Still sorry (not sorry). Also, a quick side note: my reviewers, anonymous or otherwise, I love you. Times a million. You have no idea how much it brightens my day when I get a notification from you.

"Soul…"

He was nervously trying to perfect his bowtie even though he was sure it was a lost cause and her voice jolted his fingers to uselessness. "Yeah?"

Maka hadn't opened the door the entire way, her head just peeking out. "I need your help."

"With…?"

"Zip me?"

That sent a quiver through his stomach that was part dread, embarrassment, elation, and many more that he probably would have to take hours to identify. If he wasn't a mess before that tipped him over into a complete loss but he still pushed his feet forward. Look at the zipper, that's it. No matter what, give her the 'you look nice' and try to keep your mouth shut other than that because you're working. This is work.

Maka opened the door the rest of the way, turning her back to him and moving those delicately waved tendrils of blond hair out of the way. It was delicate black lace that he was about to bring together, but that was all, giving hints of the skin underneath for the entirety of her back. He followed the zipper all the way to the nape of her neck as he tried to convince his fingers not to shake. When she turned it was his lip that gave a little tremble from the effort of keeping his jaw from dropping. The lace trailed over to make a cap sleeve that dove to a v. Thank goodness there was lining there or he might have honestly forgotten to breathe. "Thank you."

"You're…" started to wobble off his tongue.

"Your welcome?" Maka offered with a laugh.

"You're beautiful," that came with a conviction that shocked him almost as much as her, pink more than dusting both of their cheeks.

"Thank you." That glowing smile was back, turning his brain to mush and even worse she was reaching for him, fixing the bowtie he'd had absolutely no luck with. Her fingers made quick and easy work of it. "You look handsome yourself. I like the grey. Much more interesting than regular black."

He snorted a laugh, "My mom would kill me if she saw it. Black tie means black."

Maka paused as she smoothed down his lapels. "Well, she doesn't have to know. Just you and me." She was relieved that this seemed to be as close to the right answer as she was going to get, a muted smile still clinging to his lips.

"You ready?"

She risked a glance at the clock and made it back to him with an amused smile. "You mean you're actually on time for once?"

"Hey," he griped and was about to add some kind of scathing remark that he couldn't exactly think of yet when his phone peeped from the next room. "That's probably the car service." The phrase hit him with an odd nostalgia, feeling it echo in his head as his father's voice. Soul retrieved his phone and proved himself right, negotiating just a minute with the driver before moving back to her room. "Ready or not, we're going."

"I'm always ready," she smirked.

Soul offered an eye roll and an elbow, a small tingle of pride gripping his heart as she grabbed it without hesitation. Tonight had been practiced, rehearsed a thousand different ways, from her quizzing him over dinner to adorable failures of mock parties she'd put together at lunch with the other girls who weren't exactly the best at playing along. While all that had prepared him to put more effort into talking than he ever had in his life, none of it eased him into the echo of his old life. Not the street, since none of this was like the Medusa days, but strange whispers of his parents and Wes seemed to cling to the little moments like getting her into the car.

Even driving out past the suburbs and into the realm of pure opulence brought something that wasn't quite longing to the forefront of his mind. Was it missed opportunities? Was it another echoing, dreamy 'what if?' His attempts at answers were playing across his mind as her hand slipped into his.

"Don't stress," she murmured.

He let out a sharp laugh, "And just like that, the stress is gone."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "You are the most dramatic."

"Liar," he grunted.

"Just don't forget to breathe, Soul," she squeezed his hand. "Remember, smirking and smiling are two very different things. And…" He smirked as if to prove her point, derailing her next point as she was struck again with how different his handsomeness was tonight. If that makes any kind of sense. She had gotten herself used to - or, come on, Maka, it wasn't getting used to it was just admitting to yourself - the way his street look made her heart work double-time but tonight he was refined and the feeling was at the very least on par. Don't fool yourself, you're a complete puddle. And that stupid smirk makes it worse.

"Could say the same thing to you," he nudged her shoulder. "Inhale, come on. Don't tell me the courageous Maka Albarn is scared."

She did as she was told, long and slow. "I'm allowed to get scared!"

He only smirked again as his answer as he forced his hand to relax against hers. Maybe it's because you're wondering what you could be to her if you'd just been a good little Wes 2.0. If she'd look at you differently if she'd… Get out of your fucking head, Eater. This is work. He tried to reinforce that as the permanent chatter in his head. Worrying about anything else is a waste.

Pulling up to the house didn't quiet his mind especially as he leaned back into the car to help her out, his eyes taking the dangerous journey from her toes to her face, letting everything in between make his heart pound. Maybe beautiful was an understatement. He turned his head back to the house so his sigh could disappear into the night air and not reach her. Oh, you absolute loser. She placed a soft hand on his elbow again and he started the walk up the front of the house that screamed antebellum. With all the other eccentricities he had expected a more modern house, all angles and windows and glass, but instead was faced with probably one of the most traditional he'd ever seen and he wondered if this was actually a plantation transplant.

In a way, the antiquity added to that discomfort in the back of his mind, reading it as a clear message that the man held on to the past. Stop creating a story. You're here to support her, make sure she looks good, and not trip over your own damn tongue. There was no formal greeting from the host, just a myriad of white tuxedoed attendants to shoo them in the right direction. Champagne was ceremoniously placed in their hands as they hit the final doorway to the main hall.

It was easy to imagine the inside of this house being grand simply from the outside but Maka was still floored by the ballroom and the fact that it had a ballroom at all. The floor was fine marbled tiles that spanned an area larger than their entire apartment. Not only was the floorplan expansive but there was a balcony that circled the entire room, a second floor for eyes to watch the people scurrying below. There seemed to be no one there now, but Maka found herself constantly darting eyes along the rails, sure that held more than just a fashionable purpose.

"You don't like it either," he dipped close enough to whisper in her ear. "Good instincts, Maka."

That filled her with just enough pride that she barely eased her out of the discomfort. "Think he'll be watching us from up there?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Soul sighed. "But I'll go with yes."

Maka pulled at his elbow. "Alright, not so great, but smile, Soul. And once I'm mostly done with my drink we'll switch. One sober head is better than none," she chimed his words back to him, "but you should look like you're drinking, having a good time."

"Sure, it's a party," he smeared a saccharine smile across his face that left Maka unsettled.

Draining her glass required no effort because there simply wasn't anything else to do. While the other agencies meandered around with some gentle talk between groups, there wasn't a main event, nothing to draw attention from her now almost empty glass. She stealthily switched with him, his fingers momentarily clenching over hers on her glass as he leaned in. For a mesmerizing second, Maka was sure he was about to delicately press his lips against hers and while her knees were going weak his mouth diverted right by her ear.

"Balcony, far right, next to the tall window with the flower display. Give yourself a minute before you look." When he pulled away his smile was brilliant as if he'd just whispered the sweetest nothing in her ear. She could definitely take that minute studying his face instead, feeling her own blush in reply. "You OK?" he put a firm hand to her elbow. "If you can take Marie's sangria you should be able to handle a glass of champagne."

"Fine," Maka murmured. "Just you surprised me is all."

He raised his eyebrows but let it go, instead turning his attention to the live band and letting his mind run through critiques. It didn't mean his hand left her though, and she felt his fingers flexing tentatively into her skin. She counted a few breaths, a few squeezes of his hand before letting her eyes play along the balcony. If you glanced by you'd miss it, thinking it was simply a decoration on the wall, another piece of antiquity in the form of a mask from some long-forgotten culture. Instead, it was attached to a man, standing still in the corner, barely standing out in the moonlight from the window beside him. The only thing not covered by the mask, his mouth, was pulled in a thin-lipped frown.

She tried not to linger too long before turning her eyes back to Soul just in time to catch the split of his smile, the momentary furrowing of his brows as his hand tightened on her. "Shit," he muttered.

Maka followed his eyes, falling on a tall, busty woman with midnight hair tied up in a bun. While Maka only flirted the line of revealing, the woman was showing most of her curves, a deep plunge to accentuate her well-endowed front and one to match in the back, displaying too much lily-white skin. Behind her was a man who had ignored the black-tie request, towering even while slouching in a blue suit that went well with his spiky brown hair and honey eyes. It was the man who noticed them first, a predatory smirk breaking across his face as he leaned into the woman.

She seemed annoyed with the interruption until she followed his beckoning finger, her eyes narrowing until they fell on Soul.

"That's her," Maka murmured uselessly.

"Boss's sister, Arachne. Idiot next to her is Giriko. Stay away from him," those last words came as a hissing warning. Soul had already reflectively started to pull her to his side as the two made their way over.

"I know you," Arachne purred inquisitively as she held out a hand before her.

Soul took it without a second's hesitation, that saccharine smile back between his cheeks. "No point in lying since your henchman probably told you where. Don't know how they let that dog in."

Giriko started but Arachne grabbed him by the collar. "Down, boy." Her laugh made it feel like someone threw ice cubes down the back of Maka's dress. "We're all playing nice this evening, hear me? Plus, I would never, ever want to upset my sister. If I remember correctly, you're one of her favorites."

"But tonight I'm Soul Evans from DWMA, Death Web & Media Associates, not your sister's lackey. Try to remember that." Soul dropped her hand unceremoniously and turned, pulling Maka with him. "Shit," he muttered again on repeat.

"Soul-"

"Give me a second," he snapped.

Maka instantly put on the breaks, causing him to stop short. She used that backward momentum to pull him towards her, her eyes locking on his. "Don't fall into that trap. Stay cool. Nothing happened so let it go."

He nodded swiftly, "Sorry."

"You did drop the ball on social etiquette, though," Maka tried on a smile. "You never introduced me. I'm your partner, so don't I get a mention?"

"You're too good for her," he huffed.

"Really?" She risked leaning closer.

"Don't fish for compliments," he sighed. "But listen to me when I say stay away from him."

"I think I'd prefer to stay away from both," Maka didn't even offer a glance back but could feel their eyes on them like an oily film.

Problem is, I've seen him with women. I don't like how he looks at them and the idea that he'd put a hand on you… His blood was near-boiling.

"Soul, if I have to warn you one more time about staying cool," she tugged on one of his lapels, breaking the spell of whatever rage-inducing daydream he was running through.

"Don't finish the threat," he muttered. "Look, let's talk game plan. What the hell are we supposed to be doing here? Is this some ridiculous game of hide and seek and all we have to do is go up there? Or is he just going to spy on us the whole night?"

"He's waiting for something." Maka let her eyes scan the room again. There were finger-foods but nothing substantial, so it wasn't going to be a surprise over dinner unless they were moving to another room. There was a band, and technically this was a ballroom, but most of the partnerships didn't look in the mood for dancing, all stuffed rigidly into their black-tie attire waiting for the man himself. "Soul, I know you said you don't dance…"

He grimaced, "Not at the club." His mind seemed to piece together her last thought before he sighed, "But, technically, this is actually the kind of dancing I know how to do."

"What?" Maka had been prepared for a myriad of excuses especially since she couldn't imagine many ballroom visits after breaking legs.

"Don't ask me to foxtrot but I can handle a waltz." He let out a helpless groan, "But, Maka, seriously, you better be right about this because it's just… not cool."

"I promise not to tell Black Star," she offered with a smile.

"You tell him and I'm sending you back to your dad's couch," he grumbled.

"Hey," Maka complained.

"And if you tell Liz, I will cut you off completely," he added with a hiss before sighing. "But you think this'll draw him out?"

"Well, it's kind of your connection thing," Maka shrugged. "What's more human than dancing?"

"You have some pretty weird ideas," Soul shook his head but couldn't stop the smirk from coming to his face. He took her glass from her and dropped them both on the ledge behind him before offering a hand. "If that's what you think, though, care to dance?" As carefree as his face looked, his heart jittered in his chest.

Even with the heat coming to her cheeks, Maka couldn't help but mimic his smile, "Thought you'd never ask."

That smirked curled a little more as he pulled her out towards the open floor. Soul felt each eyeball following them across the marble and normally that would make him just about crawl completely out of his skin but his gut was too busy gripped in the idea that he'd be holding her in a second. Even though Maka definitely hadn't kept her hands to herself, since Marie's he hadn't actually had the chance to feel how she fit against him again and reliving the memory only gave him thin satisfaction. This isn't the club, so you won't. You're just dancing. A hand on her hip, her hand in yours, her other hand on your shoulder. That's all.

That was all since this was still them working and waltzes didn't require her to only be a breath away from him. None of that put a dent in his joy, especially as her smile glowed up at him as he avoided stepping on her toes. Surprisingly, their rhythm synced almost instantly even with her insisting on taking the lead. "You're not bad at this, bookworm."

She rolled her eyes, "I paid attention in gym class."

"Didn't think they taught that anymore," Soul raised his eyebrows.

"The curriculum wasn't exactly modernized," Maka let out a sharp laugh as the memory played out. "And you can imagine how much more exciting the fact that it was an all-girls middle school made it."

"Oof, not even the joy of dancing with your pimply crush?" This didn't amuse her for a moment but Soul let the laugh flutter from his chest.

Maka let her fingers play along the crease of his shoulder. "Who taught you?"

"Nana - my grandmother." The amused smirk was gone, replaced with a smile that Maka would spend the rest of the night trying to decipher in vain. It was somewhere near nostalgic but with an agony she couldn't fit. "Said only good men could dance so she made me practice with her every time she visited."

"Was that often?"

"Once a week," that smile was faltering and Maka found herself desperately squeezing his hand. "She was my only friend until she died."

"How old were you?"

"Ten," he answered quickly before clearing his throat. "Two years later I met Black Star, and I know you're tempted to channel your psych classes from college on that, but I need us to focus on the task at hand. Next twirl you tell me if he's watching or not."

Maka was far beyond tempted but she bit her tongue as they continued in another revolution of steps. A few more couples had joined them since the ice was broken and Maka risked a look up at the balcony. It was difficult at this distance to determine the exact trajectory of his glance but the figure's head had definitely turned and a hesitant smile was pulling at the corners of the anonymous mouth. "He's definitely interested. Head moved, almost smiling."

"So either we're doing something right, or he's amused by how stupid we are," Soul snorted a laugh.

"Positive thoughts, please," Maka squeezed his hand again and got a roll of his eyes in reply. Maka counted the time between turns, giving at least three or four before she dared another glance. This time her hand gripped tightly into Soul's shoulder. "He moved."

"Leaning on the railing," Soul grinned. "You started something."

"We started something," she corrected, sending a sweet hint of electricity down his spine.

Before he had a second to enjoy that comment, he saw the attendant walking towards them with a purpose and slowed their step. "We've got company."

It was a pleasant-looking young woman, a sweet smile parting her lips. "Miss, would you come with me, please?"

Maka glanced from Soul to her. "Oh, my partner-"

"Isn't required. Please, this way."

Soul dipped his head next to her shoulder. "I'm watching. He takes you anywhere but the balcony, I'm following."

She patted his chest with as much reassurance as she could. "Be cool, OK?"

No fucking way, he wanted to hiss but he nodded instead, watching as she slipped away with the tuxedoed woman. Discomfort settled into his bones and he couldn't help but perseverate over having her stripped from him in every way. Soul pushed himself to the edge of the crowd and tilted his head up towards the balcony, unabashedly watching the man leaning over the railing. That's right, buddy, be careful. I'm cool, but not that cool.

Maka was led up a spiral staircase that was well hidden by drapery to the gallery. Her footsteps brought the masked man to attention, his height towering over her as he straightened. "I would apologize, but I assume your boss has warned you of my eccentric behavior."

"It's your house, your job, sir, so you make the rules. Apologies aren't necessary." Maka mustered all the courage she could and let it saturate her spine and her smile as she stepped forward. "And since you know who my boss is I assume you know I'm Maka Albarn. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Eibon." She offered her hand.

"Pleasure is all mine," he received her but his shake was purely perfunctory.

"And my partner's name is Soul Evans. He was looking forward to meeting you as well, sir." This was treading a thin line until the upturn of his smile started to chip at her worry.

Eibon nodded slowly, letting his smile sink it, "I apologize for that as well. I find more often than not when there's a woman in a partnership they're sometimes bypassed when it comes to speaking."

Maka could only blink for a moment at the statement, finding it a refreshing change from the norm, but recovered quickly with just a glance away, catching those red eyes permanently upturned towards the two of them. "I can promise you we have quite the opposite issue. He's the strong, silent type."

He motioned her closer to the ledge, giving her free-rein to look down at Soul. "Is that why he's staring up here like he's liable to rip out my liver?"

She couldn't smother the laugh, letting it trickle out behind her hand. "He'd look that way at a curb that stubbed my toe. Don't take it personally, please, sir."

"Protective," Eibon nodded. "Have the two of you worked together long?"

"For six months in the same office, on and off digitally before that for another six months." Maka made sure to send a smile down to Soul but found him unflinching in his stare, not placated even in the slightest.

"Some would say that's a short partnership," Eibon offered the strange opening and Maka toyed with it.

"Some would also say we're young, or that we've been given second chances when maybe we shouldn't have." Maka breathed through that dangerous line before turning her eyes to Eibon. "And maybe they'd all be right. I'd prefer, sir, that you let our work speak for itself since that's what you'll be paying for."

Eibon made a thoughtful hum. "But shouldn't it be the character of the people that brings you to them? Awful people can do good work, can't they? Treacherous, terrible people." He leaned over the balcony and she lost the intent of his stare as it flitted across the crowd.

Maka couldn't speak of betrayal but imagining Arachne's laugh again made her sure of that woman's capability for it. "Then, sir, what was it about our character that made you call me up here?"

"Are you looking for a compliment?" he tilted his head back towards her.

"No," Maka swiftly corrected. "I'd simply like to understand what it is you're looking for."

He snorted a laugh, "That would require that I know what I'm looking for." As he tilted his head back towards her he touched at his mask but seemed to think better of it, letting his hand slap back on top of the other. "But you figured out at least one piece of the puzzle, so I'll hope that you continue to put the picture together for me."

"We look forward to it, Soul and I." Maka waited for more but Eibon turned his attention back to the party. As Maka took a tentative step back, she cleared her throat. "Sir, there was one more thing my partner wanted me to convey to you." Trust him, trust what he seems to know, what that amazing brain puts together. "He wanted to send his condolences on your wife."

Eibon's eyes narrowed down at the white-haired man whose eyes were still locked with his. "What would he know about that?"

"Just that loss is a terrible thing," Maka murmured. "I think that's what he worries about the most, losing what he holds dear, so he was… concerned for you."

The pregnant pause was only filled with her mind screaming almost incoherently. When his voice came, it was so quiet it barely beat out the music. "Has he lost someone?"

"Yes," Maka could only assume, considering the tight-lipped nature Soul clung to. "And he acts like he's personally responsible for losing any others."

"I suppose I'll find out when I speak to him," Eibon nodded through the continued discussion in his mind. "I'll see you two at the office in a month."

Medusa was tired of seeing that blond bitch's picture and was in no way pleased to see it coming from her sister.

"Who is this?" came the caption.

"A problem," Medusa typed back.

The stream back was instant, "She was with your little pup. Both are a problem."

"Soul is mine," Medusa shot back immediately. "I'm taking care of the girl."

"When?"

"Soon. Just let me have my fun."