Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A sickly September sun drenched a barren chamber in pale light. Its weak rays struggled to even penetrate the dusty windows of the building, leaving the room cold and dim. The room and its sole occupant, both. Not too long ago, that young man had carried a rather grandiose title. For years, he'd been important. Famous, even, but those days had passed. At nearly twenty-eight years old, the youngest son of the mighty Evans family, The Last Death Scythe had been forced into a sudden change of career. 

His new profession: Painting. Gone were the battles for life and death, gone were the days of fighting alongside the Grim Reaper. Now, brushes and dyes defined Soul's life. In a vacuum, that may have been alright. Much though he'd usually tried to hide it, Maka's weapon had always had a bit of an artistic side. Tragically, he wasn't being tasked with coloring canvases, but walls. 

Walls, and doors, and furniture, and just about anything else - but mostly walls. Currently, a rundown office building formed Soul's place of work. Lazy strokes of his brush lathered cheap red paint onto its old bricks, forming an uneven, bubbly layer of color. "Brother, that looks like shit," chuckled an older man somewhere behind Maka's weapon. Said weapon turned its head and found a guy in a white coverall stepping up to inspect his canvas. "You even paying attention when I tell you shit?" 

"Fuck off," grumbled Soul in return, knowing full well his colleague had a point. The wall in front of him did look terrible. In some parts, the paint was thick enough to form small bulges while others remained completely uncovered. "I'm trying, man," he added as he reloaded his brush. 

The other man - a guy called Jonas who had apparently been working this job for a couple of years - laughed heartily. "You better try harder," he quipped, running a finger through the wet paint. You'd think that that would mess up the coloring, but it could hardly make things any worse than they already were. "The boss is gonna kill you when he sees this." 

Soul hated the boss. He hated Jonas too, as well as the other girl that worked here. Stupid tiny company and its stupidass employees. "I'll fix it, alright?" muttered Maka's weapon. "Leave me alone." 

Again, Jonas just laughed. "I pray for you," he mused while he walked off. 

Of course, Soul couldn't fix shit. Physical labor was about as far from his comfort zone as it got. Taking a look at his arms and body, the weapon found himself covered in red stains. He wore the same kind of coverall as Jonas, except his was more crimson than white. Unwilling to anger the old man in control of his job, Maka's partner went over the wall again. Then again, and again. It made no difference. An hour later, all surfaces had been covered, but the paint remained uneven and ugly. 

And with that, Soul threw in the towel. Mediocre results appeared to be all he was capable of producing, so the weapon simply moved on to the next wall. Should have picked a different profession. Any other profession, really, but preferably something braindead. Something in an office, working on a computer. One of those jobs that primarily consisted of pretending to be busy, maybe sending a couple of emails. Doing actual labor sucked ass. 

Especially when you possessed negative aptitude for such labor. Unsurprisingly, this new wall turned out just as bad as its predecessor. It featured all the same bumps and bubbles and bald spots. Had to admire the consistency of it, honestly. Just when Soul was about to call it quits on that thing, the sound of footsteps drew his attention. A small, old man entered the building on slow, heavy steps. "Are you fucking shitting me?!" he muttered, inspecting the work of his protege. 

Soul sighed. Having put down his brush and the bucket of paint, he walked over to his boss. "No," conceded the weapon, equal parts irritated and embarrassed. "I-I tried to fix it, Charlie, it's just-" 

"Just what?" interjected the geezer. He threw his subordinate an angry glare. "Tell me. I gotta hear this." 

One more sigh. "I dunno," growled Soul with a shrug. He averted his gaze as he continued. "Look, I'm doing my best, okay? What more do you want?!" 

The old man chuckled just like Jonas had. Well, a little more maliciously. "What do I want?" he repeated, sarcastic. "I want you to do your fucking job, asshole." Charlie walked over to the wall Soul had most recently finished. "Am I supposed to show this to our client? My nephew could do better than this - and he's four!" 

"Then go and hire him!" spat Soul, grimacing, as he looked back up. The urge to say fuck it and simply throw hands with the old bastard grew stronger with every day he had to work under him. Lamentably, that wasn't really an option. Maka's weapon sighed for a third time. "Fine," he snapped, making a genuine effort to remain amicable. "I'll do better. My bad."

An olive branch had been extended - and was promptly burned. "You're goddamn right it's your bad," cursed Charlie. He spat onto the mats, which protected the building's floor from paint splatter. "And you're gonna fix it. You're redoing all of this tomorrow - and every day after until you produce something of worth."

Fuming internally, Soul only managed to remain quiet by mustering all his willpower. "Sure, boss," he grumbled, staring the other man down. "We done for the day, then?" 

"Yeah, you're done," scoffed Charlie, his expression all sorts of disgusted. "Go home, Soul. Be better tomorrow, or don't bother showing up." 

That old man was going to get it, one of these days - but not on that day. Maka's partner vacated the premises before he could do anything stupid. Maybe if that freak was a bit less of an asshole, one might actually learn something from him. Either way, Soul emerged on the street outside the building, where he took a deep breath. It'd barely been two weeks since the start of this miserable assignment and he felt about ready to snap. At this rate, heads would roll very soon. 

As per usual, the roads in Kilas were utterly and absolutely lifeless. Not one singular car traversed the worn asphalt - nor much of anything else. No wonder. If Soul had been offered a choice, he would've also stayed the hell away from this town. Even calling it that was probably an exaggeration. Really, Kilas was little more than a tiny settlement somewhere in Alaska. Thirty or forty houses built around a small harbor. One poorly stocked grocery store, one doctor, no schools. 

A truly desolate, depressing place. At least that rendered the walk home simple. Less than a mile separated this construction site from their new residence. Truth be told, Soul wouldn't have minded if it'd been farther. Nothing good awaited him back there. Consequently, the weapon took his time. He meandered along the harbor and paused a couple of times. Regrettably, all that hard work only delayed the inevitable. 

In the end, Soul still ended up in front of an ancient brick house near the center of town. In spite of its prime position, that thing might have been more aptly described as a ruin. It featured no insulation, little in the way of appliances, and the interior was literally falling apart. Place had to be haunted, although there had been no supernatural encounters yet. Was a matter of time, though. 

Since the lovely abode neither came with a door bell nor with a spare key, Soul had no choice but to step up and slam his fist against its heavy, wooden door. "Maka," he called out, still supremely annoyed from work. "It's me. Lemme in!" Yet the gate remained closed. "Hello?!" insisted the weapon when he still had not been let in a solid minute later. 

"Fuck!" he heard his partner scream from inside. Afterwards, she finally marched over and ripped the door open. "Can you give me a second?!" she hissed at her weapon as soon as they came face to face. The girl looked rough. Her hair was a mess and her clothes stained black. "I was doing something!" 

Soul pushed past her into the building. "And I'm freezing my ass off," he retorted, moving further in. None of the rooms were particularly comfortable, so the weapon made for their antique kitchen. "What were you up to, anyway?" he added while Maka followed him into the room. "You look like shit." 

She slapped the back of his head as she passed by. "So do you," snapped the blonde meister, kneeling in front of a medieval fireplace. "I'm trying to fix this haunted tomb they've assigned us." Maka briefly looked over her shoulder to prompt her partner. "You're welcome to help, by the way." 

"God, no," scoffed said partner. The kitchen - like the rest of the place - lacked much furniture. As such, Soul could only lean against the wall for support. "I fucking hate working. You can deal with this shit."

Maka spent half a minute fiddling with something in the fire place, before grunting in annoyance and turning around. "I'm also working, in case you forgot," she clarified, audibly frustrated. 

Again, Soul laughed at her. "Manning the reception desk in some tiny library doesn't count as working," he taunted. "How many customers do you get per day? Five?" 

Having returned to her feet, the girl marched over to her partner. "At least I'm good at my job," she spat. "Did Charlie rip your head off again today?" Maka gave scornful laughter of her own. "Death, I hope he makes you cry one of these days." 

"Charlie's a piece of shit," growled Soul, narrowing his eyes at her. "And so are you, Maka. Your fuckup's the only reason we're here!" 

Unlike the previous insults and retorts, that accusation made her flinch. Even proud Maka Albarn struggled to deny the truth. "So what?!" she yelled once she'd gotten hold of herself. "We're here now. Stop crying and work harder." 

Soul's bones were already killing him. If he worked any harder, his body would actually give out. "I'll cry if I want," he muttered, moving out of the kitchen. 

Maka had the audacity to get in his way. "Where do you think you're going?" she posed, glaring at her partner. "We have that stupid party in an hour." 

"Literally anywhere else," retorted Soul. He tried to gently push his meister out of the way. "You go to that thing." 

Yet that partner would not be pushed. She remained firm, refusing to allow Soul passage. "We're both going," insisted Maka. Her face assumed the cheeriest, fakest expression on the planet. "Remember - we're supposed to be happily married." The smile dropped from her face, revealing a hateful set of eyes. "You will come with me, and you will behave." She brought her head all the way up to that of her partner. "Understood?" 

"Yeah, fine, whatever," hissed Soul. This time, he shoved her out of the way without holding back, causing her slender frame to hit the stone wall to her side. "This husband's about to turn abusive," muttered the weapon as he stormed off. 

"I'd love to see you try," he heard his bitch of a meister shout from the kitchen, but Soul didn't stop to bicker any further. Not like there was much of a need. This exact argument was bound to repeat soon enough. Later that day, probably, and then every day after that. There'd be plenty of opportunities to shout at Maka. Opportunities to relax were a little more scarce, so he attempted to make the most of this hour that he'd been granted. 

Well, most of that time was consumed by meaningless bullshit. First, the water of the shower took around twenty minutes to reach a temperature that was at all tolerable. Not pleasant, mind you, but bearable. Having successfully removed the sweat and the paint from his body, Soul was then charged with the unfortunate task of scouring his wardrobe - a suitcase he still hadn't bothered unpacking - for a suitable set of clothes. It didn't offer much. Most of the clothes that remained inside were old and gross. They either didn't fit anymore, or they were thoroughly inappropriate for that stupid event. 

With no other choice, Soul put on his outfit from the previous day - an old, black sweater and some random pants. They smelled a little, and the sweatshirt was adorned by a rather visible stain, but it simply could not be helped. Thus dressed, the weapon of their team returned to the kitchen, where his partner already awaited him. She'd gotten ready, herself. The girl wore a plain dress and she'd stuffed her hair into a singular ponytail. "Is that what you're gonna wear?" she demanded to know right away. 

Soul waved her off with one hand. "You didn't wash my other shit," he explained as he made for the door outside. "So yeah, this is all I've got." 

Maka followed after him. "I didn't wash it?" she hissed while they left the building. "You're a grown man! Do your own laundry!" 

"They're making me work a million hours a day," grumbled the weapon of their team, hands buried in the pockets of his dirty pants. "I don't got time for that." 

Night had since fallen. The world outside was as lifeless as it was dark. "Oh, boo hoo," taunted Maka, her tone dripping sarcasm. "The rich boy has to put in a little work? I'm so sorry for you." 

Her partner had been about to cuss her out when an old woman came their way, forcing them to temporarily halt their argument. "I'm gonna-" began Soul once their privacy had returned. 

He didn't get further as Maka immediately pressed her right hand on his mouth. "Shut up, idiot," she snapped. The repugnant, happy look from earlier returned. "Out here, we are in love." 

Soul nodded and, once she removed her hand, he exhaled in frustration. "I know," he conceded, annoyed. 

"What's with the tone, honey?" asked Maka, her voice horrendously cheery. 

Furious though he continued to be, Soul pulled himself together. "I'm sorry, honey," he responded, employing the same sarcastically happy tone as her. "I've just had a rough day." 

The destination of this little walk came into view: One more old brick house. Admittedly, this one looked better than theirs - not that that was saying much. "You should've told me," mused Maka, her voice somehow turning even more cheerful. "As your loving wife, I would have been glad to take care of you." 

An attempt at being amicable was made. It failed. "With a knife in my back?" said Soul, making sure to speak quietly and politely. "Or by poisoning my food?" 

The young couple ascended a small set of stairs, which led up to the front door. "I wouldn't cook for you if you had a gun to my head," clarified Maka, staying in character in spite of her harsh words. 

She proceeded to ring the door bell. This house actually had one. Soon, its corresponding door swung open, revealing the figure of a bald man in something like a casual suit. Dark jacket, crimson shirt. "Maka and Soul," he greeted, beaming at his guests. "I'm so glad you found time."

Maka and the guy proceeded to share a formal hug. "Of course, Lon," she confirmed eagerly. They parted. "We really value a local community." 

Her weapon barely managed to suppress a derisive chuckle. Given the size of this place, the entire town was one local community. Hoping to avoid an unpleasant embrace, Soul extended a hand toward their host, but that host had other plans. He pulled his male guest into the same kind of stilted hug. "I can tell," mused Lon once the initial greetings were done. He turned and signaled for the new arrivals to follow. "Come on, I'll introduce you." 

Introductions had to be the worst thing on the planet. Soul threw a pleading look to his partner and received an icy smile in return. She offered him an arm to hook onto, and - dreading his fate already - he did just that. Intertwined, the two of them proceeded deeper into enemy territory. Honestly, the place didn't look bad on the inside. Lotta marble, lotta glass, all of it weirdly modern. Lon had to be earning good money. 

As did the other guests, by the looks of it. For such a backwater-ass village, all attendants were well-dressed. Suits, dresses, tasteful skirts and jewelry. Soul had expected this event to be a casual gettogether of country bumpkins, featuring excessive alcohol consumption and whatnot, but it appeared to be more of a cocktail party. On the bright side, the house was a little less crowded than expected. Ten or fifteen old men and women had gathered inside the large living room, standing around tall tables and forming small crowds. 

Lon approached one such group, his young guests in tow. "Rebecca," he called while he tapped the shoulder of an old woman. "Have you met the Evans?" 

Said woman turned around. Glass in hand, she looked Soul up and down. "I have not," she claimed, her tone awfully similar to that of Maka. "You're new in town, I take it?" Rebecca's lips curled into a warm smile. "Welcome to Kilas." 

Though she'd been looking at Soul, his partner chose to respond for their side. "Thank you," she answered, smiling just as amicably. "Everyone has been so kind to us." 

A hint of suspicion crept into Rebecca's welcoming expression. "May I ask what brought you to us?" she wondered. "I can't imagine an old town like Kilas being very attractive to young people such as yourselves." 

God, Soul despised these events. Maintaining appearances, double-checking every word you said. As such, he didn't mind Maka speaking for him. "Soul's grandparents used to live here," she explained. "We inherited their house and, well, I've always liked the countryside." She leaned into the side of her weapon and looked up at him with what had to be a dreamy look. "Isn't that right, honey?" 

Girl had clearly come prepared for these questions. "That's right," conceded Soul quietly. He even went the extra mile by lowering his head to give her a quick kiss, which drew an innocent giggle. 

"Aren't you cute together?" mused Rebecca while she took a sip from her tall glass. "So what do you do for work? Tell me about yourselves." 

Lon, who had temporarily left the group, returned with two glasses of... something alcoholic. Sparkling wine, if Soul wasn't mistaken. Maka accepted one, so her partner did the same. "I work at the library," she explained, casually sampling her beverage. "And Soul started an apprenticeship under Charlie." 

At that, Rebecca's expression clouded over. "My condolences," she quipped, looking to Soul. "I can't even imagine what it's like working for that grouch." 

It wasn't great. "It's alright," lied Soul, joining the conversation at last. "Charlie's not a bad guy, he just has a... rough tone." 

"He most certainly does," chuckled Rebecca. 

Over the following minutes, the older woman pulled Maka into a discussion about books and reading and the library and whatnot. They even got some other lady involved. Soul zoned out pretty much right away. Still hooked onto his partner, he - and Lon - kind of just stood there, smiling and sipping on their drinks. Eventually, the host of this little gathering seemed to run out of patience. "Interested in a tour of the garden?" he asked, so quietly that only Soul could hear. 

The garden did not sound particularly interesting, but it also mattered little. Just leaving was good enough for Soul. "Sure," he agreed. 

Freeing his arm from that of Maka caused the girl to look over at him in suspicion. "May I steal your husband for a bit?" pleaded Lon of her, apparently having noticed right away. 

The suspicion immediately disappeared in favor of that gross smile. "Of course," confirmed Maka. Her gaze moved over to her husband. "Make sure to behave, honey. We don't want to make a bad first impression." 

"I'll be on my best behavior," claimed Soul, struggling to maintain that cheerful tone. Lon had already set himself in motion, but Maka's weapon felt the need to get back at her. "Watch the wine, honey," he advised her. "Wouldn't want to cause another incident, right?" 

Obviously, Maka didn't normally drink. There had never been such an incident. In the wake of that little comment, however, these women would now think of her as a heavy drinker. That, in turn, would drive the girl insane. Soul was so sure of it, he didn't bother waiting around for a reaction. Instead, the weapon went after his new best friend. Lon took them out of the living room, through a narrow corridor, and finally onto a terrace behind the house. 

A small paved area led seamlessly into a proper garden. A neat lawn, trimmed hedges, and paths of gravel. Sterile, but pretty. "You're playing with fire," snickered Lon while both men stepped onto the grass. "Talking to your wife like that? You're braver than me." 

Soul couldn't help laughing, himself. "Just a little reminder, you know?" he quipped. "That woman likes her wine." 

She very much did not. Badmouthing her was way too much fun, though. "So does mine," agreed Lon. For a while, they followed the pathway through the greenery in silence. "Can I make a confession?" he posed sheepishly. "I don't care for this garden. I just used you as an excuse to get out of there for a bit." 

"That's fine," reasoned his guest. Out here, in the quiet, Soul felt himself steadily calming down. Before long, he felt comfortable enough to drop the act. "I would've stayed home if Maka had let me. I dunno what to do at these events." 

Lon sighed deeply. "Right?" he said. "I always dread when it's our turn to host, but my wife insists we do so as much as possible." 

Come to think of it, Soul had no idea whom the guy was married to. Learning about these people was sorta the point of this whole outing, so the weapon continued to make gross small-talk. "Rebecca?" he questioned, reasoning that those two shared an age group. 

The question drew another chuckle from Lon. "Oh. No," he clarified. "Rebecca is something of a friend. My wife isn't feeling well. She's resting upstairs." 

"Sorry to hear it," mused Soul while their roundtrip through the small garden concluded. 

"She's fine," insisted Lon. Back on the paved porch, both men came to a halt. Nothing but a thin glass door separated them from the crowd inside. The laughter that echoed through it was like nails on a chalkboard. "Anyway," he continued, clearly just as hesitant to return. "Maka mentioned you play the piano. Feel like showing me?" 

Heat rose to Soul's face. He hadn't played the piano in a long time, and that definitely would not be changing anytime soon. Maka knew that, too. Bitch. "Did she really?" growled the weapon, incapable of preventing his reaction from showing. Biting his lip and clearing his throat, he managed to keep it together. "Nah. I'm not all that good." 

The other man tilted his head. "No need to be modest," he claimed. "You used to play professionally, right?" 

"Did Maka tell you that?" wondered Soul. God, that girl would get hers, later. Then again, perhaps this worked out. A small smile came over his lips as an idea formed in his head. "Keep this to yourself," he instructed his new friend, trying hard to sound serious. "Maka really did drink a lot back then. She..." A poignant pause, a purely performative sigh. "She gets things confused sometimes..." 

Lon's eyes went wide. "O-Oh my god," he exclaimed. "I'm so sorry." His head spun in search of Maka From their position outside the building, she couldn't be seen. "And I offered her wine earlier, too..." 

Soul put a comforting hand on the other man's arm. "It's not a big deal," he assured him. "She never was able to quit." 

"R-Really?" questioned Lon, visibly uncomfortable. "Maka seems so reliable." 

Part of Soul felt like he might be taking this thing too far. The other, far greater part of him felt like she deserved this and worse. "She has it under control," he explained, shrugging. "Still, the girl rarely goes more than a day sober."

Lon nodded subtly. "I-I see..." he mumbled. "That'll teach me to judge a book by its cover." The older man made another attempt at finding Maka through the glass door - and failed just like before. "W-Would you mind if we went to check on her? I can't stop worrying." 

Looking back, one could have seen that reaction coming. Ah, well. A premature end to this outing was a small price to pay for irreversibly staining Maka's reputation. "Good call," conceded her weapon, opening the transparent door. "Remember, don't bring this up to her." 

"I know, don't worry," confirmed Lon while they made their way back inside. "Her secret is safe with me." 

Past a few smaller groups, they eventually located Maka in the living room. She and her two friends had since moved from their table to a large, white couch. Once the girl noticed her partner approach, she paused their current discussion to welcome him instead. "Welcome back, dear," she greeted, every bit as cheery as before. "How was the garden?" 

Soul took a seat next to his wife, whereas Lon remained standing. "It was nice," elaborated the weapon. "Makes me want to work on our own backyard."

Didn't even have to lie for that part. Soul actually kind of enjoyed nature and all that. He didn't necessarily enjoy the work that came with this type of garden, but still. "That sounds great," mused Maka, beaming at her partner. She moved to pick up her glass from a wooden table next to the sofa, but Lon got to it before her. 

"I'll- Uh- I'll get rid of this," stammered the bald man, awkwardly holding the drink out of Maka's reach. 

Understandably, the girl struggled to comprehend his actions. "Is something wrong?" she inquired of the host, raising an eyebrow. 

One could watch Lon come apart. "No, I-" he began, fighting to find the magic words that would explain his actions without exposing Maka as an alcoholic. "I just- I'm sorry about all this," he mumbled before simply walking away with her glass. 

Maka had no choice but to watch him go. "What was that about?" she asked, turning to her partner. 

After a brief internal debate, Soul chose to play dumb. "No idea," he claimed, shrugging. 

Though the blonde meister clearly retained doubts, she was not afforded an opportunity to force the matter. Lon had just left the room when another man filled his spot. A guy of similar age and build, whose fancy suit and flowing, brown hair led him to resemble an anime villain. "This must be your husband," he observed, mustering Soul and his partner. 

"It is," lied Maka, latching onto the arm of her weapon once again. "Soul, this is Rudy Finile. He runs the local doctor's practice." 

"Nice to meet you," mused Soul as he extended a hand toward the new arrival. 

Rudy took it eagerly. "Likewise," he stated amidst a forceful handshake. 

From that point onwards, the evening was nothing but miserable. Painful, stale discussions of meaningless topics, and boredom. So, so much boredom. Like before, Soul turned into a bystander. Maka talked and talked while her weapon simply smiled. To the dismay of that weapon, Lon never returned. Had to be taking care of his wife or something. Whatever the reason, Soul came to lament his absence. The other guests weren't quite as relatable as him. 

In layman's terms, one might have referred to them as annoying. Stuck-up, rich, old bastards. Rebecca, the doctor, and all the other ones as well. As far as Soul could even tell, that was. He couldn't get himself to pay attention for long. Maka took her time talking to them. So much so, her partner began to think she might have been doing it to torture him. Only when most of the other attendees had already cleared out did she finally rise from the couch. "We should go," reasoned the blonde meister. "Got an early morning tomorrow." 

"Of course," agreed Rebecca right away. "Sorry to have kept you this long." 

Maka showed her a warm smile. "Don't be," she assured the other woman. "I really enjoyed our talk. We'll gladly come again - if you would have us." 

The older woman mirrored her expression. "Anytime," she confirmed. Rebecca also got up to see her new friends off. Together, they moved toward the front door. "I'll be in touch," she claimed while the Evans stepped into the cold outside. "Good night." 

"Good night," repeated Maka before turning away and descending the tiny stairs in front of the house. 

Soul gave Rebecca a respectful nod and followed after his meister. The instant that stupid door fell shut, he released a deep breath. "Holy shit, I want to die," muttered the weapon, able to stop pretending at last. 

Though Maka didn't slouch forward like her partner, her attitude also changed. In her case, the cheerful facade was replaced by boiling anger. "Be quiet, you baby," she grumbled. "Where do you get off leaving me with those old women, anyway?! If anyone has a right to complain, it's me!" 

So much for not arguing outside of their house. Granted, nobody seemed to be around. "Lon asked me to go, remember?" retorted the weapon of their team while they began the short walk home. "Fuck did you want me to do about that?!" 

"Decline!" yelled Maka, acting as if that should've been obvious. She took a second to gather herself. "What did you talk about, anyway? He was being weird after you came back." 

Soul snickered. "This and that," he explained. "About you, and how you used to have a drinking problem. Just guy stuff." 

Her jaw hit the floor. "What?" exclaimed the blonde meister, glaring daggers at her partner. "Why?! What is wrong with you?!" 

"Why'd you tell him about my family?!" snapped Soul instead of answering her questions. "Are you dumb?" 

"I told him that you used to play the piano," clarified Maka, audibly suppressing mounting fury. "Nothing more. And tomorrow, I'm gonna tell him that you're a filthy liar!" 

Once more, Soul responded with mocking laughter. "Good luck with that," he taunted. "It'll be your word against mine - and one of us is a known addict." 

The girl stopped walking, turned to her husband, and got right up in his face. "I am not an addict!" she growled through gritted teeth. Maka backed off a small distance. "Maybe I will tell them about your family," she suggested, her tone both casual and bitter. Her face resumed that repulsive, staged kindness. "Or, better yet, why don't I just introduce them to your brother? I'm sure he'd love to see where you've ended up." 

Try as he might, Soul couldn't stop himself from getting angry. Family had always been a sore spot for him. "Leave Wes out of this," he demanded. 

"Why should I?" asked Maka, a taunting edge to her smirk. "You told those people that I'm an alcoholic. Only seems fair that I would do the same to Wes." An idea seemed to strike her. "Or that you hit me? I dunno yet." 

It took Soul a great deal of effort to remain calm. Calmish. "That's a lie," he spat, louder than intended. "I've never done anything to you!" 

"Yeah, and I don't drink!" insisted Ms Evans. "So what does it matter?!" 

Her partner hesitated. Two paths branched off from that moment. Depending on his next words, Soul might have been able to salvage the situation. He could apologize, calm down, and go home. And for what? To have another unremarkable night, and then another horrible day tomorrow? Anything was better than more depressing monotony. Driven by his disdain for their current situation, the weapon chose to go the other route. "It's a matter of time," he quipped, eyes shut and hands in his pockets. "You'll start drinking sooner or later. Like father like daughter, right?" 

Peeking past his lids, Soul found a shocked look on the face of his meister. Her mouth opened and closed several times without producing any intelligible sounds, while her eyes slowly narrowed to thin, furious lines. "You-" she stuttered, breathing heavily. "I'm gonna- You-" 

The angrier Maka became, the better Soul felt. Her fury was like nectar. Now that he'd had a taste, there was simply no way he could stop. It wouldn't be easy to top that last remark, but the weapon of their team had one more card to play. "At least Spirit was there for you," he mused before yawning. "Not like your deadbeat mother." 

Shock, insecurity, and hesitation vanished from Maka's expression, becoming cinders for pure frenzy. Stripped of her common sense, the girl clutched Soul's collar with such force, the old fabric nearly tore. Said weapon struggled to breathe, but he didn't feel scared. All Soul felt was anticipation. A desperate need for more. He couldn't help smiling, even as he was dragged into the shadows between two nearby houses. 

A hand to his throat, Maka pinned him against the wall. "Take that back," she ordered, her hand twitching with every word. Her even, slow cadence spoke to an insurmountable rage inside. The girl got so close to her partner, he could feel her breath on his face. "You're going to take that back, Soul." 

The knuckles of her right hand dug into Soul's windpipe. The pain was ecstasy. Starved for breath, an unhinged grin came over his face. Though he nearly choked in the process, the weapon laughed derisively. "Make me!" he wheezed, meeting her eyes with a challenging look.  

He hadn't seen her this angry in a long, long time. Her grip remained tight and her eyes merciless. For a second, Soul actually thought she might strangle him. Instead, Maka suddenly grabbed her husband by the balls - literally. She wordlessly brought her left hand down to his crotch and clutched his crown jewels through the thin fabric. Shocked, Soul exhaled sharply, but he was given no time to reconsider. The delicate hands of Maka Albarn had already begun squeezing her partner's most delicate parts. "Take it back," she repeated, eerily calm.

Her fit only pushed Soul further. He couldn't wait to see how far she would take this! He hadn't felt this alive in ages! Between the excitement of it all and her hand on his genitals, Mr Evans was powerless to prevent himself from becoming erect, but he didn't even feel embarrassed. "No," he retorted, grinning defiantly. 

A single chuckle escaped Maka's lips. Then a few more and, finally, she was howling with sadistic laughter. When it subsided, her grip tightened even further. Both hands applied more and more force until Soul could neither endure the pain nor get much oxygen. "Take. It. Back!" growled the blonde meister, her forehead touching that of her weapon. 

Soul broke into an outright coughing fit. He wheezed and hacked and spat, but Maka didn't so much as budge. As much as Soul wanted to push her even further, his survival instincts soon took over. "Fine!" he forced out in between desperate gasps for air. "Your mother- Your mother's great!" 

But Maka didn't move. She was happy to watch her partner squirm, wearing a malicious grin of her own. Soul clawed at her face - and drew no reaction. Only when he'd begun to feel seriously lightheaded did she finally back off. "You're right," agreed Maka while she released the neck of her dear husband. "She is." The girl sounded very pleased. When her other hand let go of his crotch, Maka grimaced. "Are you-" she questioned, looking down in visible disgust. "God, you're so gross," grumbled the blonde meister, wiping that hand off on her dress. "Gonna jerk off to this later?" 

Soul had to catch his breath before he could even say anything back. "Maybe I will," he scoffed, shameless, once his lungs allowed him to. "You're the one who grabbed my dick." 

The girl just kept on cleaning her hand, acting as though it'd been stained by some invisible corruption. "It's the only language you speak," she muttered, staring down at her tainted fingers. Maka took one more deep breath, shook her head, and - just like that - regained her composure. "It doesn't matter," she mumbled. "Let's compare notes. What did you find out about Lon?" 

Playtime looked to be over. Soul could feel boredom return already. Yawning, the weapon of their team resumed walking. "Nothing much," he explained. "Guy is, like, forty. Kind of an introvert. His wife bullies him into attending those events. Sound familiar?" 

"No," claimed Maka. "It doesn't." She looked over to her partner, clearly unsatisfied with his report. "Is that all you have? You do remember the goal here, don't you?" 

Discussing this shit out here struck Soul as questionable. Fortunately, they soon made it back to their disagreeable residence. "Yeah, no shit I remember," he stated, waiting for his partner to open the door. When that door had closed behind them, he continued. "I just think it's stupid. You can't honestly believe there's some weird cult hiding out here." 

Maka freed her hair from its constraints and haphazardly dumped her purse into a corner near the door. "What I think is irrelevant," she elaborated, dragging herself up the ancient staircase that led toward their bedroom. "Kid thinks there is, so we're going to look into it." 

"Keep lying to yourself," taunted Soul, going after her. "Kid just wanted to get rid of us and you know it, too. He's gonna let us rot here." 

The girl stopped moving. She went quiet for a second, before snapping at her partner. "Do you ever stop talking?!" yelled Maka. "He's not- I just- You're so fucking-" she stammered, stumbling over her own words. Ultimately, she just grabbed her weapon by his arm. "We're going to sleep," announced Ms Evans, dragging her partner up the stairs.

Too tired to protest, Soul let her. "Do I get to take my clothes off at least?" he wondered as he was being pulled into the bedroom. "Or brush my teeth?" 

Still in her dress, Maka let herself crash onto the medieval bedding that both of them had been sleeping in for the past two weeks. Still in her grasp, Soul went down alongside her. "No..." muttered the meister of their team, arms wrapped tightly around her make-believe husband and pouting like a little girl. "Just- Just stay like this for a bit..." 

Soul returned the gesture, putting one of his arms around his surprisingly fragile partner. For a while now, life hadn't been easy for either of them. They'd be right back to fighting in just a couple of hours, too. To yelling, arguing, and assaulting each other. Right then, though, the Evans enjoyed a temporary truce. A momentary reprieve from the agony they had come to call life.