Author Notes: The songs played by Soul in the Dive are "Lucky to Be Me" by Bill Evans and "Tonight" by Ludovico Einaudi. I don't own the characters of Soul Eater, any of the aforementioned music, nor the names from the Threepenny Opera herein.

Soul woke not to the obnoxiously blaring sound of an alarm clock, but to Maka's voice. She was speaking softly, which was especially unusual when she was trying to get her weapon out of bed. Groggy, Soul reached out an arm to swat at his meister to get her to leave him be, but his blindly waving arm met with no resistance. After a few moments of focus, Soul realized that Maka wasn't trying to wake him at all. At least that explained the softness of her voice.

The sheets of the hotel bed wrinkling starchily at his cheek, Soul turned a bleary eye to view his meister. She had opened a window to let in some of the morning sun and sat in a beam of light on her bed. Her back was turned to him, but Soul could tell by her hushed words that she was speaking to her father on her phone. Tendrils of her hair were lit up by the sunlight, shimmering with gold and bronze. Soul briefly wondered if he could find a way to convince her to wear her hair down more often. A small smile tugged at his lips as he remembered falling asleep with that hair pressed up against his face.

A soft tinkle of musical notes from Maka shocked Soul out of his thoughts. Narrowing his focus, he paid a little closer attention to her music. It was slow and thoughtful, bogged down with grogginess. Soul looked at the window and realized that she must have opened the curtains to help wake herself up. A small chuckle escaped his lips.

Maka turned quickly to face Soul, eyes widening as she saw that he had been scrutinizing her. Soul blushed slightly, trying to fish out an apology that didn't tip off how he had been admiring the curve of her back, but was surprised to find her mouthing her own apologies. Her music moved faster with what Soul realized was embarrassment and self-reproach. She thought she had woken him.

Soul laughed again, this time louder, and stretched, leaving an eye open as he grinned at his partner. "It's cool," he reassured her. The sunlight made her eyes glow a bit more warmly than normal, highlighting their depth of color. Giving in to his inner romantic, Soul simply appreciated how beautiful his meister was as she attempted—in vain—to end her phone call.

"I know, Papa. I promise to keep you updated. Yes, Papa. Yes, Papa. Papa, calm down. Papa…Papa, stop." Knowing her partner was awake, she felt less pressured to keep her voice quiet and she was speaking more forcefully than before. She fell quiet as she listened to her father ramble on the other end. With an irritated sigh, she blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Yeah, I know. I promise. Look, I have to go; we've got some work to do. Your information was really helpful. Yeah." A pained look crossed her face, but she smoothed it over with a deep breath. "You too," she mumbled before quickly turning her phone off with a jab of a finger. The device was unceremoniously tossed to her other pillow before flopped across her bed, doing her best to keep herself in the beam of light that fell across it.

"Sorry." Her face was pressed firmly to the mattress, muffling her voice until it sounded half-whine. Soul adjusted himself so that he could also lie in the beam of light where it fell across the foot of his own bed.

"No worries. I slept pretty well." He stretched again, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Hotel rooms were always kept ridiculously cold, in Soul's opinion. But then again, he was accustomed to Death City's insane heat, so maybe he was just unused to falling asleep somewhere that wasn't hotter than the devil's armpit.

Maka turned her head and he could see half of her face. The dark circles under her eyes were gone; relief surged through him. The tiredness of her music was more lethargy than it was actual exhaustion. Her mind was moving more quickly, processing whatever new information she had been given. Soul remembered that Spirit was supposed to be delivering their briefings on the mission.

"Was that anything important?" he yawned, extracting himself from blankets with a grimace. The air in the room was too cold and he wanted nothing more than to burrow back into his cloth cocoon. Maka sat up, using her arms to support her bent upper body. The position made her modest chest jut out and Soul amended his previous thought: He wanted nothing more than to burrow back into his cloth cocoon and to somehow convince Maka to curl up beside him. After falling asleep on her on the plane, Soul had concluded that his favorite scent in the world was, in fact, hers.

"Yeah," she had caught his yawn, her syllables drawn out drowsily, "he gave us further information on Mack. Apparently he has a form of Soul Perception."

Soul's eyebrows elevated slightly. "That's…not good. He could already know we're here if that's the case."

Maka's face was thoughtful. "That's right. But he'd have to know we were here in the first place to hunt us out. According to Papa, he doesn't think that Mack's Perception is very strong." She stretched, her back arching gloriously. Soul thought very swiftly of Stein and his grandmother and Black Star. Admitting to finding her attractive didn't mean that he was allowed to let his nose gush blood in response to her without the hazard of a Maka Chop. He scrunched his nose his effort to keep blood flowing in proper places.

Maka saw the expression and interpreted it to be a reaction to the briefing. She smiled sheepishly. "There's more bad news.

"A man named Louie Fitzgerald went missing last night," As she said this, Maka unfolded herself from her bed. She left the sunlight reluctantly, brushing off her skirt with an idle hand. "The MO fits Mack's, apparently. Fitzgerald had been on Shibusen's radar for quite some time."

Soul frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Shibusen keeps an eye on powerful souls, especially those with meister or weapon potential. Supposedly Louie Fitzgerald had meister potential." Maka was rifling through her bag, looking for something, and Soul realized that he was still in last night's clothes. He motioned for her to toss his bag over to him. A playful smirk crossed her face and she threw the bag in his direction, hitting him squarely in the face.

He had no idea why the devil-woman was so precious to him.

But he dutifully went through his bag, looking for clothes as he listened to her speak. She was fully in Maka Mission Mode.

"He wasn't really all that powerful—if he had been found as a child, he might have made it to Shibusen, but his parents kept him on pretty close wraps when he was a kid. Apparently there was weapon blood in their family and they weren't happy with the idea of their son spending the rest of his life in danger." The look she gave Soul was laden with meaning. "His parents wanted him to be a pianist, apparently." Her weapon flinched a little, but said nothing. Maka found what she was looking for—evidently it was her hair brush—and continued: "Supposedly they had someone use a form of Soul Protect on their son until he was old enough that Shibusen would have looked him over. Papa had to come in personally when Fitzgerald had an accidental surge in soul force and broke his Protect. The Fitzgerald family is really influential, so there was a lot of politics involved. Shibusen was supposed to protect Louie, but since we can't seem to track Mack, we couldn't do much. They knew Mack tends to go after human souls of unusual power, so when they began to suspect that Mack might be back in Chicago, they notified the Fitzgeralds. Apparently Shinigami-sama offered a detail to protect him, but Louie himself turned it down." She pulled her hair into her typical pigtails. "His family is very upset at the moment and things are tense. Papa is certain that Louie was killed by Mack, so we're supposed to go to the jazz club he worked at to do an investigation of sorts."

Soul looked up suddenly at this. "Jazz club, huh," he muttered. A lazy grin crept onto his face. "Cool."

Maka attempted to give him a stern look, but his happiness softened her. "Just remember that we're here to do a job. Don't get too carried away."

Soul rolled his eyes at her, extracting a pair of pants to match the shirt he'd tossed out of his bag a moment ago. "You don't need to worry about me, Maka. Cool guys don't get carried away." He waved the pants in her direction. "Now unless you'd like to see just how cool I really am, I suggest you go to the bathroom so that I can change."

His meister gave him a matching eye roll, but she acquiesced while giving a quick nod to the window. "Don't forget to close those. If I can't see how cool you really are, then neither can anyone else."

She slipped into the bathroom without seeing her partner's eyebrows shoot skyward.

The Dive was not nearly as run-down as its name implied it to be. In fact, according to Soul—who was apparently an expert when it came to this sort of thing, it was a rather classy joint. It was small enough to be intimate, but not cramped. To Maka, who was most decidedly not an expert when it came to this sort of thing, it was incredibly similar to the Black Room. Red curtains lined the walls, blending with the dark-stained wood and softening the effect of the bright lights focused on the small stage at the back of the club. The room smelled mainly of spices and alcohol, but was blessedly smoke free.

They had called the joint to let them know that they'd be stopping in at some time to make a few inquiries about Louie. A worried-sounding woman by the name of Lucy had told them that there would be people setting up sometime around two in the afternoon and requested that they come in when the club itself wasn't open to the public.

The only person who was there to open the door at two, however, was the bartender. The door had swung open almost immediately after they had knocked. Judging by the stool with a bottle of vodka set at its feet that was right next to the door, it seemed like he had been waiting just for them.

The man was haggard in appearance. He might have been handsome if not for the fact that he looked like he had just aged a considerable number of years in the span of the past few hours. But when Maka and Soul announced that they were the visitors from Shibusen, he smiled amiably at them and offered a firm handshake.

"I'm Louie," he said. Noting the confusion on Maka and Soul's faces, he backtracked. "Miller. M'name's Louie Miller. Fitz was a friend of mine." He nodded to the piano. "Got him his job here after our old pianist shipped off. Since there was already a Louie here, we got to calling him Fitz." His eyes clouded with emotion. "You…uh…you sure he's dead?"

Maka looked uneasily at her partner. She tugged at her pigtail. "From what we've been told, it would seem so. I'm sorry."

Louie sighed, his amiable smile sagging. "Guess it was too much to hope that you'd say otherwise. But there's not much sense in spending my time moping. You two are gonna need help if you're gonna catch the guy who did this." He gestured toward the bar. "Drink?"

Maka blanched. She opened her mouth to try and turn it down before Soul decided to do something foolish, but he spoke first.

"No thanks. We want to be thinkin' straight if we're gonna help." He shot a grin in Maka's direction and she gave him a small, private smile of gratitude. Louie chuckled a little.

"You mind if we still talk at the bar? I need to do a little tidying, truth be told."

Maka slid onto a stool, her feet perched carefully on the bar. In contrast, Soul slouched in his, legs akimbo. Maka realized with a start that he looked very out of place there—the Dive's interior reminded her so much of the Black Room that she half expected to see Soul in his pinstripe suit rather than jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. She put her head on her hand, the images of him in a suit swirling in her mind. Glass clinked noisily as Louie started dusting off the bar. He shot Maka a questioning look and she straightened, a slight blush on her face, internally burning with embarrassment for being caught ogling her weapon.

"Were you aware of anyone following Mr. Fitzgerald?" Her voice was like steel as she mentally castigated herself. In the corner of her eye, though, she could see that Soul's attention was periodically fading. He seemed content to take in the atmosphere of the room, eyes roaming. Maka made a mental note to scold him later and hoped that he wouldn't notice her own transgression.

"No," Louie said, thoughtfully wiping out a glass. "As far as I was aware, there wasn't anything unusual going on in Fitz's life. That's not to say that there wasn't anything going on, though," he gave Maka a meaningful look. "Fitz was a very…reserved person."

Maka tilted her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Louie sighed as he put the glass under the bar. "Wasn't he supposed to have a protective detail on him, sent by your crew? But he shot you down, right?" An acute sadness filled Louie's eyes. "He knew the danger, but he just went along as normal. He wasn't one to take a whole lot of care for himself. Most of the time, Fitz just drifted through life—you play?"

The question was directed at Soul, who looked back with a surprised look. "Uh…yeah. How'd ya know?"

Louie chuckled a bit, though the sound was tired. "Your eyes keep wandering over to look at the piano. Fitz always said it was one of the finest set of ivories he'd seen outside of Julliard."

Awe bloomed in Soul's face. "He went to Julliard?"

Louie nodded. "Yep. He was Jenny's pride and joy. She used to tell me that I found her the greatest treasure she could hope for. Resident pianist from Julliard and a damn good one, at that. Fitz did exceptionally well there." He jerked his head at the piano. "You wanna give it a plink?"

Soul looked torn, not sure if the grandeur of the piano was worth actually playing in front of people. But when Maka nudged him and murmured that he should do it, he shoved his hands in his pockets and slid off his stool.

"You mind switching off the stage lights?" Soul asked, his voice somewhat embarrassed. "They're hot and blinding." As Louie left to hit the light switch, Soul nudged Maka with his hip.

"Don't let this interrupt your questionin', 'kay?" He sent her an even look. "Find out what ya can."

Maka waved an ungloved hand at him. "Don't worry, Soul, I've got it covered. Go play."

Soul nodded jerkily and slouched over to the piano. Louie slid in quietly next to her and watched with her as the weapon ran his hand down the length of the piano. His eyes were obscured by his tousled thatch of white hair, but she could see the reverence with which he gently touched the keys. She wondered when she had last heard him play outside of the Black Room.

"He good?" Louie asked from her side. He poured himself a glass of some sort of golden liquid. Maka tried not to wrinkle her nose at the strong alcohol scent that wafted in her direction.

"I wouldn't be the one to ask," Maka admitted. "I don't know all that much about music. I know that I like to hear him play."

That was a lie. She loved to hear him play. Ever since they first met, when he looked her in the eye and played for her the song of who he thought he was, she had been absolutely fascinated. Her eyes followed his long-fingered hands as they slid along the keys noiselessly. She wished she could see the expression on his face as he tentatively pressed a key, testing its sound.

And then he was playing, a soft song that took Maka a little off guard. What with the atmosphere and his own personal preferences, Maka figured that he would start playing something dark. Yet the music that filled the club was gentle and slow. Beside her, Louie gave a whistle of appreciation.

"Bill Evans, huh? The kid's good."

Maka looked confused. "Bill Evans?" She scanned her mind for the few references the Soul had ever made to his family. She knew he had a brother, but she thought his name was Wes.

"Famous jazz pianist. One of the best, actually. And he does this song justice."

Ah. Soul would have told her if there was a famous pianist in his family; it would have been 'cool' to do so, after all. Maka relaxed a bit, knowing that she hadn't been hopelessly unaware of her weapon's familial relationships. Louie stared into his glass, swirling its contents with a frown. Maka remembered a question that she had wanted to ask before.

"Who is Jenny?" She recalled that she had spoken to a woman named Lucy over the phone; she didn't recall hearing about a Jenny.

"Jenny Diver," Louie supplied. He pointed a finger at a neon sign by the door. It read "The Dive" in flowing, fluorescent script. "She owns the place."

Maka smiled. "The name makes more sense now. I was wondering why so nice a place had such an inept label."

Amusement danced across Louie's lips. "She thought it would be funny. Jenny's a sharp lady. I like her. And she liked Fitz quite a bit, truth be told. Jenny was about as sweet on Fitz as she possibly could be." The sparkle of amusement died. "Fitz was a good guy. He kept to himself, but when he was here, he was all smiles and politeness. I can't imagine why this Mack fellow would target him."

"He had an unusual soul." Maka looked thoughtful. "Truth be told, Shibusen doesn't know a whole lot about Mack, but what Pa—what Deathscythe told me was that Mack's victims tended to be humans of greater than average soul power. Mr. Fitzgerald could have been a meister if he had liked."

Soul's music quieted, the song over. His fingers still played with the keys idly, stringing small chords together. They picked up into something more coherent, a melody beginning to flow. Inspiration flashed across his face, and he launched into another piece. It was flowing and delicate and decidedly less jazzy than the first one he had played. Maka looked askance at Louie, who shrugged.

"I only knew the Evans piece because he was a favorite of Fitz's. This isn't jazz, so I haven't a damn clue. I'm just a bartender." He turned a morose gaze to Soul. "And it seems like we're gonna need another resident pianist. I think Jenny'd like him. If you wanted to come and scope out the place at night while he played, I'm sure she'd be cool with it."

Maka blanched. "We don't know how long we'd be staying."

"We wouldn't be asking him to stay on permanently. It's just that, well this is a jazz club. We need musicians playing here to keep the place going. A big part of the draw here was that we have resident musicians that play every night. Jenny's called in a few favors to bring in some people for the next couple nights, but we're gonna run dry of quality soon and we haven't the damndest idea how long it's going to take us to find another permanent guy. If we have you two, though, that's some buffer time. It's mutually beneficial, too. You get the chance to scope out the joint to see if you pick up any clues about Mack and we keep our good name." His eyes hardened. "And hopefully we'll catch the son of a bitch that did this to Fitz."

"That might be useful," Maka fiddled with her sleeve, "since from what I've been told, Mack's last two victims before Fitz, the ones that alerted Shibusen in the first place, both had connections here."

Louie looked at her in surprise. "They did?"

Maka nodded. "Both Frank Darin and Ella Clooney were evidently regulars here."

The rage in the bartender's face was more thinly veiled than the line of his tightly pressed lips. "Well, that explains why I haven't seen Ella in a week or so. You're sure that Mack got them?"

Acute sadness filled Maka when her eyes met Louie's. He'd lost too many friends to Mack already; the Dive was important to him, and he wanted revenge for his sanctum being defiled. It was with reluctance that Maka informed him that the disappearance of the two regulars matched the previous disappearances of Mack's victims in the past—they had ties to a central location, they had souls of unusual power that completely vanished from any Soul Perception radar. Both had suspicions that they were being watched that they had voiced to friends and family.

Louie swore colorfully. "Fitz shoulda said something. We could have maybe helped him if he had…."

Maka placed a hand on his arm to calm him. "We'll do our best to stop Mack, Mr. Miller. We promise."

It was not the comforting hand, but the diamond-hard conviction in her eyes that caused him to smile.

"No. No, Maka, I'm not doin' that." Soul's expression was set with a mixture of indignation and horror. "You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

They were back in the hotel room when Maka mentioned Louie's offer to Soul. He didn't take it well.

"But it makes a lot of sense! And it'd be good cover for us. So wh—"

"Yeah, it'd be good cover," Soul raged, "but it would mean leaving you alone. I'm not gonna be able to pay attention to you if I'm tryin' not to fuck up on a stage."

Maka was nestled in her bed, her bare toes wiggling, happy to be free of her boots. The movement contrasted the stubborn expression with which she stared her partner down. Soul was pacing the space between their two beds, his scowl growing in fury by the minute.

"You know how dangerous this guy is—doesn't even show up on Azusa's radar. He could sneak up on you at any second."

Maka scoffed. "I can take care of myself, I think." Her face was starting to mirror Soul's scowl. She pulled her book from the bedside table and waved it for good measure. Soul barked in sardonic laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, I know just how dangerous you are with one of those things. But if you can't sense the guy, how're you gonna Chop him before he makes you disappear like the others? How am I gonna get to you in time before he does something that a bunch of pages can't block?" He stopped pacing, a still-booted foot scuffing at the table. Something that Maka couldn't quite identify crept into his expression.

Her fingers tangled in the blankets absentmindedly. "I'll be extra careful." An earnest look washed over her face and she leaned closer to Soul.

Whirling, Soul found himself much closer to her plaintive green stare than he had been expecting. He took an awkward step back and sat onto the edge of his bed, trying to fight down his rising blush. Maka crept closer, leaning over the side of her own bed.

"No," he mumbled, face resting in his hands. "No, I'm not okay with this. I'm your weapon. I need to protect you. My place is by your side, not playin' the piano up there like some trained monkey."

Maka frowned. "But you seemed to be happy playing up there today."

Looking through cracked fingers at her, he sighed. "I had stuff to get off my mind. Playin' was nice, but there's a big difference between that and playing all night with the lights on and an audience." A grimace stretched his face. "Especially a drunk audience."

Maka rolled her eyes. "If you can deal with a drunk Black Star, I'm sure you can handle a roomful of normal drunk people."

Soul's eyes widened in incredulity. "You think I can deal with him? I just zone out and hope I don't have to bail him out of anything before the night is through." Maka opened her mouth to argue, but Soul cut her off. "We're off the subject. I wouldn't feel right, leaving you alone to do all the work."

Maka grinned. "Actually, I think you'd be fine with leaving me to do all the work. Lazy bum."

"Only because you're a workaholic bookworm," he challenged. A smile teased the corners of his mouth as Maka stuck her tongue out. She had moved to the edge of her bed, close enough that if Soul were to lean forward more, their foreheads would be touching. The scent of her hair was strong enough to be distracting. He let his hands drop into his lap. She leaned in closer.

"Soul, we're not going to get an opportunity like this again. Louie said that Jenny doesn't want us 'skulking through her club and scaring off business,' but if you're helping bringing business in, we'll have a way to keep an eye on the Dive." She reached a calloused hand out to his, smiling as his gaze met hers. Their fingers interlaced.

"I don't want you to get hurt, Maka," he murmured. She blew in his face playfully.

"We've been doing this for years, Soul. I get hurt all the time. You can't protect me from everything."

His response was a growl. "Doesn't mean I can't try."

He knew that she was right; they needed a plan and unfortunately, this was the best one they had. But the thought of leaving her alone, to make whatever piss-poor dumbass decisions she wanted without him to protect her made his scar ache. It was the weapon's job to protect their meister, and his pigtailed nuisance ensured that he had his work cut out for him.

"I like holding hands like this," Maka murmured. Her faint blush matched Soul's own. "It's like resonance."

Soul nodded in agreement, his fingers tightening in hers. He could hear her ponderous music and he let his eyes shut, feeling the caress of her soul against his. Like a magnet, they were inevitably drawn into the resonance and he chuckled despite himself. Thrumming through the link was the relief that both of them shared—they had both missed it.

I guess I can be a little clingy too, Maka supplied, her gaze steady despite her blush. Can you…hear my music right now?

Soul rolled his eyes. Of course I can.

Her blush deepened. May I hear it? Soul sent a vibration of bemusement alongside the sensation of her music. She sat in silence a moment before humming along quietly. My sense of music is heightened when we resonate. The thought was tinged with wonder.

That's not sayin' much, Maka. You don't know shit about music. Though his words were harsh, Soul let Maka feel the deep affection behind them—how flattered he felt it was when she would endeavor to understand his music a little more. Maka tugged at their link playfully, a thin façade of anger over her gratitude and relief.

Do you think we could do this while you played? The question was tentative, expecting Soul to shoot it down as vehemently as he had when she suggested that he play. Though she kept her feelings on the matter guarded in their resonance, he had a vague sense that she expected that his real problem with her suggestion had been about the actual playing of the piano itself and not as much about her safety. He sent her a little twinge of exasperation.

Need I remind you of the last time we resonated? He let a little of his roaring protectiveness through the link again, Maka responding with a nonverbal, peevish apology. It was short, however, easily taken over by an eager repetition of her question.

Would you feel more comfortable if we resonated like this while you played? You'd know immediately if I were in danger…and it would keep a clear channel of communication between us. If worse comes to worse, we could always use the Black Room. She felt a slight sneer from Soul at this.

I'd prefer to keep my little friend as far away from this as possible. You know how much of a liability he is.

Maka arched a brow. Liability?

Your stupid bookworm words rub off on me too much when we resonate. Get off my back. Though his words were gruff, he grinned. But yeah, I think we could do this while we played. Sometimes the fact that you're such a teacher's pet works out for the better.

You mean that it saves both our asses, Maka teased, her side of the link colorful with memories of previous missions. Need I remind you of that time in Cambodia with the Sirens?

NO. Soul's end of the link petulantly closed for a moment, causing Maka to giggle.

No need to be like that, she chided. There was a mischievous spark in her green eyes and Soul had to hold himself in check to keep the connection from flooding with his feelings of just how damn adorable she could be.

You'd better call that Jenny lady and tell her that she's got a temporary piano candidate coming in tonight.

Soft jazz music flooded the room, a curvaceous vocalist crooning to a backdrop of a tenor saxophone and piano. Under the bright stage lights, the stark white of the pianist's hair was blinding, contrasting the expression of stoic concentration on his face. The audience whispered through glasses of liquor—this odd-looking pianist was new. Some of the more informed in the audience discussed the quality of his playing, saying that though he didn't have the technical ability to match a Juliard graduate, he certainly played with a lot of soul. Most agreed that it was nice to have a pianist that looked less haggard than Fitzgerald, though many of their souls thrummed with concern for Fitzgerald's health. He hadn't looked well in recent days, evidently.

The new boy was an oddity with his white hair and razor teeth, but this was the music scene—eccentrics were a dime a dozen. More striking, at least to a portion of the audience, was the strong build of his shoulders and the musculature of his legs through his sleek suit pants. Remarks that he'd be quite handsome if he didn't look so very serious flowed through in bits of conversation that Maka could pick up.

Maka's face burned as she overheard a couple of tipsy women a few tables away remark on the ways they'd like to wipe that serious expression off of the pianist's face.

The Dive had a very different sort of atmosphere during its hours of operation. People were everywhere, the once intimate corners now overstuffed with customers. Maka was painfully aware that not only was The Dive a well-known jazz bar—it was a popular one. Face drawn into a grimace, she wondered if her decision to watch the club directly really was a good idea. Soul had taken the crowded nature of the place surprisingly well, but Maka started to feel somewhat claustrophobic. Her irritation flowed in waves through their link.

You're the one who thought this was the best idea, Soul responded teasingly. He'd kept a tight lid on his side of the link all night. When she had sent him a small prod of questioning, he had shrugged her off, saying that he needed focus to play the piano well.

That doesn't even make sense, Maka whined, her bored eyes scanning the club once again. Wouldn't it require more focus if you didn't control the feedback?

Not if I'm worrying about your every reaction to them. Don't you have some observing to do, Maka? I thought we were doing all this so that you could watch for Mack, not complain all night. He shot her a look from over the piano, careful to disguise it in a general sweep of the crowd. The smile he attempted to flash was a little too intimidating to come off as personable, though. It was plain to see, even to the musically oblivious Maka, that Soul played exceptionally well, but his presentational skills left much to be desired. The tipsy women in the audience could assume that Soul was serious, tightly wound, and in need of a little "relaxation," but Maka knew her partner well enough to tell that he was unequivocally sullen. If there was a pouty way to play the piano, Soul was probably doing an excellent job of it right then.

It's nice to hear you play something different, she sent encouragingly. He scoffed a bit, but her side of the link shimmered earnestly, his outcries muffled into small, grumbling vibrations. You always play somewhat discordant, dark music whenever we do team resonance. Maka tried to keep her tone as light as possible, knowing that her partner was sensitive about his music. Just as she predicted, his side of the link reared defensively. On the piano, his hands seemed to move somewhat more stiffly. She sent another wave of reassurance. I like hearing your dark music, Soul. It's part of who you are.

It is who I am, he growled back at her, though his tone was missing its edge. Maka sent him a quick mental image of her leaning over her table, looking tired except for her watchful eyes. She rolled them in an exaggerated fashion and she watched the corner of Soul's mouth twitch upward briefly.

I know who you are, Soul. But sometimes it's nice to hear what else you can play. You hardly ever play the piano for me when we're not in team resonance. Maka slumped against her chair, her eyes scanning the room again for anything unusual. She slipped briefly into Soul Perception and Soul, feeling that she was focused on something else, backed off the conversation for a moment. The link hummed pleasantly between them.

When Maka came out of Perception with nothing of note, fingers rubbing at her temples, she sighed. Soul, reading her frustration, tugged at their link with the image of bringing her closer. A flash of longing went through Maka, and she realized just how much she wished she could rest her head on Soul's shoulder.

A small blush crept on her cheeks when she realized that the desire had flown unrestricted through their link.

Fingers dancing lightly at the piano, her partner's face quirked into a smile. It stayed there, small but noticeable, and the notes flowed from his fingers more smoothly. I played for you on your birthday, remember?

I don't think that playing 'Happy Birthday' because Black Star practically glued you to the piano bench counts, Soul. She tried to keep the petulance out of her side of the link, but some of it must have flowed unbidden, because Soul's rough laughter shook their link.

Do you really want me to play something for you, Maka? The question was gentler than she would have expected it to be. Though she bristled at his amused tone, she responded honestly.

Of course. I've only been trying to get you to do it for years.

For a moment, the link was quiet. Maka did another quick scan of the room, startled a bit when the audience broke out into loud applause. Soul was standing, and gave a quick little bow before turning to the other players on the stage with him. The curvy vocalist arched a brow at him as he quietly explained something to her. Maka felt a small twinge of what she pretended wasn't jealousy when she watched Soul's cheeks color and the very curvy redhead's mouth curl into a sultry smile.

Soul gave a curt nod to the percussionist, who readjusted his set with a grin. The bassist plucked a few experimental notes as Soul seated himself at the piano again. Leaning into the microphone, the vocalist breathily addressed the audience.

"We'll be doing a slow number for you lovers out there in the audience." She winked a heavily lined eye and strode smoothly off the stage. Maka watched the woman slink up to the bar, hips swaying. Louie, in the middle of pouring a balding man a drink, smiled at her approach.

Her attention was drawn away from their exchange by a light tug to their link. Unbound hair falling to one shoulder, Maka swiveled to face where her partner sat on-stage. His eyes met hers in a piercing stare and she felt their resonance shimmer. Come here, he beckoned, rolling his eyes when Maka started to push out of her chair. No, not here on the stage, here—

Resonance snapping into a streamlined cadence, Soul began to play a soft jazz song, Maka's back straightened, and the two of them stood together in the Black Room.

With this, I've exhausted my buffer of what I had written of this story thus far. I am also starting up another writing project, so my updates may be a little on the slow side. Endless thanks to the lovely odat for her assistance in my editing and her support in the writing of this. See ya next time. :)