Tempo was difficult to keep.

Slow rewarded Soul with the gentle caresses of skin, whether it be by hands, lips, or teeth. It allowed him to explore the entirely new sensation of getting lost inside of her. His fumbling was easier to accept, letting the flex of her legs around his waist or the squeeze of her fingers against his shoulders guide him.

But a different euphoria waited for him when lust set the rhythm. The satisfaction of hearing her moan the first time his thrust bucked wild was enough to make him lose himself again. He had given her slow, and while he had loved it in his own way, this was different. For the first time in Soul's life, this was his. This was a moment borne of his own wants.

He thrusted again, deeply enamored by the symphony it created. Her soft sighs, gasps as he stole her breath, or whispered iterations of his name. Each bit fed him, gave him more to take and make his own. Soul hitched Maka's leg up, putting it on his shoulder as he stared down at her. Her face was flushed, eyes brightened by the contrast even in the moonlit room. "You okay?" His baritone buzzed richly, drunk on all his promises and the new knowledge of her skin.

Her smile was almost too much of a reply, making him suddenly hate the pause. "Are you?"

"No," he murmured as he kissed the side of her knee. "I don't wanna stop, but I'm pretty sure I can't do this much longer."

While her lips had been gently quirked, they blossomed into a glowing smile. "There'll always be next time, right?"

Oh, that was a beautiful promise, especially as he fell back into that frenzied rhythm. Each motion came with the same plea: again, again, again.


Maka still wasn't necessarily sleepy—content was maybe closer to the feeling—but cuddled up next to Soul's warmth she couldn't help but yawn. He'd slipped back on his boxers and, in utter surprise, Maka had only been compelled to toss on her panties. Maybe that was because her favorite part of it all was the closeness– the feeling that there was nothing separating them. "Thank you," she murmured.

His chuckle buzzed under her ear, making her lift her head off his chest. Mirth was shining in those red eyes, not his usual self-deprecation. "Dunno what for. Think I should be thanking you."

"You can," she answered pertly as she pecked his welcoming lips.

Soul gripped her hip– an attempt to pull her closer where there was no need. "Thanks, Maka."

Maka stole a few more kisses before pulling away. Her fingers gently traced a bit of stars he had tattooed across his collarbone. They made a pleasant trail to a beautiful crescent moon that sat on the right side of his chest. "Why a moon?"

Something halfway between a grunt and a sigh left him while his smile settled back to melancholy. "Layla's named after my grandma– Dad's mom." He followed her fingers, tracing the curve of the moon. "When I was little, she got sick, so Dad moved her here, made her live with us. It was only a year before she died, but… I remember feelin' different when she was with us."

Maka could feel him drifting, so she caught his hand, pulsing fingers as an anchor. "Different?"

"Loved." He blinked, shifting slightly against the sheets before pulling her back to the tip of the crescent. "Her name– Layla's name means 'night' so the stars, yeah, but the moon… made it only a sliver because that piece is missin' without her." Their hands bowed together, drawing a line to make the moon full. "That was before bug, so sometimes I think– I wonder about gettin' it filled in. She's another missing piece– another bit of love that I was lucky enough to get." While his eyes had been roaming along the movement, they suddenly shot to hers.

There was no answer to that look. For once, Maka was at a loss, words formulated but lost in the depth. Love was a word that felt tenuous and beautiful– a butterfly's wing pinched between her fingers.

A swallow rattled in his throat. "I– I want it to be full." He tilted his chin, catching her quivering lips with his own. It was too gentle– too tender in the face of all the vigor before. "I'm happy, Maka."

"I am too." She couldn't help but echo him, giving into the lingering kiss.

He slowed, stroking her hair as he kept their foreheads sweetly pressed. "Can I talk you into staying again tonight then?"

"I think that could be arranged…" Maka let the joy settle, saturating her heart and the moment before she filled her lungs again. "And if– well, if you wanted me to meet your parents, it's only fair."

His breath caught and half sputtered.

"Oh, I–" She pulled away again, this time not wanting to see his face. Her only urge was to roll over– to break away– to run.

"Hey," he called to her, catching her by the shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Maka hated the pleading in her voice but knew there was no hope. "Maybe it's just too soon, and–" I'm an idiot!

"Hey," he repeated, softer and with the tentative start to a smile. "Where you runnin' to?"

Her stomach rolled over, flopping against her heart and making her insides feel bruised. "I just–" She placed a hand over her face, hiding as her exit was taken from her. "It's a fair deal, right?"

"It is," he murmured. "Just not the right one." Soul tugged at her wrist, pulling enough to uncover her eyes and meet that unsteady grin of his. "I sorta have to talk to Layla. There's a chance that my mom and dad aren't really gonna be welcome anymore."

The barrier dropped the rest of the way, her mouth falling into a frown. "Soul–"

"Ah, not ready with that one yet," he interrupted. "That's somethin' to talk about after, alright?"

Maka buttoned her lip and nodded.

"But…" A whisper of his happiness returned, a soft light coming to his eyes. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to ask Julien—that's Layla's grandpa—if it'd be alright for you to come by."

"Viv and Remy's dad?"

"Yeah."

She wished there was cloth for her to worry her fingertips into, but she resorted to trailing that line of stars instead. "I would like that."

Soul's chuckle took her by surprise especially as his eyes wandered off into the darkness. "Honestly more nervous about that," he murmured. "I, uh, guess I really trust Julien is all."

It was easy to mirror his smile, especially as she noted the little dash of pink hitting his cheeks. "I'll be on my best behavior then."

Now it was a full laugh, the grip on her wrist pulling her close in time to bring her in range of his kiss. "No such thing," he purred as he continued to draw her in. "Like you better this way anyhow."


Elation was all Maka could process as she stepped back into her papa's apartment. It didn't matter that Spirit was lying in wait like he always was and forever would be. She tried to remain impervious as she joined him on the couch after a quick jaunt to the kitchen for coffee. Her smile easily materialized over the edge of the mug even as Spirit simply appraised her. Maybe there was a little bit too much smugness to it, but Maka couldn't help the surge of victory. "So?" she offered.

Spirit's lips flattened, fell, and then flattened again. "I liked him." Ah, what a wash of triumph! Maka was set to rest her laurels when he continued: "Which is why I'm going to say this whether it upsets you or not."

She froze mid-supremacy-sip.

"Hate to say it, but he was right– we do everything we can for our daughters." Spirit's brow furrowed. "Which is why I want to make sure you plan on doing the same, or at least you know the limitations of what you can do."

Maka finally caught her gape. "Papa–"

His hand flicked up, effectively silencing her with such a novel motion. "He told me Layla likes you– you feel the same way?"

She nodded feebly.

Spirit's gaze moved across the living room as he heaved a sigh. "And you've thought about being this girl's mother?" He lifted his hand again, open palm pausing any answer she could give. "And you've thought about what you're going to do– how you're going to feel if she doesn't want a mother?"

Maka had never been drained of all her warmth before, but suddenly she was nothing more than a sculpted piece of ice.

He took her silence and filled it. "I always kept my dates away from you. I know you knew about them—and I sure as hell know you thought there were too many—but I never brought them to you because no matter what your mother did, you loved her most of all."

"So you're blaming me?" Her pitch rose along with the ire.

"Maka." He'd never spoken with such force, even during those adolescent years when stupid mistakes reigned. "What I'm saying is, I never wanted to put a woman in that position– in the position you are now."

She wanted to scream.

To cry.

To run and never look back.

All she could do was let her arms limply bring her mug to her lap.

"For your sake and that little girl's, you need to come to terms with all of the possibilities." He brought his gaze to his hands, finger nervously twisting the wedding ring he still refused to take off. "Soul trusted you to meet his little girl– to be a part of her life. Make sure you don't betray that trust."

"I promise that I– I see this goin' somewhere." Soul had said that, and, obviously, she'd only been thinking of them at that moment. Except Layla was somewhere in that. Layla was always and would always be a part of that promise. No matter the contraception used, a child already existed.

"Papa, I–" She waited, expecting another interruption, but he was silently wringing his hands. "I should think about that." Where had her victory gone? Maybe it had suddenly become defeat, that barbed wire ball in the pit of her stomach spelling it out clearly. "Thank you."

He nodded and got to his feet. Spirit took a few steps in silence before pausing and turning his head slightly over his shoulder. "I'm sorry if that hurt you."

Oh, how she wanted to scream again! That apology had come at the tail of the wrong tragedy. "I prefer that kind of hurt," she managed to squeeze through her locking throat.

Spirit fully turned now, eyes narrowing at her.

She swallowed glass, clearing the way for the next bit of bitterness. "Soul and Layla– they always talk about everything. Everything is a discussion, whether it's hurtful or not." Her hands clutched the porcelain, knuckles straining. "Maybe this is the first time I feel like we've actually had something close to that."

The floor squealed under the tilting of his heels. Their staring contest lasted for an eternity before he risked the question: "Why?"

"You finally told me your reasons," she whispered with a strange desperation. "Did you– have you asked Blair those questions?"

His eyes jumped wide. "No."

"You should," Maka offered. There was no fight to be had against the tears that threatened, a few slipping past all her defenses to mar her cheeks. "Because I want to see more of her, and I want her to think about her own answers. You trusted her, right? To meet me, to be a part of my life?" Even though it was obvious the tables had turned, Maka felt no new victory in it. "Just because I love Mama doesn't mean I can't accept someone else."

Spirit's sigh was raspy, his own eyes glossy. "You think you could accept her– at least?"

She rolled her shoulders weakly, carrying the heaviness of the admission. "I already do."


"Well, do you want to start?" Marie prompted, her smile as pleasant as ever along with that voice that should lull him into security.

Soul still bristled. For the first time since she was a baby, he found it hard to look at Layla, focusing instead on their joined hands. "I have to ask you somethin', bug."

"Go ahead, Papa." For all of his worry, Layla still seemed to have none as her voice held onto that pleasant chime.

"I sorta–" His eyes shot to Marie with some useless, silent plea.

She only nodded.

"Your mommy," Soul started again, trying not bring back the recollection of her face since it would ruin any hopes he had of not crying, "said somethin' in her journal that I think you should know about."

"Okay…" Layla tugged on his fingers, finally bringing his gaze to hers.

The little piece of Viv he saw before him tipped him over the edge, forcing the first tear down his cheek. "Yeah, so, Grandmama and Mommy had a fight. I can't say who's really right or wrong because I wasn't there, but your mommy decided maybe it wasn't good for you to see Grandmama and Pop. I didn't know about this before so you've kept seein' them, but I wanted to talk about how you feel about that."

"What was the fight about?" Layla offered the question without hesitation.

Soul heaved a sigh as he tapped his chest with his free hand. "Me. And your daddy. How they treated the two of us." The gravely dryness of his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth which was the only thing keeping the bile from exiting it.

Layla faltered, sending an unsteady wiggle of her eyebrows towards Marie. "Dr. Marie, what's the E-word again?"

"Ah–" This sparked a deepening in Marie's smile. "Empathy."

She nodded, twisting and turning that word in her mind before continuing. "I want to show Papa empathy."

"Good," Marie chimed. "I think that's a good choice here. So remember, the rules of empathy are asking how they feel and why they feel that way."

"Papa"—Layla turned to him, grasping his hand with both of hers—"how do you feel when we're at Grandmama and Pop's?"

His lower lip trembled open but the words wouldn't budge. The back of his free hand was busy clearing the tears from his cheeks, and when it was done he brought it to cover his mouth.

"Papa?"

"Layla, give him a minute," Marie warned.

I need a fuckin' eternity, not a minute. Soul was choking, his mind scrambling for a diversion.

Laya fidgeted before looking back at Marie. "Can I tell him how I think he feels?"

"Just wait," she cautioned as she turned her attention to Soul. "Layla needs to hear this from you, Soul."

Why? He wanted to shriek. It's not about me. It's about her. That's why I'm askin'. It's for her, it's not– His brain easily sabotaged him, picking that moment to eclipse his view and replace it with another horrifying moment: It was his first night sitting in that fleabag hotel in Seattle.

He was forcefully, unwillingly alone.

Reliving the screams of his mother.

The cold, detached stare of his father.

And the absence of his brother.

He blinked, letting the memory wash away with this wave of tears. The deep breath he took burned, but he forced another. With hazy eyes, he looked at Layla. "Grandmama and Pop hurt me. I–" He swallowed a groan, gritting his teeth tightly against it until he could breathe again. "I haven't forgiven them. I don't know if or when I will. So when I'm there, I– maybe I'm mad. Or sad. I can't really tell." Selfishness had never been his strong suit, but Soul felt it rearing up, making the next words crack on his tongue. "But I don't want you makin' this decision just for me."

"That's why I'm going to ask you to leave now," Marie interrupted softly. "Layla and I will discuss the rest."

Soul nodded before leaning towards his daughter, gathering her up in his arms to squeeze until some modicum of warmth came back to him. "I love you, bug."

"I love you, Papa."

Letting go of her was a slow affair, but uninterrupted. When Soul could finally break away, he stood and started for the door. With a small "goodbye" and a few sniffles, he made his way to the waiting room only to find another surprise for the day: Maka was sitting there with two coffees and a soft smile on her face. "Aren't you– you're late for your meetin'."

Regardless of his stuttering disbelief, Maka was quick to make herself tangible by leaving the drinks on the table and moving to wrap her arms around him. "Maybe it was presumptuous, but I moved my appointment to earlier. I got out, got coffee, and came back just in time. I know you said today was going to be tough, so…"

His slow exhale brought another hot wave of tears, making him sink his face into the crux of her neck. He couldn't keep his hands from clutching into her sweater, finding purchase to make any last bit of his disbelief disappear. She's here. I needed someone, and she was here. "Can you…?" Offering more was impossible, leaving him only to catch his breath against her skin.

After he seemed to fall into a rhythm, Maka prompted softly: "Hm?"

"Let's get ice cream tonight." There was something dreamy about his murmur, stuck somewhere between memories of heartache and the euphoria of having her. "All three of us and then—I dunno—a movie on the couch, and–"

"Alright," she cut off his list as she gently pulled away. Her fingers searched his cheeks, erasing the liquid there. "But let's make sure it's what Layla wants too. She might be upset, right?"

He nodded before leaning into her touch, closing his eyes to memorize the way her fingertips ran along his jaw. "I just don't wanna be by myself," he whispered against her palm, both freed and trapped by those words.

"You're not, Soul." She planted a soft kiss against his other cheek. "You're never going to be again."