious discomfort, but she shuffled a few steps closer to her father and leaned lightly into his arm. Spirit pat her hair, trying not to cross too many of his daughter's boundaries.
As this played out in front of Soul, he wondered if people watching him interact with his parents found it as profoundly awkward as he found watching the two beside him.

From a few yards away, Stein called Spirit over to speak with the TSA agent, who looked rather incredulously at the giant screw sticking out of the meister's head. Spirit left reluctantly, leaving Maka to relax slightly out of the stiffened posture she had assumed. Soul eyed her with partial amusement.
"What's up with you—" He stopped himself before he used his typical teasing nickname, the end of his sentence decidedly choked. Maka didn't seem to notice, fortunately, staring a bit vacantly in the distance. The crowded airport created too much dissonance for Soul to clearly read the music in her without Soul Resonance, but he could hear some notes of her thoughts faintly. They sounded tired.

"You heard Shinigami-sama," she said slowly, her eyes catching the sight of her father trying to calmly explain the situation to the TSA agent, who appeared to grow more incredulous by the minute. "He and Mama were the pair originally sent after Mack. I'm sure that this is…hard…for him."

Soul arched a white brow at her. "That's awfully forgiving of you." Maka shrugged.

"He's still a lowlife womanizer, but I can understand the guilt over a failed mission. I can't imagine how embarrassing it must be for your own child to be the one to clean up your mess." She turned to Soul, who was studying her father's antics with a watchful eye.

"I think he's worried. This is obviously a dangerous enemy…he's probably angry with himself for noting being able to do anything but see you off." Soul gave a crooked smile. "He wants to protect you."

It was Maka's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And you'd be the authority on knowing this?"

Soul barked in laughter, mussing Maka's hair as she squawked in indignance. "Yeah, Maka, when it comes to the art of worryin' about your dumb butt, I'd say I am the world's leading expert. That guy gives me a run for my money, though." He nodded in the direction of the red-haired deathscythe, who was pulling the TSA agent towards Maka and Soul, a bored-looking Stein in tow. Maka shuffled through the papers, finding a specific handwritten note in the midst of all the formal papers. Smiling, she pushed her father aside and handed the paper to the agent. The incredulity in the man's face faded somewhat.

"You really are from Shibusen, then. These two weirdos with you, then?" Discomfort in his face, he gave a meaningful glance to Stein, who was looming behind the agent, turning the screw in his head with precise movements.

"Ah—yes, sir. In a way." Maka's smile turned visually apologetic, though Soul could see the irritation it held. Despite all he had put them through, Maka respected Stein as a fellow meister and teacher. And despite all that he put her through, she really did love her father. "They were here to escort us and give us any last briefings before we left. They will not be coming on the plane with us."

Relief washed over the agent's face. "Well, if you'll give me your boarding passes, I can sign off and take you around security. Your bags will need to go through, still, but you guys can pass the detectors just fine." Maka handed him their boarding passes, removing the bag she had slung over her shoulder and dropping it on the floor. She rubbed at her shoulder and shot a look at Soul. He didn't need to be in Resonance to determine that it was an apology for making him carry it for her earlier. The security agent returned the boarding passes with a curious look. "If I may ask…which one of you is the weapon and which is the…uh…whatchacallit…"

"Meister," Soul interjected, clapping a hand on the agent's shoulder. He bared his teeth in a deliberately gruesome grin. The agent's face went white. "She's my meister." Hefting the bag from the ground into his arms, he nodded up at Stein. "You need anything else from us, weirdo?"

"Do you have Spirit's number in your phone?" Stein cocked his head to the side, sounding dangerously bored. His eyes kept wandering back in the direction of the terrified TSA agent. Wanting to distract Stein from any further twisted desires, Maka nodded. Soul shook his at the same time, and, realizing what was expected of him, reluctantly gave his phone to the redheaded scythe. Spirit punched a number in the phone quickly and pushed it back into Soul's hands, turning back to his daughter immediately.

"Maka…Papa wants you to be careful. This kishin egg is not someone to mess with. If you need help, you call me right away, okay?" Spirit pulled Maka closer and she edged back next to him stiffly.

Stein shot his former partner a stern look. "They need to be boarding soon. You'll need to cut your father-daughter bonding short."

Maka gratefully pulled away from her father, smiling at him. "Don't worry—I'll be safe. Besides, I've got Soul with me." She tapped her partner's shoulder, half tugging at the strap of the bag he picked up. He held onto it stubbornly, but his grin softened. Spirit frowned somewhat, but he dug around in his pocket in lieu of causing a fight.

"Here's some cash in the event that your cards get lost or stolen. Or if you need to make purchases that can't be easily traced." Spirit's voice was commanding as he handed Maka a small wallet, but the worry was still clear in his eyes. "Mack is a smart one. If you let him know that you're on his tail, he'll come after you. Watch from afar and keep us informed of your progress. You're an accomplished meister-weapon pair, but your enemy has experience on his side."

Soul snorted. "We'll be fine, Deathscythe. We'll text ya when we land. Let's go, Maka." He dumped their bags in the security agent's arms. "Lead the way, weirdo."

The man scurried off, Maka and Soul following more leisurely. Spirit watched them go, his face morose.

"They'll be fine, Spirit," Stein said, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder. "You couldn't find a better match than those two. They know the ropes and they sure as hell surpassed you and your ex-wife in power a long time ago."

Stein barked with laughter at Spirit's sour expression. "Shinigami-sama picked them for a reason."

And though he hated to admit it, as Spirit watched his little girl and her razor-toothed weapon walk off through the airport, he knew that Stein was right.

Soul's shoulder was sore, but he wasn't going to complain.

After all, it just wasn't cool to complain about having a girl sleeping on your shoulder. But this specific girl had a habit of Maka Chopping him for things that weren't his fault, so he decided that waking her up before she exacted her revenge was a good idea.

"Hey…you awake?" he mumbled as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder awkwardly, pondering the idea of just shaking her until she woke. She gave no response except to nuzzle closer in her sleep. Again he could see the dark circles under her eyes, bruise like from the sickly glow of the overhead light. As he examined her face, he sighed. He didn't have the heart to wake her, especially after she spent an entire night with her thoughts a worrying flurry of notes. Awake, his meister was a headstrong ball of courage and fury, both fearsome foe and powerful ally. But as she slept, she looked more child than fighter, her thin frame practically swamped by the overlarge sweater she wore. She nuzzled closer again, burying her face in his neck and mumbling almost incoherently. Her eyebrows furrowed, casting shadows onto her cheeks.

He chuckled, remembering how she always slept with the shades firmly closed, always demanding that the hallway light be turned off, lest the light slip out from the crack under her door. Careful to not disturb her head on his shoulder, he reached upwards and turned off the overhead light. Peace washed over her face and her body relaxed a little more.

Exhausted from his own lack of sleep the night before, Soul let his eyes drift closed. He let the arm on her shoulder relax and he turned his head slightly so that it rested more comfortably on the top of Maka's. His nose was buried in her hair. Deciding that it would be worth the Maka Chop he'd likely get when she woke, he inhaled slowly, taking in the scent of his meister and drifted off to sleep.

The night was cold. Though it was summer, a chill wind blew strongly enough that most of the passerby had dug through their winter wardrobes for a scarf. Humid air helped the cold sink in through jackets and layers of thin summer clothing.

There was leisure in Mackheath's step. He flexed gloved fingers as he walked, pale eyes watchful. Even on unseasonable days such as these, the streets of Chicago were packed with people and he was exceptional at observing them. Years of practice had made his gaze sharp. He sized up each person who passed, seeing through their outer layers to glimpse the souls underneath. His ability wasn't quite as exceptional as the Soul Perception of some meisters, but it did the job for him well enough. After all, he didn't need to see the details of each individual soul—he just needed a general sense of their power.
Most pedestrians had small, weak souls. Such was the nature of most humans, after all. But in a place like Chicago, there were enough people that one could run into an exceptional soul every now and again…and Mackheath was remarkably patient.

He was also very talented at blending in with the crowd. No one was suspicious of him even though he'd been tailing a man for several blocks now. Mackheath waited until the man was in a safer neighborhood and lulled into a false sense of security before moving in. The man's soul was powerful enough that Mack had been able to follow him from a few streets away.

The gloved man inclined his neck, pulling until he heard a popping sound. He repeated with the other side. His time to strike was approaching. He pulled the collar of his jacket up higher, looking every bit the part of another pedestrian galvanized into walking more quickly by the brisk wind. But he closed in on his target, long strides and the other's ignorance making up for Mackheath's short stature.

Mackheath slowed to a more normal pace as he caught up to his target, who was too distracted to notice the man behind him. The target—a harried-looking jazz pianist by the name of Louie Fitzgerald—glanced at his watch nervously and hefted the briefcase in his hands. He would have shouted in distress when a pair of gloved hands grabbed at him, but his mouth wouldn't open. There was no sound but that of his shoes scraping the ground as he was dragged into the alley. The hands that grabbed him were strong, and their owner spoke out a command clearly.

"Area Seal."

The air around the entrance of the alley shimmered, the people on the other side no longer able to see Fitzgerald and his captor. The hands released Fitzgerald and the man stumbled as he took off running in the opposite direction. He skidded to a stop when he realized that the alley ended in a brick wall. A quick scan of the walls showed that all the inlooking windows were boarded up and Fitzgerald could not for the life of him figure out how to open his mouth to scream for help.
He turned to face his attacker.

Mackheath was not an imposing man. His hair was mousy brown and lank, solid build made unassuming by his short stature. He was dressed plainly, the only thing about his appearance striking were the snow-white gloves that covered his hands. That, and the knife that flashed in his left.

"Put down the briefcase," he deadpanned, gesturing with the knife at the case in Fitzgerald's hands.

The pianist did so slowly, staring his attacker down as evenly as he dared. He wondered if this was some kind of mugging, but the fact that he couldn't speak made no sense. His mind was racing, but he figured the more compliant he was, the more likely he would survive. He tried to stay calm and continued to try to speak or at least open his mouth.

Mackheath cocked a head at the cowering man, a line of frustration forming between his eyebrows. He had prepared himself for a struggle—Fitzgerald had one of the strongest souls he had come across while here—but the man obeyed everything he was told. There was no spark to his soul, no resistance against Mack's menace, and while he supposed that he shouldn't look any gift horses in the mouth, Mackheath felt a certain disappointment for the lack of struggle. He had been hoping for a fight—his combat skills had all but rusted from disuse in past years.

This stay in Chicago was going to be another extended one and Shibusen was sure to realize his presence soon.

Setting the briefcase aside, Macheath advanced on Fitzgerald, who scrambled further towards the wall behind him.

Truly this was too easy.

With a flash of steel, Mack embedded the jackknife into Fitzgerald's abdomen, raising his right hand to the wound. He twisted the blade and watched the pianist convulse in pain; he probably would have screamed if his mouth hadn't been magically bound, voice extinguished. Blood bubbled up around the knife, welling up and starting to spill onto Fitzgerald's clothes.

"We can't have any of this, I'm afraid," Mack said softly, passing his right hand over the stains, murmuring to himself. When he pulled his hand away, the blood had vanished. Mackheath raised his empty eyes to meet with Fitzgerald's wild ones. "I will take your soul, though."

He pulled upward with the handle of the knife, the blade cutting through Fitzgerald's body like butter. Instead of spattering more blood, however, it fell apart at the touch of the blade, its matter fading into nothingness to reveal the small, glowing soul that had been housed inside it. The blue light it gave off cast eerie shadows on Mack's face. He reached out to hold the soul, testing its weight in his palm before skewering it with the blade of the knife. The soul flickered for a moment before forming itself along the blade with a shimmer. For a moment, the knife glowed with the same wan light as the soul had.

"There we go, Peachy," Mack whispered, his glacial voice holding a tinge of warmth. "Not the best you've had, but we take what we can get." His gaze slipped over to the briefcase. "Speaking of…."

With immaculate gloves, Mackheath picked up the briefcase. He understood why Fitzgerald had been hefting it in his hands before; it was surprisingly heavy. Flipping his knife shut, he tucked it back into the inner pocket of his jacket, once again straightening the collar. Fitzgerald had enough fight in him to at least muss up Mack's clothes a bit. He stepped up to the shimmering barrier that blocked off the entrance to the alleyway.

"Area Release."

The barrier disseminated and Mack stepped back out onto the sidewalk, briefly regretting that he hadn't lifted the watch from Fitzgerald's body before he had disintegrated it.

Water under the bridge. He'd buy himself a nicer one with the money in the briefcase.

Soul felt like a sardine. First crammed into a plane and then into a taxi, he felt an oncoming development of claustrophobia. He longed for his motorcycle, the monstrous orange machine that was almost as precious to him as his meister. Trapped in the metal walls of the small yellow car, he slouched lower in his seat.
"Makaaaa," he whined, "how far is this hotel we're supposed to be staying at?"

His meister scowled. "How would I know? I've never been to Chicago." She shot a peeved glance at the sullen weapon next to her, remembering the somewhat pleasant shock she felt when she awoke to find her weapon sleeping with her head tucked neatly under his. She had considered waking him up, but she liked the warmth of his arm around her, especially in the stagnantly chill airplane. This compounded with the sudden discovery that his tousled hair smelled marvelous, so she nestled back in and went back to sleep.

Considering his churlish disposition ever since they had gotten off the plane, she wished most fervently that she had just Maka Chopped him for all he was worth. Now he seemed more content to glare at the roof of the taxi than to contribute pleasant conversation, and Maka perched on her seat with profound discomfort, longing for enough light for her to read the book that she had hastily stuffed in the bag that sat at her feet.

Soul sighed audibly, causing Maka to send him another glare. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, the light illuminating his face in the dark car. With a grin, Maka remembered the flashlight function on her phone and pulled her own out as she dug around for her book.

"Reading in the car, huh? Geez, you're such a bookworm." Despite the disinterest in his voice, he watched her with a bit of amusement. Maka rolled her eyes, refusing to take the bait. In her peripheral vision, she could see Soul tapping at his phone.

"And I suppose you're doing something more worthwhile, then?"

Perhaps she'd take a nibble of the bait.

"Eh, not really. Just texting your old man to make sure he hasn't crashed my bike."

Maka arched an eyebrow at this. "And did he?"

"He says he didn't, but I asked him for proof." Soul's eyes closed. Despite the lovely Maka-scented nap he had taken on the plane, he felt exhausted. All he wanted was to sleep in a proper bed.

"Has he given any?" Maka's voice was more detached—she had returned to her book and was only paying half attention to him. Soul shook his head, despite knowing that Maka wouldn't notice the movement. They sat in silence for a moment, broken a few minutes later by the vibrating buzz of Soul's phone.
He picked it up, unlocking it with a swipe. The snort he gave was tremendous enough that Maka looked up from her book. "What is it?"

He held the phone out for her to see. On the phone's small screen was a picture of an embarrassed-looking Marie and Stein standing in front of Soul's bike, parked in front of what looked like Stein's laboratory. Marie held up a sign with the day's date written on it. Stein held up his fingers in a peace sign that sharply contrasted the bored look on his face.

Maka's lips pressed together with some emotion Soul couldn't decipher before she turned back to her book without a word. Looking at his meister, hunched over her book, Soul reached out to try and catch the musical quality of her thoughts. Though quiet, he could hear their dissonant frustration. He wondered what it was that she had to be frustrated about before realizing just how irritable he had been ever since they had gotten off of the plane.
His phone buzzed again, and he tiredly looked at the message.

Maka glanced at him through the curtain of her hair—it had somehow fallen out of her pigtails while she was on the plane and she hadn't bothered to search out another pair of hairbands to put it back up—and watched as he stared at the phone intently.

"Is it something important?" she asked, her voice softer than she had intended it to be. Soul didn't respond for a moment before tucking the phone back into his pants' pocket.

"Naw. Just your old man talking about my bike."

"It's okay, right?" Concern colored her tone. Despite all her frustrations with her partner at the moment, Maka knew just how important the bike was to him.
"Yeah." He looked at her for a long moment before reaching out to grab her hand. "Hey, Maka, I'm…uhm…sorry."

In that moment, the meister was glad for the darkness of the car. It concealed her embarrassed blush well. "For what?"

"I've been an ass today. I didn't get much sleep and I…well, I'm not used to getting' crammed into spaces like this for so long. We ride the bike or fly most everywhere, so cars and planes kinda get to me." In the moving shadows of the car, Maka could see the apologetic smile he gave her. She gave his hand an appreciative squeeze.

"No problem, Soul. Thanks for telling me."

He laughed a bit. "Thanks for not choppin' me." Her laughter mingled with his for a moment, the atmosphere of the cab lifting. Their hands fell to the middle seat between them, fingers still entwined. Maka closed the book with her other hand and looked out of her window, her small smile partially reflected on the surface of the window.

With his free hand, Soul dug his phone out of his pocket and looked at Spirit's message again.

I brought your baby back home safe; please do the same with mine.