Such a long and heart-pounding update! Please enjoy.

Day One and Two had slowly crept by, Soul's mother and father unnaturally pleasant with him and catering to his every possible need. The spoiling was borderline infuriating and left Soul waiting for the other shoe to drop, the motivation for all this smothering to come to the surface. Wes had been conveniently detained and said that he and Elizabeth would be arriving exactly for Christmas Day, hopefully announcing the engagement that evening, the perfect Christmas gift for his parents.

All he had to do was make it through today, Day Three, Christmas Eve, and then he would hopefully be able to blend into the background, back-up emotional support for Wes but nothing more. He had felt a bit obsessive, calling Maka every night before bed, but she seemed eager when he called, picking up almost immediately and asking millions of questions about the ins and outs of his day. The first day, though, on her end had been light. She'd said her dad went straight to work and she'd just puttered around the house, thankful for the peace and quiet after all the finals.

The second day seemed like a repeat, his day filled to the brim and hers just home, waiting. He had hoped it was just an exaggeration, but even as he pushed, prodded, he found nothing to her day other than anticipating when her dad would come home. When he hung up with her that night, anxiety sank into his stomach like a brick. She was alone, and although she answered the phone as bright as the sun he just knew, somewhere deep inside him, that she wasn't feeling anywhere close to that.

So when Maka called early to say she was going out with friends on Christmas Eve, he expected that apprehension to melt away.

"Someplace special?" Soul was peeking out the window, seeing his father out on the back patio trying to sneak a cigar.

"The local bar, Malone's. We seriously just have one and it's kind of a dive, but there's nothing much else to do around here so…" Again, while this seemed like a fine prospect to Soul, he could hear the doubt filtering into her voice.

Soul was liking this less and less, none of his worries actually dissipating. "But you'll be with your friends from high school, so at least that'll be fun."

"One, Blair, and I guess I was surprised to be invited at all."

That brick in his stomach was starting to feel like a boulder instead. "It sounds like you're trying to talk yourself out of it."

"No, I'm going," her voice still quivered.

"And if you don't like it, go home." As if home is any better. It's obvious she doesn't like it anywhere. She's unhappy, and you're not doing a damn thing.

"That's the plan. What about you? I know Wes won't get in until tomorrow. Do your parents make you do Christmas Eve traditions or something?" All of that dread from her voice faded away, the soft concern for him slipping in as if it never left.

"Uh, usually it's a cocktail party. I'm supposed to be there, but for how long will be the question." He sighed, looking back on the bed where his mother had left a brand new Italian suit for him, charcoal gray with a stark white shirt and wine tie. "You won't believe what she's making me wear."

"Oh, send a picture!" Honestly, if she was faking the excitement he couldn't tell, her delight reverberating through the phone.

"Maybe," he grunted.

"Soul…" she cooed back.

"I'd say I'd trade it for a kiss, but damn it, Maka," he huffed.

Maka hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "What about a picture for a picture?"

Soul's grin went ear to ear. "What kind of picture?"

"Well, I might look nice tonight. I'll trade you." Her voice was playful but still a little nervous, knowing the other options for pictures and not exactly being the kind of girl who sent those.

"Fine," he tried to sound just pleased enough but he couldn't help the boyish excitement. He didn't have any pictures of her, and when it came to dressing up, she was always cuter than she realized.

"You agreed too easily to that," she laughed.

Soul attempted to sound annoyed but it crumbled, his voice returning huskily, "Pictures of you are valuable currency."

Maka sighed, one of those drawn-out, dreamy exhales. "Being romantic again."

"Stop it. I never should have ever even asked you," he grumbled. "Go get dressed."

"You get dressed," she tossed back.

"You have to leave soon, don't you?"

"Blair's coming in an hour and a half. Who knows if she'll be on time. She's a little, well, Blair." The words themselves seemed to form a shrug at the end of the sentence. "Party's already started?"

"You know it. Just trying to keep my reputation of being fashionably late to everything." Soul glanced at the outfit again before clearing his throat. "Maka, you'd tell me if, well, if you weren't fine."

"Um, yeah." She was forcing it with every ounce of herself. "It's fine, Soul, enjoy the party. I'll, uh, text you, especially when I get home."

"OK," but it was the furthest from that. They shared quick goodbyes and she hung up almost immediately. Soul cursed under his breath as he tossed off his clothes, changing into the suit, vest included, and the fine black leather shoes. "Fuck," came out pretty clearly as he stood in front of the mirror, trying to angle his phone to get a clear picture for her. This was no good.

He snuck down the stairs, narrowly avoiding a few people he vaguely recognized and managed to make it to the kitchen largely unnoticed. "Marina," he crowed as soon as he got trapped in the bustle, eyes scanning around for the braided black hair, the caramel eyes.

Marina peeked from behind a corner. "Soul, your mother has been looking for you for half an hour."

"She's going to be looking for me for longer than that." He deftly spun through the crowd, making it to Marina's side.

"Were you hiding on the roof again?" She cleaned her hands on her apron before grabbing at his neck, fixing the tie that he had done half-heartedly and crooked.

"Worse, in my room," he grinned.

"So, is it just your tie I'm fixing or…?" Marina looked over him, straightening a few wrinkles on his jacket with her hands.

"I need you to take a picture of me." He held out the phone, the camera function already open.

"A picture?" Her eyebrows creased.

"Yeah, uh, for a friend." Soul shook the phone in her direction again.

The skepticism was still there, but a small knowing smile was starting at the corner of her lips. "A friend…?"

"Marina," he whined, half desperate.

"Fine, fine." She took the phone before shooing him out of the servant's entrance off the kitchen. It was frigid, but the lighting was bright and it wasn't half as busy as the kitchen itself. She pushed Soul against the door to the garage where the floodlight snapped on, giving a perfect backdrop of light. Marina clicked a few, before sighing. "Smile, just for once."

His grin came easily, mirroring Marina's. "OK, you have to have at least one good one." Soul took the phone back, clicking the most acceptable looking of the pictures and sending it to Maka immediately. He was already starting to shiver but Marina seemed to block the way, her hands on her hips.

"A friend…?" She repeated, her eyes boring into him.

A brisk laugh popped from his mouth, "It's nothing, Marina, come on."

She threw up her hands, "I raise both of you boys from when you were infants and both of you-"

"Alright!" Soul moved closer as if the walls could possibly have ears. "Girlfriend. Maka."

"And you don't spend Christmas with her?" Those hands were still expressing their distaste in his direction.

"So you're not happy I'm home?" he teased back, his grin splitting only as his teeth chattered.

Marina, always the tough one, remained completely unaffected by the chill. "Honestly, none of the men in this family to manage an ounce of romance." Hands waved again in Soul's direction. "At least your brother had enough sense to give his fiance one romantic evening before bringing her here."

"You know!" It was half a squeal and Soul slapped his hand over his mouth in surprise at his own tone.

"I know everything with you two boys." Marina took one more minute to smooth over Soul's tie, making a useless attempt at straightening his hair. "So, girlfriend Maka, she's pretty?"

"Beautiful." As if to plead his case, his phone buzzed. Soul was careful to open the picture for himself first, definitely sure she wasn't the type to send something risque, but imagine the horror if she had. It was gorgeously safe, Maka in a velveteen, fitted, dark green dress. He flipped the phone towards Marina.

"Oh," the phone was out of his fingers as Marina angled it for a better look. She examined it thoroughly before handing the phone back to him. "I left your things in that Jag of yours."

"What?" Soul was busy taking another glimpse at the picture. Regardless of how breathtaking every else was, his eyes had settled on her smile, the way it wasn't quite right.

"Your jacket, an overnight bag. They're in the car." Marina started to shoo him again towards the garage door, away from the kitchen.

"Seriously?" Soul was already jamming his phone in his pocket and letting her rush him through the door, the smell of oil and leather hitting him.

"I told you, I know everything about you boys. Get going." Marina didn't give him a chance to object, thank, or anything in between before she shut the door between them and rushed back to the kitchen.

Soul took the keys to the 1990 XJR-S. It should be his father's favorite Jag, but the old man didn't have an ounce of taste and only used it as the first vehicle in which both Soul and Wes learned to drive. It had been Soul's only second choice when his bike was out of commission and you honestly couldn't look any cooler driving around in a Jet Black coupe.

And if he drove like he usually did, Maka would only be at that bar without him for an hour and a half.

As predicted, Blair had been late. Maka had spent the time staring at his picture, the playful grin, the handsome suit. How pathetic could she be, lingering over the same photo for the extra thirty minutes it took Blair to get there? And even more pathetic was the one she sent in reply, barely a smile, barely anything to look at to begin with and-

"Didn't know how much I needed that picture until you sent it."

Maka let out a shaky sigh, pressing her face against the cool bedspread before looking back at the screen. Her lip trembled but she bit it still. I wish you were here she typed but deleted with another quivering breath. Those words helped, but she was afraid she was far past that being enough of a salve, the two lonely days with almost a third to compound draining all of her will. She settled on a heart emoji and tossed the phone only just out of her reach, forcing herself not to stare.

While she sulked, Blair finally rang the bell and, as Blair had done for years, let herself into the house without Maka actually answering the door. They met halfway, Maka getting an exuberant Blair hug just as the top of the stairs.

"Maka, darling, love!" Blair squeezed the air out of Maka.

"Hey, Blair!" She attempted to meet half of Blair's excitement and half of her hold.

Before any more formalities, Blair was ushering Maka down the stairs, talking a mile a minute about every conceivable detail of existence. Maka could barely process any of the information but smiled gently, for a short moment feeling some of that loneliness waning in the face of her old friend. The stream of Blair's thoughts were endless and even as they got to the car she hadn't bothered to try to interject a word edgewise, just letting each wave hit her as it came.

"... and your dad still comes to the club, you know?" was the first line to actually strike home, breaking Maka from the trance of the car ride.

"Does he?" again, she was getting better at adopting that coolness, the sting only in her heart and not in her eyes.

"Yeah, he mopes around there at least once a week." Blair seemed to shrug it off as extraneous information.

"When he's not busy with work," Maka offered weakly as if that made it better.

"Oh, sure, he's always busy, just like usual, busy busy Spirit," she laughed and sent a wink Maka's direction.

The need for a strong drink and possibly strong words with her father washed over her with enough intensity to make her clack her jaw shut. The bar couldn't come soon enough and as soon as Blair put the car in park Maka was out into the night air, trudging towards the entrance with Blair bouncing behind. Before she reached the threshold, Maka took out her phone, clicking hesitantly on his name. "Going into Malone's. Wish me luck."

Gas station coffee was hit or miss, and this was a huge miss, but the caffeine felt like a necessity even though the night was still young. Soul unlocked the car, sliding back in before taking another look at the GPS on his phone. He noticed the message, reading it with a grin. She'd only just now gotten to the bar and that meant that he'd luckily done most of the trip while she was getting ready, waiting around for her friend Blair. One more hour and he'd be… doing what?

He hadn't thought far enough ahead, just jumping for the wind while the jumping was good. Marina was right, this was romantic, but without follow-through this meant nothing. Was he whisking her away to spend Christmas with his family? Was he going to brave the terrors of meeting her father and leave Wes high and dry tomorrow?

Soul clicked on Wes's name, opting for a text since Marina said this was supposed to be a romantic evening for both Evan's boys. "Don't freak but I might be a little late tomorrow."

Apparently not too romantic because Wes didn't hesitate to shoot back. "Meaning?"

"Flew the coop for a Maka emergency. 3 hours away. Be back midday tomorrow at the latest, I swear. Just delay." Or at least he thought he could swear.

"Mom furious yet?"

Soul snorted. "Mom status unknown. No phone call yet."

"Godspeed, little brother."

The blond girl was cute, but more importantly, mostly alone. He'd been able to say hello to her twice when he went up to the bar, and when he tried to strike up conversation she was polite but not very talkative. She just must be nervous, that's all. He'd tried the age-old trick of buying her a drink but she kindly refused and continued to nurse her one beer protectively. That friend of hers, the slutty one, was flitting in and out of their conversation, spending longer periods on the dance floor like the barfly she was.

He liked the blond girl, she was better than that, maybe even sad looking. He'd change that.

Maka's original goal of letting loose was thwarted by a gut feeling. Upon entry she had been ready to down half of the drinks at the bar, hoping to get rid of the ache of thinking about her father. Drinking is always good for that kind of thing. But Blair had ordered her a beer as if that's what Maka drank regularly, and she sat unhappily nursing it as she listened to Blair's broadcast of life in town after Maka went away to the big city for school.

She'd only drank about half before he came up to her. Everything about him looked sharp, the angles of his hair, his teeth, the way his eyes cut into her. His name was Giriko, he wanted to buy her a drink, she seemed lonely. The answers were all polite no's with the exception of begrudgingly giving up her name. The first exchange was luckily interrupted by Blair and he seemed to mosey off.

But Giriko wasn't gone, that tingling watched sensation making her clutch her beer protectively. She didn't take another sip, not wanting to deaden the alertness. When he came back again she made sure to try to seem busy, cold shoulder ready, but without Blair there, it had to be another direct deflection, another no thank you to his face. He seemed less enthused, but she was almost positive that wasn't because he was done.

When Blair returned from this revolution between bar and dancefloor, Maka begged to leave. She was a party-pooper, no fun, just terrible, but she wanted to leave. Blair agreed but begged off to the bathroom first, and Maka went back to clutching her beer. When she scanned the room, she noticed him gone from any of the periphery, and a silly sigh of relief tumbled from her lips. It didn't matter, though, she was leaving. She opened up her messages, clicked on Soul's name, and typed with defeat. "Leaving early."

She stood up from the bar slowly and walked back towards the direction of the bathrooms, concerned now that Blair may have gotten sidetracked. Maka would make her way there, check, and then look around the dancefloor. Worst-case scenario, maybe Spirit would have to put his job on hold for the precious moments it would take to drive his only daughter home.

The hallway was frigid, the employee door to the alley ajar and letting the night air seep in. Maka shivered, popped her head into the empty bathroom and then walked back into the hallway. She stopped just at the bathroom door, opting for the second plan and texting Spirit, "At Malone's. Come get me please." And awaited his angry phone call. She took another step, trying to clear herself of the door in order to keep some semblance of warmth when the hand grabbed her and pulled her out into the chilled darkness.

Soul saw the phone illuminate out of the corner of his eye as he pulled into the parking lot. It wasn't a steady buzz, so somehow his mother was still unaware that he hadn't made it to the party. Or maybe, just maybe, he wasn't actually that important this evening. He could only hope. Soul parked at the end of the lot, noticing the buzz of people drifting around the place that Maka had so appropriately called a dive.

Maybe he should buy a lottery ticket on the way home because his luck today kept striking true, Maka just texting him she was leaving, the perfect time for him to show up and whisk her away. Again, to where he hadn't exactly gotten together, but he figured drinking a beer next to her, just in her presence, would be an excellent start.

He got out, locked the car, and stood joyfully in the biting air for just long enough to hear her cell phone ringing. Now, Maka was more likely to keep it on silent, but he could swear that was it, the same little tune. He walked towards it, pocketing his cellphone. Soul had just been walking, but as soon as he heard the scraping, the little yelp that could only come from those lips that he loved kissing he broke out into a run.

The gap was right off the parking lot, an alleyway created by it and its closest neighbor, the usual route used only for taking out the trash or for the confused patrons to take a piss. Instead, Soul rounded the corner to find Maka sitting on the ground, her back pressed into the wall, her face clenched tightly in the hand of a man. He thankfully hadn't made enough noise, the rage enough to completely drown out the option of his own voice making a sound, so he took the opportunity to attempt to punt the man's head like a football.

See, the easiest way to piss off your rich parents is to fight and fight often. Soul had perfected scrapping, especially since it had ultimately been his ticket to public school. Not only that, but Black Star often insisted on having a sparring partner and between fighting him and Kilik, Soul had been pretty capable. When Soul's foot connected, snapping the guy's head to the side and throwing him off his equilibrium, Soul was riding high that he was in his element, and boy, was this fucking asshole going to feel it.

But he wasn't betting on how fast Giriko would regain his balance, or how fast he was going to unleash that blow to Soul's ribs, sucking the air straight from his mouth. Soul got another swing in, a solid connection just below Giriko's jaw, but the blow seemed to do just about as much as a whisper against a person's cheek. While Soul still didn't have a use for his voice he could hear Maka's, screaming and moving, but he couldn't concentrate on that just yet, since Giriko managed to get a hand on Soul's hair, sending him sailing into the bricks.

Red washed over one of his eyes and Soul tried to blink, but he only managed to make it worse, the vision hazier and a burning erupting from his eyebrow. Still living off the last of his luck, Soul attempted to sweep Giriko's legs, feeling a solid connection and watching through one eye as Giriko fell out flat on his back. Soul was about to jump on him, fist ready to smash in his teeth when he felt the hands on him, the other bouncers and assortment of people filtering into the already cramped alleyway.

Regardless of the cues, Soul was still seethed, his shoulders taut as he tried to free his arms.

"Soul!" Maka was in front of him, hands tentatively touching his face.

The riot of pain from her touch as well as the absolute fear in her voice woke him, his body now still enough that the bouncer allowed his release. As soon as his arms were free he grabbed her, hands softly searching all over her. "Tell me you're OK."

"Your face-" Maka started to moan out but he erupted over her.

"Did he hurt you?" Soul pleaded back.

"Bruises, scrapes, but that's it," she murmured, the tears starting in her eyes. "But your face…"

"That doesn't even matter." A blatant lie since the dizziness was starting to hit him, his stomach lurching as he tried to clear his left eye and found his hand covered in blood.

"The ambulance will be here in a second, just sit," Maka was trying to move him, to bring him to the ground before the inevitable.

"No ambulance," but the last of the word slurred, his butt hitting the ground hard as his vision actually started to grey to almost black.

He could feel her hands on him, trying to keep him sitting up straight. "Soul, don't…"

But it was black then, a low radio hum of noise sounding in his ears. He could still kind of feel her, but even that felt miles away as if he were seeing it happen to himself rather than living it. It was temporary, his one good eye finally focusing back on Maka's blurred face. Without really thinking, about the swimming darkness coming back or the pain that was about to erupt from the movement, Soul leaned forward, slipping off his jacket.

When she realized what he was doing, Maka assisted, chiding him softly and uselessly. "You're going to freeze."

"You need it." He tried to slip it over her shoulders and mostly failed, the weakness hitting him again.

Maka took advantage of his fatigue, draping the jacket back over his front, "Stop. Just wait."

He finally listened, sitting exhausted, pained, until the EMS team came, kneeling in front of him, passing lights over his eyes and exacerbating the sting above his eyebrow. While they were busy with him, he could hear Maka, her voice a shout that she was trying to hold in, but the anger was there.

"He was protecting me! That asshole grabbed me out that door and was about to…"

"Well, it looks like he took more of the beating anyway." The second voice was just as strained. Soul turned his good eye that direction, catching a tall man with red hair, not in a cop's uniform but a badge pinned to his jacket nonetheless.

"Which means there's no way you're charging him with anything, right?" Maka snapped, her hand pressing into the other man's chest.

"Look, the guys are going to do me a favor and treat it like a citizen's arrest, but, Maka-"

"Don't," she shouted.

Her shout didn't matter to the red-haired man, whose voice, low and scathing, scratched at her, "Just because some guy picks you up at a bar and fights for you doesn't mean-"

"He's my boyfriend, Papa!" The phrase caught each one of them by surprise. "And I didn't even ask him to come here," her voice was now filled with tears and Soul tried to stand, to grab and comfort her but the EMS planted him back. "He drove hours just to… to make sure I was alright."

Soul tried to focus again, examining the face of who he now knew to be her father, Spirit.

"How long has this been going on?" Spirit spat back, not even hearing the second half of her explanation.

"That's none of your business," she hissed back. "Can't you just be happy? He saved me. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn't been here."

Spirit sucked his teeth before huffing, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Alright, just go home, I'll finish up here and I'll meet you there." He tried to put a soft hand on her arm, to lead her back into the bar.

"No," Maka yanked herself away from him, taking a firm step in Soul's direction. "I'm going to the hospital with Soul."

"Maka," Soul croaked, trying to get her attention.

Her head pivoted quickly, her eyes sparkling as she snapped at him, "You're going to the hospital!"

"Fuck," he grumbled in return, partially dumbfounded by the fury.

"Maka, you can't-"

Years of practice made truncating her father's words as easy as spelling her name. "I'm going. Goodbye, Papa. Merry Christmas." She quickly turned on her heels, edging to Soul's side as the EMS started to withdraw. She knew there was no way to force him into the ambulance, but Maka had already decided she was driving him, the concept of where she was getting a car the furthest from her mind.

"Here," Soul dangled his keys as if reading her mind.

"Come on." She slipped her arm around his waist, helping Soul to his feet. They only had to pause to sign the EMS waver before she was walking him shakily to the car. He guided her with his finger, pointing towards the car. She was instantly taken aback, never seeing let alone driving a car like that. As she deposited him in the passenger seat, she started to let the worry sink in that this car might cost more than her entire education.

"Is it alright that I drive this?" She let the panic bubble out as she sat in the driver's seat.

"You want to go to the hospital?" he mumbled, the swelling around the split in his lip making it hard to talk.

Maka sighed before throwing the car into reverse, cautiously backing out before throwing it in second and gliding across the parking lot. If she wasn't so panicked she might actually have enjoyed it, the beautiful way the engine purred and drifted along the road. Her eyes darted over to him, "You drove three hours."

"Yup." His elbow was jammed in the crux of the window, his hand the only thing holding up his head. The gauze taped over his eye and forehead was starting to feel saturated.

She didn't need to be asking him questions now, should let him rest while they traveled the last few minutes to the hospital, but her heart was pounding. "Why?"

Soul wracked his brain to try to fit it in as few words as possible, "You weren't happy."

The urge to cry had to be swallowed, had to be put away, and she bit her lip almost until it bled, feeling the sting when she finally relaxed her teeth.

The hospital was busy and understaffed, holiday woes from all sides. Soul ended up on a gurney in the hall, waiting hours for stitches above his eyebrow and the confirmation that his ribs were bruised rather than broken while the ache in his head was, in fact, a mild concussion. Maka had forced herself to be quiet the entire time, to hold his hand and hold him up when necessary. She answered the doctors if spoken to but other than that she was silent, staring at him with an intensity that he could barely stand, but it wasn't a place for this conversation.

By the time they got back to the car, Maka checked her phone, seeing nothing from her father and the clock shining 3:32 AM. She didn't ask where they were going and Soul didn't offer any direction so she started the drive back home, the conflicting hope that Spirit would be there and wouldn't be there tearing her in two. As she pulled into the driveway she wondered if she was even surprised: his spot was empty and the house was dark.

Maka was slow with him, easing him out of the seat, up the walkway and the stairs to the door. She fiddled with her own keys, a small sense of relief washing over her as Soul's hand came to the small of her back, at least some small part of normal coming back to them. There was no rational explanation for it but as they both entered, Maka locking the door behind them, called out, "Papa?"

When no answer came, as none was bound to, Maka finally put her face in her hands and let the sobs shake her entire body.

"Hey…" Soul tried to turn her around but she refused, so he settled on wrapping his arms around her waist, hugging her back to his chest as he rested his uninjured cheek against her hair. "Let it out."

Not the cliche it's going to be OK or soft hushes, but encouragement to release, a strange sensation for Maka. She let a few more cries swell, choking them out without words. They were nothing more than hiccups, uneven breaths, when she finally pulled his hands away from her waist, holding onto one to lead him to the back of the house.

The kitchen was old, screaming of the 1960s, even the table and chairs in need of updating. She sat him down in one of the worn seats. "Coffee? It definitely won't taste good, but…"

"Sure." His fingers lingered in hers, making her stretch her hand away before letting go.

The coffee pot was filled as soon as it was empty, left on twenty-four-seven for Spirit's easy access, leaving the sludge inside nothing more than bitter caffeine. She poured two cups, pausing to go to file through a drawer, picking up a straw and plopping it in Soul's cup.

He chuckled at the pink swizzle in his mug, wincing after from the discomfort that feeling gave. "Thanks." Soul pulled the other chair close to him, forcing her to sit shoulder to shoulder with him.

Her hand inched on the table until they met his. He greedily grabbed up her hand, trying to twine those fingers together until she couldn't possibly let go. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that."

"If I didn't make you worry, you'd-"

"Be at some terrible party." Soul squeezed a little tighter.

Maka took a heavy sip, her lips stretching into a line at the taste. "Is your Mom angry?"

"It's a Christmas miracle because I've yet to hear a word." Soul played with the straw, swirling the dark liquid in an attempt to cool it enough to slurp. "But I'll have to go back today, soon."

"I know," she murmured. Maka slumped, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

Regardless of the added discomfort, Soul leaned his cheek against her. "And if you're not busy I was hoping you'd drive me back."

Maka's fingers played with the buttons on his shirt, her eyes too easily focusing on the dried blood splattered there. Her lips began to tremble again and she tried to force that line, the words trapped behind her teeth.

"I just… I hate when you're not happy, and it was way too obvious. If coming home with me will help, I'll make it work." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, letting his fingers run along the velveteen fabric of the sleeve of her dress.

"I'm asking for too much," her voice was small, distant, and he almost didn't hear her.

"You're not asking," Soul corrected. "I am. Drive me home. Maybe my face will actually feel better enough tomorrow that I can kiss you. The whole three-hour drive I was thinking about that and, well, I'm still craving it."

Maka tilted her head and feathered her lips on his cheek, careful to avoid anything that was starting to look bruised. "Let me pack some things."

"Good." He brought his other hand to her cheek, smoothing out any more worry from her face. "Plan to stay as long as you want, OK? I don't care if you come down the stairs will a full suitcase."

A ghost of a smile drifted across her lips before she slipped out of his arms, making her way out of the kitchen and out of his sight.

Soul lurched forward, propping his head on his hand, face hovering just above his cup. He sipped at the straw, still a tad too hot and the flavor was comparable to hot acid, but he needed it. It was going to be a long night, or technically, morning. He glanced at the clock, seeing the numbers about to change to 4 AM. As he opened his phone he hit the camera option, switching to the front-facing in order to catch a look at the hell that must be his face.

Hell wasn't really a hyperbole. His left was definitely going to be a black eye, the bandage covering his stitches acting as an oversized white eyebrow. His lip was also split on the left, and he considered himself lucky that his teeth were still completely intact. There'd probably be a bruise right under it as well, but the lighting wasn't exactly accenting those fine features yet. All in all, not the worst face he'd ever brought home to his parents, but definitely one of the top ten.

He snapped a picture, sending it quickly to Wes with the perfect caption, "Giving Mom & Dad more to talk about." With the hour being what it was, he was sure there wouldn't be an answer for at least a few hours and the silence after sending came as a relief. Now, all that was left was for Spirit to come home and give them one last knock-down-drag-out fight as a bon voyage.

But the house was silent. It was bugging him, the way he knew Spirit had said he'd be here when she got home, the way she'd burst into tears as soon as the emptiness of the house was verified. He knew her parents were divorced but didn't that mean more time for the kid when you didn't have a spouse to worry about? Instead, the house seemed emptier, as if both of her parents had left her just as they'd left each other.

It was despair, that's what it was, and he'd felt like this before, when Wes started leaving for summer camp, then boarding school, leaving him behind in the empty house with two people who probably couldn't be bothered to verify his existence. He'd only survived because Marina had fed him as much attention as she could, and eventually, when high school rolled around, he was able to cement himself with his friends.

But Maka just had this silent house. A father who was there when he wanted to be. A mother that was, for all he knew, about as solid as a figment of her imagination. Nothing, empty, despair, that was it. And she'd chosen to go back to it instead of encroaching on his space or even admitting that she needed to.

"Fuck," he grumbled to his coffee. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." The mantra of a man who was pissed at himself for not seeing it sooner. For not adopting Partner Soul the minute he entered into a partnership. He had to do better.

The coffee was drained by the time Maka came back down, an oversized duffle bag in her hand, the green dress swapped for a pair of jeans and a zipped up hoodie. "Do you want to change before we go?"

Soul looked down at himself, laughing weakly at the comic splatter of blood across the brand new suit that his mother would probably faint at the sight of now. "It's gross, but I kind of want to wait to shower, you know?"

"Just, no pit-stops for you then." She tried to laugh at her own joke but found herself pressed a hand to her mouth to stop a sob.

Soul managed to get himself up out of the chair without too much of a groan, "You ready?"

Maka leaned over the table, grabbing the cup and downing the black liquid like a shot, her face just as scrunched at the end. She went over to the fridge, a pad stuck to its surface, and scribbled hurriedly, underlining words that were too small for Soul to be able to focus on, the idea of reading making his head ache. She let the pen drop on its cord before turning back to him, taking his hand. "I'm ready."

It was an uneventful walk from the house, the walkway as quiet at the road, as deserted as the town seemed to be at this hour. Soul slid into the passenger seat and waited, hearing Maka rearranging things in the trunk. When she finally sat down next to him, finally taking her time to adjust the seat to her liking, the mirrors, everything, Soul let his eyes fall on her. "I have questions."

"It's a three-hour drive, I guess twenty questions can be the first car game." She offered him a weak smile before putting her eyes back on the road, starting the engine, and reversing out into the street.

Soul set the address in his phone, that happy computerized voice announcing a clear route and that they'd be there by 7 AM. As he fumbled through his bag for his power bank, his phone woefully low, he contemplated what was actually going to be his first question. Making her cry while driving was probably the worst plan, but if he knew Maka at all, he knew she could get through anything as long as she had a distraction, as long as she could plant her focus on something else.

This would be an experiment if driving was just that.

He plugged in his phone and turned the knob down on the radio, just a soft hum to take off the road noise. "When's the last time you talked to your mom?"

Maka's tongue ran over her top lip. "A phone call that lasted more than a minute? Probably three months."

"What about saw her, face to face?" He wanted to take her hand but these roads still required shifting so he would have to wait until the highway.

"My birthday last year." Maka sighed, the realization hitting her. "That's November last year."

"Wait, it was your birthday and you didn't say anything?" Another problem Partner Soul had to fix for shitty Soul.

"It wasn't a big deal, we were only dating a week at that point and…" She shrugged, another message that he didn't want to read from her body.

"Did you even celebrate this year?"

Maka shook her head.

"Fuck," Soul muttered.

"When's yours?"

"June 1st," he punctuated with a groan, "But we're not celebrating it, got it? This year we'll be even and next year-"

"Technically, celebrating this June 1st would still make us even, considering it would be next year's birthday," her voice was adopting a little of that playful chiming quality again.

"Don't give me technicalities," Soul grumbled back. He couldn't wait for the highway and found his hand traveling to her shoulder then to the back of her neck, caressing there. "You've lived with your dad the whole time?"

"We've been in that house my whole life. Mom moved to the West Coast as soon as the divorce was finalized. I see her mostly when she's on layover for work." Between the road and his hand, there wasn't much time for Maka's mind to dwell.

"Do you feel like you have to be alone?"

Maka shook her head softly, feeling his fingers graze her neck. "The question was: Do you prefer to be alone or do you feel like you have to be?"

"Sorry, I misquoted. Which one then?"

"Have to be," Maka murmured. "I hate being alone more than anything."

"I should have known."

Maka cleared her throat, the words trying to stick in her mouth. "I… I don't feel alone with you, and I guess that's why I always take up so much of your time."

"I'd prefer if you said that's why we spend so much time together. You don't take anything from me. That's what's actually the most infuriating part of all of this." He caressed the skin of her neck again, trailing that hand down her arm. "I've been the greedy one, but with the way you tell it, you're the burden."

"You're not a burden," Maka made a sour face.

"Holy shit, am I!" Soul laughed bitterly. "The Wes stuff from day one. Or try the fact that I can't do a thing right without almost fucking it up first."

"Soul," came with an exasperated sigh. Maka would have rolled her eyes if they didn't have to concentrate on the road.

"I know, I know, it's not a contest, but if we're measuring, you've got maybe one tally to your name while I've got the whole board filled." Soul could finally grab at her hand, intertwining their fingers. "You brought up your dad just that once, maybe a second time in passing. This is literally the first you've mentioned anything about the situation with your mom. We've got to make this more mutual, Maka."

"But if I…" If I tell, you'll hate it, you'll get bored of it, and then I'll be alone again. "It never changes, Soul, my family stuff, I mean. It's always been this way and I don't see it being any different."

"Same," he added a second harsh laugh. "But that doesn't mean you don't talk about it. You have to let stuff out, Maka, or we'll be right back here again and I really don't want another black eye."

"Soul," but she didn't have an answer beyond his name because the tears were threatening, driving or no. As if reading that, Soul dropped off, letting his hand do the talking, his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles as the clock ticked closer to 5 AM.