When he got home the night of the meeting, Soul had little energy to worry about being in the eye of the fucking hurricane as he finally flopped into bed. He had been worried about beating Maka home, but it was needless-apparently, in escorting Kid back, she'd taken her time. Well, so much the better. She should be fine and he was utterly spent, exhaustion taking him swiftly into restless dreams.

Trudging out of bed only a few hours later to the sound of his phone alarm blaring out "Fuckin' Up," he wasn't surprised to find Maka already preparing breakfast in the kitchen-it had always been her provence in their little twosome. What did surprise him was the frown she wore as she eyed him speculatively-normally she greeted him with a wide smile.

"Mornin'," he said groggily as he moved up to kiss her chastely.

"Good morning, Soul. Are you-" She had subtly reached a hand to feel his forehead before playing it off by running it through his hair "-are you okay?" she asked finally, eyes searching his.

He stifled a yawn. "'M fine. Jus' tired."

"You look like hell." She shook her head. "And last night you-I mean-I tried to wake you up when I got home, but you didn't even stir."

"You tried to wake me? How?" He raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"Mmm may have taken off my clothes and pressed up against you. May even have tried rubbing you. You were seriously dead to the world. You've never, ever been so out of it that I couldn't perk you up with the promise of-mmm-time together. So really, Soul-are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I swear. Just, long first week, and I don't sleep well when you're out dealing with assholes," he grunted, shuffling to sit at the kitchen table. Strictly speaking, it was true enough; it had been a long week at work and he really couldn't sleep when she was out since he was out with her now, and it was taking its toll.

Maka sighed and shook her head again. "I know you worry, but don't. I'm fine. I can take care of myself-you should know that better than anyone." Her grin and punch to the shoulder were halfhearted, tinged with worry, and he forced his own half hearted grin.

"I do-kicked my ass often enough. Just-be careful, okay?"

"I always am." Her smile softened and she moved up to kiss him again, this time long and soft. Finally pulling away, she pushed at his shoulder. "Now go, sit, or I'll never get these pancakes done."

Soul complied, trying to appear more awake than he felt, resting his head on his forearms and watching as she cooked. He would have helped her if he had even an ounce of energy to spare, but just keeping his eyes open was proving to be a massive challenge.

When he was awoken by a shake on the shoulder and the smell of coffee, he knew he'd lost that particular battle. He lifted his head, wiping off drool from his cheek with the back of his hand before grinning up at his girlfriend sheepishly. Before he could apologize, she just shook her head, her frown creasing her face.

"Drink," she said, sounding resigned. "Pancakes are almost done."

He took a sip as she walked back to the stove. Black with sugar, just how he liked it. The woman was a saint. Sipping languidly, he watched her backside appreciatively as she worked at the stove. How long had it been since he'd made her breakfast? Too long, not since before he'd become Eater.

God he was a crappy boyfriend lately. Worrying her. Not helping out in the house for shit. Not even waking up when she was in the mood-could he be any more pathetic? Normally, he could be dying and he'd still be up for sex with Maka. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd always been able to sustain his all night activities in the past, his superhuman body producing an abundance of energy and requiring far less sleep than a normal person.

He didn't have time to think through it further as Maka set a large plate of pancakes and sausages in front of him and he focused his energy on eating. All that extra energy needed fuel-and he couldn't afford not to provide it with his current exhaustion.

They got through breakfast on small talk, only the occasional worried glance from his girlfriend signaling anything was wrong, and then they finished their morning routine and it was off to work, another glorious day at the DCA.

Teaching was shit again. Since he'd done the introductory bullshit, he moved to a divide and conquer strategy. They were to form groups, though they could choose to work alone (because fuck he understood not wanting to work with others). He'd assigned projects for them to work on depending on level, ranging from explaining all aspects of a song of their choice for the Intro students, to either composing a song or reworking an existing song to perform on a designated date for the Advanced class.

It was a good arrangement. They would actually do something worthwhile-and he could avoid doing much at all other than helping them when they asked for it. They asked a lot, which grated on his fraying nerves, but that was his job now. Fucking entitled little shits.

That night, after a quick dinner with a clearly worried Maka, who only left after several assurances that he was fine, Soul flew to a rooftop, made sure his helmet would wake him if the Grigori showed up on the scanners, and promptly fell asleep. With any luck, she wouldn't need him. Yeah, his luck tended to be shit, but he could hope.

Later that night, slightly more rested after his nap-apparently Maka's night was uneventful-he strove to make up for his lack of performance before when she finally got home. If her shrill cries of his name were anything to go by, then he was successful, and he fell asleep that night with his girlfriend in his arms and a satisfied smile plastered on his face.

The days dragged on much the same. He woke up, ate, taught, ate, spent the night as Eater. Maka had decided Black Star needed protection while the plan was put in order (more like making sure he didn't do anything stupid) so they took turns babysitting him.

Mostly, Soul's nights guarding the assassin involved playing video games on the couch of the asshole's substandard apartment. For an idiot, he was annoyingly adept at Halo.

He had his helmet tuned to alert him if Maka came up. Most nights, when she did, it was after the situation was handled, so there was little for him to do but worry and get his ass kicked in the video game by a guy his girlfriend may or may not be holding a torch for.

His third night on Black Star duty, exhausted, bored, annoyed, he'd cracked just a little. Kid's fake assassination was supposed to go down in two more days, and the worry about everything that could go wrong with this whole mess were rubbing his already frayed nerves raw.

"So what's the deal with you and the Grigori anyway?" he'd blurted out after yet another loss to the moron.

Black Star side eyed him for a moment then shrugged. "None of your fucking business, Eater."

"You just seem pretty chummy. She your girl or something?" Fuck that hurt to even contemplate; the words tasted like poison on his tongue, bitter, acid.

Black Star just snorted, then began to laugh. "Dude-duuude-no. Fuck no, that's just gross. We-shit-we grew up together, that's all. She was my neighbor-known her since we were in diapers. She's like my sister or some shit. Nah, dude, Tsu's my girl. Why'd you think I have to get her back?" The assassin clenched his fist at this, and beneath the elation that there was nothing between them, Soul felt a little bad for dredging up the thought of why they were together in the first place.

"Sorry," he forced out, the apology foreign and heavy in his mouth.

"Whatever, man." He side eyed Soul again and frowned. "What's your deal, anyway? You're always in that dumb helmet, and you're stalking Ma-the Grigori and shit, and now you're asking about me and her-you got a thing for her? 'Cause I gotta tell you, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Not stalking her," he grunted.

"That's not what she said," Black Star offered casually, putting his hands up behind his head.

"Well, she's wrong," he snapped.

"Annnnyway, just watch it. 'Cause if you fuck her over in any way, I'll fucking hand you your ass."

Soul scoffed. "Same," he said before he could stop himself. Star eyed him again for a moment before taking up his controller again.

"Speaking of handing you your ass-you ready to get pummeled again?"

Eater's only answer was a half shrug before he took up his own controller. Hopefully, the idiot didn't read too much into his thoughtless response. Hopefully.

The next morning was more of the same. Soul was spent. He'd apparently passed out again without satisfying his girl-and he lived to fucking satisfy her. He was essentially dead on his feet as he endured Maka's concern before they headed off to school together. Eying him skeptically, she'd insisted she would drive them both in her little sedan instead of taking his bike, and he didn't have the energy to argue.

Hell, he hardly had the energy to put one foot in front of the other.

He used his morning planning period to sleep. With his classes working on their project, and having scowled enough for questions to taper off, he spent his actual teaching time at his desk trying not to doze. He was only partially successful, waking with a start to snickering students more than once.

By lunch, he didn't even have energy enough to chew his sandwich properly, so he slept through his break instead along with the next planning period. By his last class, Soul felt a little better for the naps, if only a little, and as he sat and watched his Advanced students working furiously, he couldn't help but to wonder, not for the first time, what the fuck was wrong with him.

Yeah he wasn't sleeping much-but hell-he hadn't slept as the Weapon either, and it was never an issue. So why now? Was the Tech so different from his powers or...

Or...

Shit. Shit. His powers.

Fuck, that was it-He was supposed to be suppressing his powers. Although he wasn't using them, he wasn't taking his pills, either, so they were still there, right beneath the surface, just waiting for his need. His body was now powering the Tech as well as his unused abilities, and he wasn't sleeping on top of that.

Fuck fuck fuck. No wonder he was a zombie, a dead man walking. The Tech had been designed to draw on the excess energy his body produced because his powers were suppressed; it was never meant to be used when his powers were active, but he'd never even considered this could be an issue. Yet, clearly, fueling both Tech and powers without any sort of real rest was too much even for a body that Stein had described as a micro power plant. Because this had started with his new job, with his lack of sleep. Soul had stretched himself too thin and it was taking a heavy toll.

Still, it wasn't like he could do anything differently. He couldn't, or rather, wouldn't. Sure he could take his pills again, rely on the Tech alone, but the what ifs killed him. Arachnophobia was dangerous, unpredictable. He needed to be there for Maka now more than ever. What if he took his pills and something happened to her, something his powers could have prevented?

He couldn't risk that. He'd rather wear himself into the ground, wear himself to death.

By the end of the day, exhausted, all Soul wanted was to forget the wide world existed, take Maka, and run far and fast, somewhere no one could ever touch them.

It was after school and he'd figured no one was around, so he played that song to vent his feelings, the one that had always been him, but was now also her and them. He was startled when he finished the last tinkling notes by the sound of clapping. Maka was standing at the end of piano, smiling like he was actually worth something.

He was pretty sure it was that smile he'd fallen in love with.

"Hey," he said softly, returning the smile.

"Hey," she repeated, her own smile widening as she walked around the piano and slid next to him on the bench, bumping his shoulder with her own.

"Thought you had papers to grade." Soul was fingering the keys thoughtfully.

"I finished," Maka said with a small shrug. "That was the song you played for me that first night, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It was supposed to be a warning, you know." He met her gaze with his own, looking up from his hands. So fond. He'd never deserved her fondness, but still, it made him warm, chased away the worry and exhaustion, if only for an instant.

"Yeah." Her gaze never wavered. "I know." She returned her eyes to her own hands, where she'd begun tinkling the keys randomly. "It's changed though. Especially the end."

"I've changed," he said quietly.

Her eyes lifted to meet his again. "No, you found your path." He was about to correct her, but she put a finger to his lips. "This was always you, Soul. You just needed to figure that out."

She was going to kill him with the sheer unadulterated love shining from her green, green eyes. How could an angel love a demon, a bastard, a piece of shit like him?

And yet, she did.

She was wrong, though. He hadn't changed, not really. He'd just found her.

"I was thinking I would stay in tonight and we could spend some time together. I know we haven't been able to, lately, and I thought-well, I know we need it."

Was she serious? Soul met her gaze, intense, searching. Fuck, yeah, she was serious. He must have really worried her if she was suggesting this so close to executing the plan. But he was on duty minding Black Star again tonight. If Eater wasn't there to do his job and Black Star did something stupid, the Grigori would kill him.

Then again, if he tried to blow her off now, blow this off, she might kill him anyway.

He shook his head. The choice was between a log and a steaming pile, as usual. "I-I can't, not tonight. I made plans with a-a friend," he explained, feeling like a right bastard. Gods did he want to spend time with her.

Maka tilted her head, frowning. "Blow them off."

"I-I'm sorry Maka, I can't. I wish I could, I really do, but I-"

"Whatever, it's fine." She heaved a heavy sigh as she rose from the piano, pecking him on the cheek before she straightened. "We can try another night, I guess. You almost done here? We should get home."

"Yeah, I'm done."

And he really was.

Maka was quiet through dinner, another round of take out, and when she made to leave, because if he was going out then there was no point in her staying, she stared back at him from the doorway, pensive, thoughtful.

Soul should have known then that something was wrong, but he was so wrapped up in trying to do everything that he missed it.

He should have known that Maka never missed a damn thing.

He should have guessed she'd show up at Black Star's place just as he was finally beating the asshat at Halo to interrupt his triumph.

He should have known he was utterly fucked.

She stormed in, planted herself in front of the flatscreen hands on hips, looming far larger than her petite 5'6" frame had any right to.

"We need to talk." She glared his way, voice tight.

"Whoa, buddy, wha'd you do to twist her panties?" The blue haired idiot laughed.

Maka shifted her gaze to Black Star, swooped up the video game box with lightening speed, and chucked it at him.

"Hey! Ow! That fucking hurt!" he groaned, rubbing the side of his head.

"Then shut up, Blake. This doesn't concern you. It concerns him." She glared down at Eater again, and Soul cringed. He didn't know what was going on, really, but it could be nothing good. He'd seen that look before, mostly, but not always, as the Weapon, and it was never anything good.

Black Star didn't even deign to correct her, so clearly, he knew the look as well.

Soul's stomach clenched. What had Eater done? What had he done? He didn't know, wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Uh, yeah, right." He went to run a hand through his hair, remembered the stupid helmet, put it down lamely. He'd done that far too many times in front of her. "But what about him? I'm supposed to be-"

"Blake will stay put. He knows better than to pull shit under my nose, don't you, Blake?" She narrowed her eyes down at the assassin.

"Yeah, yeah, I already promised, Ma-" her eyes narrowed to slits "-the Grigori. You know I'm a god of my word, so I don't know why the fuck I even need the babysitting service, but whatever. Go hash it out with loverboy. Ima just solo me some more asskicking goodness." He waved his controller around for emphasis.

The Grigori rolled her eyes, then turned her gaze back to Eater expectantly.

Soul got up and walked towards the door, but Maka grabbed his elbow before he could get far and tugged him to the window instead. She opened it easily enough inspite of the rust and dust of the thing (Black Star lived in a relative shithole) then turned to face him.

"Through here," she said, waiting. There was a small, rickety fire escape. He wondered if it would even hold them, but he supposed, since they could both fly, it didn't really matter. And yet, he'd prefer to keep his feet on more solid ground. Nervous, he just looked at her for a moment.

"Couldn't we maybe, um-"

"Out. Now," she cut him off, her voice tight.

He released a puff of breath, something between a sigh and a huff, then ducked to go out the window. As he set foot on the rusting escape, it creaked alarmingly, and he clutched the rail in one white knuckled hand as he turned to watch Maka duck through herself, seemingly unperturbed when the metal death trap groaned under their combined weight.

Her back to the window, she eyed him for a long moment and sighed herself. She looked tired. Why did she look so damned tired? Soul wanted to reach out to her, hold her, but of course he couldn't, so he just stared, waiting.

Finally, she commanded, "Take of your helmet?"

"What?" He couldn't keep the utter incredulity from his voice.

"You heard me. Take. Off. Your helmet."

"You know I can't do that," he said, forcing himself to sound bored. "Thought you were smart, Grigori, but I'm not about to unmask myself. That'd be be like me telling you to unmask yourself. Not gonna-" She reached up and unhooked her own mask, revealing her whole face, eyes full of something like hurt, "-happen…" he trailed off, stunned. His stomach clenched even tighter; he thought he might lose his dinner.

"I know who you are," she said softly, gaze so intent it was if she was trying to look straight through the helmet that blocked her view of his face, that masked her view of his soul. She stepped closer. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? I don't know where you got the Tech, Soul, but I know it's you under there."

Fuck. His heart was hammering in his chest. Fuck fuck fuck. How had she? Fuck. Maybe it was a guess. Maybe he could-

"Soul Eater, that's my name." He nodded, not quite pulling off casual, though the helmet's filter made everything sound flat. "What of it?"

Suddenly, hurt was layered with anger. Her fist clenched. "Cut the shit, Soul. I followed you to the warehouse. Soul Evans went in, and fucking Soul Eater came out. I'm not an idiot. So just-take off the damned helmet and talk to me, because I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but this-"

"Maka," he cut her off with a sigh of her name, finally doing as she bid and removing the helmet.

"Soul," she replied quietly, her hand moving up to touch his chest right over his heart, her gaze searching, or maybe imploring, "Why?"

He moved both hands up to clutch hers, resting above his hammering heart. "I had to," he whispered, not knowing what to say, what she wanted him to say. "How did you-I mean, why did you follow me?"

"I've been worried. You aren't sleeping. You look terrible. And-" she shook her head "-there were things you said as Eater that sounded so much like the Weapon, and sometimes sounded so much like you, and the way you move-and I-the more I saw you, the more I knew. The more I had to know for sure. I just-I don't understand why. And no, Soul, you didn't have to. That's a bullshit answer. I want a real one." Maka's voice was strained, as if she were barely containing the urge to scream. She probably was, and a lance of guilt pierced through him, crippling.

"I love you," he managed, his hands clenching hers more tightly.

"That's not a reason, Soul." Her mouth was a line of carefully contained emotion.

"But it is," he blurted, because she didn't get it. How could she get it when she wasn't the one sitting home every night, sick with worry? How could she get it when she wasn't the failure, the one who had always fucked up, the one who kept fucking up, who couldn't even make sure she was safe? Maka was too good to get it, far too good. "Do you know what it's like?" His voice was pained, quiet. "To wait for you, night after night, as assholes hurt you? Assholes like the Weapon? Assholes I could stop except that I'm a fucking asshole myself and fucked it all up? I-I couldn't take it anymore, Maka, I couldn't. If something happened to you-if something happened to you, I'd-" His voice was breaking with emotion, and fuckitall, this was too damned hard. Why was everything always so fucking hard?

"I can take care of myself, Soul. I've always taken care of myself." The hurt remained, along with something like incredulity, and her eyes were ablaze. "And you-do you know what the League will do if they find out about this? Do you know how hard it was-to keep you free, to keep you safe?" She shook her head, the movement sharp. "This was fucking stupid. You can't do this, Soul, you can't. I can't lose you either, and if you violate your agreement, if you-" Her voice was rising with her emotion.

"Maka." He moved one hand from clutching hers, reaching for her cheek, but she slapped it away.

"Don't," she growled, ripping her hand from his chest and glaring at him. "Just-"

"Maka," he interrupted again, his own volume rising. He had to cut this off, because she was jumping to conclusions and, yeah, maybe he was stupid, but he wasn't that stupid. "The League knows, at least some of them. I got Tech through Stein. The agreement says-says I can't use my powers. It doesn't say anything about Tech. Stein knows, and your dad knows, and-"

"My dad?" she almost shouted, her incredulity rising again.

"Shh-" He stepped closer, grabbed her hands. "Yeah, your dad. I, uh." Soul moved a hand up to run it through the back of his hair, and this time, there was no helmet to hinder him, the offending item resting next to him on the rusted fire escape. "I sort of had to go through him to get to Stein," he added, sheepish.

"My dad helped you? But he-he hates you."

"Mmm," Soul agreed, "but he loves you." When Maka scoffed and looked away, looked past him to the city lights beyond, he squeezed her hands, returning her focus to his face. "You know he does. And when I told him why I wanted the Tech-well-I guess he just loves you more than he hates me. So yeah, the League knows, Maka. It's okay. And-I'm-I'm really sorry I didn't tell you, I am. I just needed to be there with you, to make sure you're okay. I just wanted to help you, to stop feeling so damn useless, and I knew you'd try to stop me. So yeah. I'm just. I'm sorry. I love you and I'm sorry and please don't hate me, okay?"

"I don't hate you, stupid," she huffed, pulling closer, pulling his hands around her waist, then putting her own on his shoulders. "I just-" she shook her head, her eyes wide and honest and hurt as they met his. "I don't like the lies. No more lies, okay?"

He swallowed, hard. Fuck. Fuck. It wasn't a lie, wasn't a lie, wasn't a lie. She hadn't asked, so he wasn't lying, right? "Yeah," he said hoarsely, his hands tightening on her waist. "Yeah," he repeated.

"Good." She smiled, and if it was a little forced, well, he couldn't blame her. He'd fucked up again, and the sick thing was, if Soul had it to do over, he wouldn't change it because he needed to be here with her. He was still selfish, utterly selfish. Some things never really changed. "Now, get your helmet back on. We need to go back in and say goodbye to Black Star."

"Huh?" He gaped at her. "But isn't it my-"

Her smile widened, genuine. "I told you I wanted to spend the night together, and I meant it, silly. Blake really will keep his word-he'll be fine for a night. Unless you'd rather stay and continue to get your ass nailed to the wall at Halo instead of going home and nailing the Grigori, that is?" she raised her eyebrows, amusement clear on her face.

Oh-oh. Yes, yes indeed. She must really have forgiven him, and the prospect of spending the night together was glorious. And yet, the guilt was thick, stifling as he nodded.

The guilt didn't stay long after they left, drowned in hoarse cries of her name for a time, even if he knew it would be back full force in the morning. Even if he knew the clock was running fast and furious, the countdown to shutdown now begun.