Maka had never felt so uneven.

Christmas was lonely. Surrounded by commercialism that spouted traditional family values, one couldn't help but be desolate when divorce had fractured the picture. Even before then, it had always been a duty her parents—albeit with a veneer of cheer—fulfilled with a tree and cookies left for Santa. Boxes were checked by her mama with a dash of holiday spirit from her papa. It was all over before the new year even hit.

Except now this was the second tree she was trimming.

Blair was boogying around to all the Christmas pop classics, a velvety Santa hat sitting askew on her head. Spirit was feeding her ornaments and compliments on each one of their placements. Maka was… joining in.

Uneven.

Topsy-turvy.

As likely as Maka setting foot on the moon.

Still– next thing she knew, she was taking one of the ornaments. She was getting the compliment from a proud Papa. She was smiling at Blair and maybe even mouthing the words along to Mariah Carey. The song would be stuck in her head for days, but maybe the memory would too.

A mama and a papa around a tree.

Before the holiday.

Enjoying what family could be.

All of this was sitting safely alongside the memory she already had: Soul, Layla, and herself. Independent, different, but still families. That word sprung such a hope in her– overwhelming to the point of tears. It forced her to the couch, feigning some scrutiny over the tree from a distance. As if tethered, Blair swung back as well, in no way ashamed to cuddle up close to the younger woman.

"Too much?" she offered, but her beaming smile revealed her own thoughts almost immediately.

Maka shook her head, letting it tilt after as if she were still examining. In reality, it was all catching up to her– a heart too full.

As if that weren't enough, Blair's perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around hers. "What's that handsome young man and his daughter doing for the holiday?"

"Christmas Eve they go to Layla's maternal grandparents." Maka could at least offer some automaticity to this and slow some of the swell of her heart. "But Christmas Day is sort of undecided for them. Usually they'd go to his parents, but… things are complicated with that this year."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Spirit bristle. A breath's worth of a pause—which was definitely an eternity in Spirit-time—came before he cleared his throat. "What's so hard about seeing your parents for the holidays?"

While his phrasing was entirely incendiary, Maka allowed a quick analysis of his lilt rather than running away with the words. Classic Papa —she barely kept from rolling her eyes— begrudgingly worried when it comes to the man "stealing away" his little girl. She weighed Soul's truth in the palm of her hand, knowing it was not hers. "I don't know everything, but… there was emotional abuse going on. He and Layla decided to go no-contact for a year and then consider rebuilding the relationship."

The "and" had sent another rattle in Spirit's shoulders, piquing Maka's interest so much that she served him another break. Spirit had always been unable to cease filling spaces with his thoughts, but this time he entered slowly– with a caution Maka had never witnessed. "He does think of his daughter first." He locked eyes with her, brow furrowing and lips pressed in a thin line. Perhaps it was a challenge, but before Maka could make her own assertions, he continued: "Did you think about our last conversation?"

Maka glanced at Blair. She had been expecting embarrassment or at least confusion, but a serene, almost knowing smile was gracing the older woman's lips. He must have talked to her– asked her those questions–

"Well?"

For once, Spirit's impatience didn't peeve her, just brought her back to the surface. "I decided everything should be a conversation with Layla. That's what she expects from Soul, so I wanted to be consistent." Why do I want to squeeze Blair's hand? She let the urge take her and found it instantly reciprocated. "But it's ultimately Layla's decision, and I want to respect that."

Another instantaneous squeeze—a Morse code promise—rippled over Maka's fingers as Blair maintained a comfortable pressure.

"Then I want you to ask Layla a question for me," Spirit added almost instantly, saving Maka from having to look Blair in the face– to give into that overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

"Okay." Maka's voice warbled slightly before she forced a swallow.

"Might be presumptuous," Spirit started but his air was nothing less than nonchalant as a cat-like grin spread across his face, "but maybe ask her if she'd like to come over here sometime on Christmas. Guess that means Solomon can come too."

There should have been an attack on the name, but–

But–

Maybe for the first time in her life, Maka's mind was blank.

"You'll have to let us know what she likes, too," Spirit continued. "Can't be Christmas without a gift under the tree. Maybe Whitey can get some coal."

Again, the nickname, but–

But–

Family.

That was it, wasn't it?

Family.

Family.

Family.

It took everything she had not to give into a deluge of tears. She nodded. "I'm going to–" She stood, taking her phone out of her pocket and displaying it to wordlessly finish the sentence. The world wobbled with watery edges as she made her way into her room and clapped the door shut behind her. Each beat of her heart caused the word to swell again:

Family.

Family.

Family.


Soul watched her pace, not entirely hating the view—her legs in that skirt—but not enjoying the furrow of her brow. She'd asked him to lock the door, and since after school hanky-panky didn't seem like her forte, he waited patiently behind his desk for some student-based explosion.

Then again, it wasn't the first time he'd ever been wrong.

Maka stopped short in the divot she was driving in the floor and pivoted towards him. "I don't know if I should be asking you first."

"Uh, need a little more context," he answered as his lean back made the chair squeal.

His request didn't help as Maka began talking to her hands as they weighed some imaginary scale in the air. "It's really a question– discussion for Layla, but you're her parent, so bypassing you seems…"

Soul waited.

"And I don't even know– it might be too much." She slapped her hands down. "It's too much– too much, too soon, too–"

"Confusing," Soul offered.

Her jade eyes shot to him as if she'd forgotten he was even there.

"Maka, just ask it already." He tried to give her the most sure smirk he could manage with all the cagey, ambiguous self-talk.

Hands on her hips, Maka puffed out her cheeks before letting the air flutter over her lips. "Okay. Papa–" She fidgeted, settled, and started again: "I told you Christmas was really the only part of the holiday my family spent together. My original assumption was that, well, we wouldn't. With Mama's passing and Papa dating someone new…" That sentence finished with her hand stirring the air.

Soul could hear the drag, so he patted her along: "But?"

The hand fell to her side. "We're going to have Christmas. As a family. Papa, Blair, and I– and you and Layla– if you'll come."

They both stilled, staring at one another. That word held enough potency to freeze them both in place. Breath broke between the two of them, and Soul finally shifted to stand. "He asked for that?"

She answered with a quick nod.

Hesitation should have been buzzing through his brain. This was his daughter. A girl who'd already had family taken from her and now–

Maka could leave.

Maka could go.

Maka doesn't have to be permanent if she doesn't want to be and now–

"It's fine if it's too much," Maka quickly amended. "I'll understand, and I'm not– I don't want you to worry about my feelings right now, just Layla's."

No, suddenly resounded in his head– maybe mostly Dr. Marie's voice but definitely a hint of his own. It's not just about Layla. It has to be about me, too. This relationship is mine, and–

Maka strode forward, her hands coming flat to the top of his desk, making him focus on the splay of fingers. "Soul, you are her father." He raised his gaze at the emphasis, finding the nervousness and insecurity melting away from her features. "But I want to give Layla the opportunity to talk to me and choose what she wants me to be. That's what part of this is– meeting my family means I want to talk to Layla about us being a family. So I guess, technically, it's not just Layla's feelings, but yours, too."

She could go– she could leave– but that sounds like– "It's about yours, too," he added as his hand reached for hers. It was a comfortable connection, but didn't allay the pounding in his chest. "Like I said before, I need a little more context." A swallow rattled down his throat. "We talked before about bein' on the same page about the future but we never, ever talked about Layla."

"I thought it was obvious," Maka murmured through a heartbreakingly sweet smile. "I want to be whatever Layla wants me to be. I don't want to force her—her feelings are her own—and you will always be her parent, but I'd like to try to be a part of that. I'm not Viv, but–"

The squeeze of his heart translated through his fingers, hushing her with the quick pressure. Soul had never imagined sitting behind his desk at school and bawling like a baby, but he was just one breath away. One second away from crumbling in on himself. He wanted to grab her– to kiss her wildly enough to convey all the swirling bits of love and melancholy that was stirred up by the door she'd just opened. He dipped his head, bringing both hands together to cradle hers. His only hope was to play with her fingers as he tried to even his breath.

A steady knock tore him away from the tumult in his mind. Both of them jumped, limbs clambering to separate as surprised stares came to the doorway. "Fuck," Soul whispered under his breath.

The girl always reminded him of a knock-off version of a Seattle coffee-shop chick: messy brunette locks covered by a slouched beanie, a nose ring, and some you-haven't-heard-of-them band t-shirt. The only thing that was usual was the tight smile she was wearing. "You're late, Mr. E," she cooed through the glass of the door.

Clara Harris. He lifted a hand, displaying five fingers to her as he frowned.

"C'mon, Mr. E," she complained back, the distance and the divide completely decimated by that high school girl whining.

Soul dropped the signal with exasperation, pivoting his gaze back to Maka. She was staring off at the door, eyes alert. "Sorry, practice for the acoustic show." That was enough to pull her attention back to him as he made his way around the desk so his back could block Clara's view. "But it's fine. Tomorrow," he lowered his voice as he slid his hands in his pockets to resist gathering her up in his arms, "you can have whatever conversation you want with her."

Maka nodded, crossed her arms, and kept her distance as Soul turned back to the door. Clara was still waiting expectantly, eyes flitting between the two of them. He unlocked the door, and her Converses made their squeaky entrance. "I didn't know you knew Mr. E, Ms. Albarn."

Soul didn't like the smile that Clara was wearing. "Harris, if I'm late, I'm late– you and Diaz and Reed can start practicing without me," Soul griped to cover whatever trouble Clara was trying to stir.

She sidled up beside him, causing Soul to immediately sidestep. "We can't do 'Layla' without you! It's practically a crime to sing your little girl's song alone."

Soul rolled his eyes before turning back to Maka. She was staring– hard. Green eyes gone cold. "Maka, tomorrow, okay?"

Maka simply nodded.

He hated the transgression– Clara interloping in the periphery. All he'd hoped for was another minute so maybe he could have gathered it all together– to let what she'd said sink in–

To maybe tell her I'm in love.

He couldn't help but repeat: "Tomorrow."


Maka tried to search for a time when she'd been more nervous.

Talking to her first crush in high school.

Class on the first day of college.

An interview for a real, adult job.

All of it paled in comparison to standing on Soul's front porch, ringing the bell, and being greeted by that perfectly pert little face.

"Maka!" Layla threw her arms around Maka's middle, holding her tightly.

Instantly, Maka had to resist the sting of tears. Maybe Papa was right– maybe I won't be able to handle it if she rejects me– if she says she doesn't want me to–

"Papa's already making cocoa." Layla dragged her into the warmth of the entryway and stole her coat. "I think he's trying to bribe me about something," she whispered conspiratorially.

Her stomach leapt. "Oh?"

Layla raised her eyebrows with a devious grin. "Cocoa before dinner!"

Maka produced enough of a giggle to encourage Layla's eruption. With a twitter of laughter, they moved to the living room just in time for Soul to walk in with a mug cradled in his hands, two steamy ones already arranged on the coffee table.

"Hey," he called to her, instantly propping out an arm to draw her in.

"Hi." She barely kept that above a squeak, clinging to his middle and trying to draw steadiness from his breath.

Soul's lips gently dusted her forehead before he turned his attention to Layla. "Hey, bug, have a seat."

She immediately perked, butt barely hitting the edge of the couch as she wriggled with excitement. "What is it?" Joyfully glinting green eyes flicked between the two of them as she flexed her feet.

He cleared his throat. "Maka wants to talk to you about something. Should I stay or go?"

Layla pondered this while Maka's heart jumped into her throat. After some gentle humming, she replied. "Stay."

"Okay." He squeezed Maka's shoulders. "G'on."

She pulled in a breath, trying to inflate her chest enough to encourage the blossom of her usual bravado. Her ribs filled to the point of stinging, leaving the words with plenty of life even if her throat tried to restrain them: "I wanted to talk to you about Christmas."

Layla eyed Soul quickly before nodding.

"My papa and his girlfriend are going to have Christmas at our apartment, and since I know you're not going anywhere, I was wondering if you wanted to come." She was only halfway up the hill, but there was already a chance she'd be spiraling down into the dust.

Without room for Maka to even inhale again, Layla peeped, "Papa, is that okay?"

"Fine by me," Soul answered back amiably– with such surety that goosebumps sprinkled Maka's arms beneath her sweater.

"Are they nice?" Layla added, this time throwing the question between the two rather than just to her father.

Maka managed a short laugh. "Blair is very nice, and my papa will be on his best behavior." Layla's toothy grin appeared so quickly that Maka was sure her answer had been unnecessary. I could have told her they'd be taking out coal for the occasion and she'd still be beaming.

The little girl grabbed her hot chocolate and finally settled on the couch as if her answer were already given. She blew, sipped carefully, before breaking into another Soul-like grin. "Does that mean we can go shopping again? So you can help me buy gifts for them? We can't go to somebody's house without gifts."

"Fine by me," Soul repeated before letting his hand slip to Maka's waist. He finished in a soft caress to her lower back before pushing her a step forward.

Maka was barely bolstered by the first affirmative, making her feet still shuffle without their usual speed to the couch. Layla was primly waiting for her own answer as Maka sat. "Of course I'll help you, but…"

"But?" Layla paused from all the amusement, fear starting to dawn on her delicate features. "Maka?"

She offered a hand between them, feeling the leftover warmth from the cocoa on Layla's palm as she took it. "I want you to know that you meeting my papa is important to me, and that it's special to him, too. It would be nice if this could be a new tradition for all of us. Because I…" Her throat threatened closure again, but she pushed through, whispering hoarsely: "I want you to meet my family because I want to try to work towards us being a family. It should be whatever you're comfortable with– even if you want me to just be your papa's girlfriend, that's fine, too."

Layla dropped her gaze to their joined hands and fidgeted for a moment before turning her attention to Soul. "Papa, I changed my mind. Can you go for a minute?"

Maka flipped her chin back towards him, catching Soul with that serene smile still plastered on his face. "Sure, bug. Give a yell when you're ready." Without hesitation or ceremony, Soul turned on his heels and started out.

She felt her lifeline being yanked as her heart thundered in her chest.

"Maka," Layla called, bringing her back to reality. "Papa really loves my mommy– he doesn't always say it, but I know because he dreams about her. About stuff that happened."

She couldn't help the twinge of jealousy. Remy's assertion echoed back, along with Soul's reply, but it still only dulled the pain, not destroyed it. "I know. Your mommy was very important."

Her gaze lingered back to where Soul had stood as if asking for his permission. It stayed as she continued in a small whisper: "I'm scared how Papa will feel. I know he wants mommy back, but I know that can't happen." The little girl shook her head, banishing the thought as she brought her eyes back to Maka. "And I know that Papa loves you. And I love you, too."

There wasn't an ounce of air left in her, nor any hope of denying the burn in her eyes. "I love you" was a well-practiced term, but here it came with a strange conglomeration of unknown feelings; it was both a new, delicately driven wound to the heart and a violent wave of joy. But a child's understanding of love, it's– Rationality tried to take a stranglehold, but as Layla's little fingers squeezed hers, it crumbled like sun-dried sand in her palm. "I love you too, and none of that means that your mommy matters any less. Just like your daddy doesn't matter any less because you have your papa. And like I said, right now I'm Maka – I don't need to be any more than that."

Layla heaved a sigh too big for her body. "I want to talk to Dr. Marie."

Maka nodded. "That's fine– that's good. We have lots of time."

"Papa!" She called, bringing Soul's steady footsteps at the end of the exclamation.

It was as if he'd been awaiting his summons, completely unchanged from when he left. "So?" he offered as soon as he was at the threshold, but something about his smile spoke of already knowing the answer.

The confusion had fluttered off Layla's features. "I'm going to meet Maka's papa."