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Abstergo

ABSTERGO* SasuSaku fic inspired by Chapter 693

It’s been a very long time since I wrote any SasuSaku based on the canon, manga universe. This one shot is inspired by the latest Naruto chapter, 693, in which Sasuke places Sakura under genjutsu to stop her from following him and Naruto and interfering with their battle. Warning – major angst.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

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abs.tergo - Latin - (verb)

1. To banish, expel, dispel

2. Wipe off, clean away, cleanse

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She saw her death at his hands.

It happened in a heartbeat. One moment, she had been hopelessly professing her love – so pitifully, so desperately – and the next, he had struck, with all the swiftness and callous brutality of the lightning element he so proficiently commanded. She had merely blinked – and he had been there in an instant, surging forward in graceful, fluid motion towards her.

Her startled brain had only a fraction of a second to register just how close he suddenly was - before indescribable pain exploded behind her eyes, staining her vision to red. It was agonising. Crippling. A level of pain she hadn’t thought it was even physically possible for the human body to endure, much less survive.

But of course, that was the entire point; she wasn’t meant to survive. Sakura saw her death - but even as his hand stabbed with ruthless force through her chest, spearing through flesh to puncture her heart, rupturing the organ beyond repair and shattering her entire existence to fragmented pieces - all she could see were those haunting, tragic eyes.

Mismatched, unfamiliar – yet still achingly his – holding her captive to her last, raggedly drawn breaths.

She saw the way they lowered after a moment, as if refusing to meet hers – as if incapable. And all she had been able to think about, then, as her lungs had rattled from the blood rapidly pooling into them, were those last, torturous words that echoed almost tauntingly in her ears.

‘You really are… damned annoying.’

Those five words hurtled her mind back four years into the past, flung her into her twelve year old self’s body again, to a cool, early-autumn night, under a starry, midnight sky. To a cobbled-stone path, and the sound of sniffling sobs and the feel of her voice breaking with emotion as she’d pleaded with him, with every fibre of her being, to stay by her side.

Those words dragged her back to the moment when he had finally shifted to angle an almost sardonic glance over his shoulder at her. To the moment those lips, ever set in a firm, serious, unyielding line, had finally relaxed into a slight, amused smirk that had caused her breath to catch in her throat.

‘You really are… annoying.’

They’d taken her back, to the memory of his presence and warmth, as he’d stood so close behind her.

‘Sakura.’

An excruciating pause, one she had regretted ever since – because she should have used those last few seconds of silence to move, to act, to turn around, to throw her arms around him – but instead, every muscle in her body had locked, frozen her in position – a helpless prisoner to the quiet, silky smoothness of his voice.

‘…Thank you.’

And just like that night, all her present self could think about was the slight, almost pained smirk he had given her this time; so different to the last - yet it had accompanied almost identical words.

His parallel response to her second confession had whispered assuredly to her that as astounding and impossible as it was, he recalled that night with as much indisputable clarity as she did.

And he’d permitted her no more than a mere second to acknowledge the weight and significance of that realisation - and what it had to mean that he remembered-a mere second alone to feel her heart leap and her stomach flutter – before he had lunged in for the kill.

The physical trauma, however, of having a hole torn in her chest as if her body was nothing more than paper was nothing compared to the mental and emotional anguish that followed the realisation that it was Uchiha Sasuke - the boy she had loved so desperately, for what had felt like her entire life – that was the one to stop Sakura’s heart beating.

“S… Sasu-ke… kun…” his name fell in a senseless whisper from her lips one last time, before the tangy taste of copper filled her mouth and began to choke her.

It was only fitting, in a way; she thought numbly to herself - as he wrenched his arm out from the fatal location in which he had impaled her, with ruthless, merciless force - that she would meet her end at his hands.

For he had already killed her so many times before. For every time he had left her side, left her far behind, and slipped further and further away from her, traversing increasingly darker paths that she could not follow, she had died a thousand deaths.

This was merely the final one. The most absolute.

And as her trembling knees collapsed under her - sending her crumpling to the rocky ground like a lifeless puppet clipped of its strings - Sakura’s mind broke under the unbearable strain of the torturous knowledge that her greatest nightmare had come into full fruition.

Dying, leaving the world behind, leaving him… without being able to pull her troubled, former teammate from the oozing tides of darkness that were swallowing him up, even now, dragging him deeper and deeper into sinister depths that he would not allow her to reach.

Failing before she could save him.

As her eyes closed, she saw his beautiful face – the face that had enslaved her to such a wretched, cruel fate - drift through her fogging mind one final time. She saw, once more, the almost bitter, rueful smirk he had angled over his shoulder at her, split seconds before he had so viciously attacked without warning. And Sakura almost completely surrendered to the blackness, as the searing pain in her crushed heart and body begun to ebb, at last, into the merciful nothingness of death.

Her body and soul destroyed by the trauma of meeting her demise at the hands of the very man she loved more than anything else in the world, Sakura almost succumbed – but then she unexpectedly heard his voice whisper fleetingly, distantly, inside her head.

Like a passing breeze, like the slightest of brushes, it spoke to her, a brief caress.

Hate me, Sakura, it willed.

The words seeped through her brain like venom, seeking to impose their iron command on her consciousness and authority over her thoughts and senses. They sought to bend, to warp, to erase and alter and grotesquely disfigure emotions, to secure absolute obedience.

That was when something finally snapped, near audibly, in Sakura’s mind. That was when she realised and she knew. And suddenly, her mind was fighting back, screaming and clawing and battling against the steely chains that contained her.

Never! I never will!

And that was when – with frightening strength – the furious fire of her chakra network roared into being inside her, flaring so brightly and blindingly and with such abrupt, inextinguishable intensity that its sheer force warded back the encroaching shadows, singing and burning them until nothing else was left but righteous, pure light.

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Hatake Kakashi’s dejectedly bowed head lifted at the thoroughly unexpected sound of the young woman suddenly stirring beside him. He blinked in astonishment; sharply, he sucked in a breath, not daring to hope it was possible.

But as his awed gaze flew to rest onto her slender form, he saw that it was true; Haruno Sakura was breaking out of Uchiha Sasuke’s genjutsu. Breaking free from the highest level of illusionary technique, which Kakashi knew, for a fact, Sasuke had slammed into her with the sole intention of keeping her down and out of the way.

“Sakura!” Kakashi reached for the rose-haired girl, gently placing a hand atop her left shoulder. The tense lines marring the smooth skin of her forehead openly conveyed the violent, internal struggle raging within her mind as she fought to dispel the illusion inside which the last of the Uchiha had tried to imprison her.

“Interesting,” Otsutsuki Hagoromo remarked as he observed her. “Genjutsu cast by the rinnegan is much more potent than its Sharingan form. A remarkable young woman she must be, to be able to free herself from its mental shackles.”

A surge of fondness and pride swelled inside Kakashi’s chest as he watched the only female member of his team battle to regain consciousness. Yes; there was no question about it. She certainly was remarkable.

Come on, Sakura! He silently urged. He knew she had the strength to do it; the purity of her feelings surely could not lose to the chaotic darkness of Sasuke’s will. Kakashi believed in her – in how much she had grown and how hard she had fought to earn her position as a respected kunoichi in her own right within the Team 7 dynamic, from under the shadows of two of the most naturally gifted and powerful shinobi Konoha had ever produced.

And he felt his eyes sting, as she released a sudden, painful gasp, and her green, green eyes flew open at last, disorientated, unfocused, brimming with tears but awake.

“A remarkable woman, indeed,” Hagoromo repeated.

“Sakura,” Kakashi gingerly helped her to sit up, supporting her weight somewhat awkwardly as she leant back against him. “Are you alright?”

His heart constricted when she simply wept in response, floods and floods of sobbing tears that only caused the bitter disappointment in his chest at the way things had unravelled to intensify.

If only he had tried harder to talk sense into Sasuke, all those years ago.

If only he had paid more attention to training Naruto.

If only he had been better able to protect Sakura from the same depth of misery he personally knew unrequited love could so cruelly bestow – instead of feeding her false promises that everything would go back to how it had been.

Perhaps it was only fitting for someone so short-sighted, Kakashi sorrowfully found himself thinking, that he had lost the powerful eyes Obito had gifted to him.

The guilt of his past failures and present uselessness was like a crushing burden on his shoulders. He could do nothing and say nothing – only watch, powerless and defeated, as Sakura cried woefully into her palms.

He could only guess what distressing image Sasuke had chosen to inflict upon her as he’d cast the genjutsu – one certainly harrowing enough to leave her in such a dispirited state. He swallowed thickly, the same anger that had prompted him to confront Sasuke immediately after he’d knocked poor Sakura out burning in his chest once again. The unstable boy’s unjustifiable treatment of a selflessly dedicated girl who had only ever wanted to give herself entirely to him was completely unacceptable. Sasuke had crossed the line the moment he had attempted to take her life – the same life he had always so valiantly protected in the simpler days before he’d defected from Konoha.

Sakura had shed blood, sweat and tears for the young Uchiha, risking her life on numerous occasions, pushing her body to its limits repeatedly. Her devotion to him was absolute, unwavering. The kind of patient, pure devotion that he knew Sasuke would be hard tested to find in anyone else. It pained Kakashi, to see her hurting so much because of the heartless actions of someone so ungrateful, so unworthy of her affections. But he knew, only too well, that love was an emotion that could not simply be switched off or discarded, the way Sasuke seemed to so adamantly and foolishly believe.

Suddenly, Sakura stopped crying. Just like that, the tears ceased. Sniffling, she lowered her hands and wiped at her red-rimmed eyes. The clarity and focus had returned to her gaze – but her expression remained strained with anguish.

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei,” she murmured, taking her own weight again. “I’ll be fine, now.”

“Sakura,” he said. He thought briefly of the unkind, disrespectful words Sasuke had voiced about her feelings for a moment – then decided she didn’t need to know about them. Instead, he informed her, “They’ve gone. All we can do now is wait and hope that Naruto can make him see sense.”

She was silent for a long minute, her head bowed. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet. A concerned Kakashi noted the way her body seemed to tremble – the after-effects of the genjutsu still lingering.

Sakura stared ahead at the empty, rocky plain ahead of them. Then her eyes rose to the sky, where she noted the ominous storm clouds gathering.

“After the rain,” she said quietly, “comes the sun.”

“…” Kakashi’s eyes lowered. Still, she held onto hope. His eyebrows drew together, pained. There was no doubt that he believed in Naruto and his resolve.

The question was - could he trust that Sasuke would finally recognise the errors of his ways and withdraw from the cloak of irrationality that had him shrouded in its dense grasp before he mortally wounded Naruto – or himself?

It alarmed Kakashi that he couldn’t quite be sure. Sasuke seemed to be so far gone…

“Don’t worry, Kakashi-sensei.” As if sensing his uncertainty, Sakura turned to him, a small smile curving her lips. His eyes lifted to her, his own mouth twitching underneath his mask at the irony of the situation.

How the tables had turned. Now she was the one reassuring her old teacher.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she went on with conviction. “I’m going to make sure,” she added softly.

His amusement immediately vanished, replaced with instant alarm. “Sakura,” he warned sternly. “There’s a reason why Sasuke placed you under genjutsu. He knew you’d try to follow. Don’t do anything reckless!”

But Sakura didn’t seem to hear him. She was staring ahead again. He caught the familiar, steely glint in her eyes, the way her jaw suddenly set and how her hands curled into tight fists. He recognised that look – the fiery determination and resolve. And it frightened him, to realise what it was she had already settled on doing, knowing that he hadn’t the strength or chakra reserves left to stop her.

“This isn’t like back then, on the hospital roof,” Kakashi went on almost desperately, his words pleading for her to see reason. Even when a part of him knew it was hopeless. Just like her teammates, Sakura was infuriatingly stubborn. “With their power and abilities, Sakura… if you were to get in the way-” he broke off, the remainder of the thought too terrible to articulate.

Last time, he had been able to protect Sakura, been physically able to prevent Naruto and Sasuke from causing a tragedy that would have crushed them both. This time, however, he knew he could not.

“Don’t worry, Sensei,” Sakura assured him once more, her expression hardened. Grim. “I’ll make sure they come back.” She lifted her right fist, as she pledged, “Both of them.”

And with that, before he could say anything else to dissuade her, she bolted forward, away from the safety of his side.

His pounding heart leapt fearfully into his throat as horror washed over him. No! He’d already lost everything once before. He couldn’t, again!

He couldn’t lose all three of them!

“Don’t, Sakura!” he yelled, scrambling onto his feet, managing only several pitiful steps before his body once again gave up on him, forcing him back to his knees. “Damn it!” he hissed in frustration, looking up just in time to see her back disappearing further away into the horizon. Panic exploded inside him. “No! SAKURA! Come back!”

Her words echoed torturously in his ears – the last words, he realised with a dawning sense of dread, he might ever hear her utter.

‘I’ll make sure they come back. Both of them.’

He didn’t doubt the sincerity of her promise. But as she completely vanished beyond his line of sight, Kakashi frantically wondered at what cost she would deliver it.

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The more the fight wore on and the more wounds they both sustained, the more exhaustion began to creep over Sasuke. Already worn out from the previous, lengthy battle they’d waged with Kaguya, he felt every muscle in his body scream in protest and resistance as he once again channelled a stream of Chidori into his left palm.

This was it, he knew, as he watched Naruto summon a rotating orb of his own signature Rasengan attack opposite him. He could feel his reserves dwindling into their lowest limits. He had next to nothing left.

This would be the final clash. It was almost nostalgic, he thought, one corner of his mouth tilting in what wasn’t quite a wry smirk – for he was far too tired to managed one – that despite their spoilt wealth of newfound abilities, they would both call upon their original techniques for the last collision.

Their intense, deadly scuffle had spanned over an hour, blown off rocks and debris from the mountains around them. The black flames of Amaterasu still crackled in the locations Sasuke had directed them. Whenever he’d felt he was finally getting the upper hand, Naruto had pulled out a last-second response. He’d met and matched everything Sasuke had thrown at him – and vice versa.

They’d fought and fought, and the longer it dragged out, the more Sasuke had realised that Naruto’s words were starting to get under his skin. Like iron pellets, they hailed down upon his armour, chipping and chipping and chipping tirelessly away, leaving weeping, narrow chinks that were starting to worryingly widen.

Sasuke swallowed thickly. No, he thought furiously. He would bring about his revolution! He owed it to the Uchiha Clan – to his mother, his father, to Itachi – to ensure the ninja world was reformed. And that could only be done under his rule as Hokage!

He was not going to let Naruto take that away from him – even when a small part of him was starting to lose the will to continue – was starting to question whether it was all really even worth it.

The part of him that was so exhausted – physically, mentally, emotionally – the part that just wanted to give in, to run straight into the path of Naruto’s whistling hurricane attack and succumb to the permanence of death.

Because at least, in death, he would no longer feel the aching burden of the pain he had already shouldered beyond his limits; at least, in death, he would no longer have to think.

The more he contemplated it, the more his body yearned for it.

Naruto’s eyes widened. He saw the barely perceptible sag in Sasuke’s posture that openly betrayed his fatigue. And still, he refused to give up hope or belief.

“You know I’m right, Sasuke!” he shouted across at the young man he still considered his best friend, his brother. “You know this is madness! I warned you once before; if we do this, we both die! We don’t have to take this final step! Let me help you!”

“Shut up, Naruto!” Sasuke snarled, the stream of electrical energy screeching more loudly in defiant response. “I don’t need your help!” He reared back to strike. Naruto’s heart shrank at the cold, unbridled rage and seething denial he glimpsed in those mismatched eyes.

“I don’t need ANYONE!” Sasuke screamed – and then he lunged at full speed, straight at the blond, his left arm extended, lightning energy flaring and hissing destructively at his palm.

“SASUKE!” Naruto yelled, equally as frustrated. So it had come to this after all – he’d stop Sasuke with his own life!

The cyclone orb in his hand picked up speed until it reached full momentum and destructive force. Naruto hurtled himself forward, extending his right arm in a motion that mirrored Sasuke’s, his pulse thundering as he prepared himself for the inevitable end – and the explosion of pain that would accompany their last collision.

He was ready. In his mind, he had already prepared for this outcome, a long time ago.

Their ears were filled with the deafening shrieks of their elemental attacks. Yet somehow, over the howling of wind and the crackling of lightning – they still heard her cry.

“STOP IT! NOW!”

Naruto’s widened eyes met Sasuke’s in a look of abject, wordless horror. His gaping lips were moving – but Sasuke didn’t hear his words.

All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. Nothing could have prepared him for the devastating way his heart lurched at the realisation that she had somehow, against all the odds, managed to dispel his genjutsu.

It was impossible; he scoffed disbelievingly to himself, utterly stunned as he finally caught sight of her slight form, racing directly into the path of their attacks like an incoming, targeted missile – just as she had done at the age of twelve.

Déjà vu slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs as the same, senseless panic that had crippled him back then overtook him once again.

Except this time, it was even more frightening in its intensity.

Because this time, he knew she was alone – and neither Kakashi, nor anyone else, could redirect the unstoppable force of their attacks.

How? How? He was enraged at himself, at her for her reckless, annoying stupidity. What had he done wrong?!

“SAKURA-CHAN!” Naruto’s frightened, hysterical scream was blood-curdling. “NO! GET OUT THE WAY- WE CAN’T STOP-”

He heard someone else yell at her, in a tone full of such sheer desperation, that it shocked Sasuke to register that it was his own voice shouting.

“Sakura, MOVE!”

But he could see that as always, she had absolutely no intention of listening to him. She continued forward, her eyes burning bright like luminous green flames. The tears that had plagued them at twelve were non-existent. All Sasuke saw instead was a fierce, fiery resolve.

And he realised then, from the pure determination in her features – that there had been absolutely nothing wrong with the genjutsu he had cast. She was there, through no fault of his; he’d shown her the image of what he had known for a fact had been her greatest nightmare – her murder at his hands - in the hopes of breaking her mind, of making her detest him, the way he deserved to be hated, after every deplorable thing he had ever done to hurt her.

He’d intended for his genjutsu to keep her down until their battle was over – to prevent her from doing precisely what was happening at that very moment. Because he had anticipated Sakura’s careless intervention – and that was why he had felt it necessary to disable her. For her own safety – to protect her from him. Sasuke had specifically programmed the illusion to automatically dispel at his return – or Naruto’s. Because one of them, he had reasoned, had to make it out alive.

He just hadn’t quite bargained on Sakura’s natural genjutsu know-how manifesting itself so powerfully. He’d hit her with the strongest illusion he could – what else could he have done? He thought that fate was cruelly coming full circle and mocking him, because she had not only actually managed to break out of the mental prison, but had arrived just in time to launch her body between them once again.

“I WON’T LET YOU KILL EACH OTHER!” she screamed, raising her arms as if to ward them both back. “STAND DOWN! NOW! BOTH OF YOU!”

Everything seemed to happen in sickening slow motion, then – Sasuke watched, powerless to stop the momentum of his hurtling body, powerless to call his chakra back in time, as she arrived directly between them at the precise point of impact.

Except Naruto, in one last-gasp, mighty effort, managed to jerk himself marginally to his left, to graze the bulk of his attack just short of her left shoulder. The hurricane cyclone flew from his palm, striking the ground where it exploded, causing rock and debris to crack all around them as the blond slammed sickeningly into the ground, stomach first. He lay there, dazed, unable to divert Sasuke – or help Sakura.

The blood in Sasuke’s veins froze and icy fear prickled down his spine. Dread knotted itself in his stomach as he attempted to do the same as Naruto had. But he couldn’t shift. Not even an inch. Lightning didn’t move once aimed; his deadly element was set to strike its targeted location. In pure, mindless desperation, he tried to engage his rinnegan, to swap her position, despite knowing for a fact that his chakra reserves were all but spent. It was hopeless. He could do nothing but look on in horror, as her eyes turned to his.

And they were not filled with the anger and hatred he had so desperately wished to find, which would have been the tiniest consolation to him – but rather, they were swelling with love.

The same strength and depth of love she had professed tearfully to him, that had caused his treacherous legs to tremor and halt, that had made him realise just how dangerous she truly was in how profoundly her words and emotions were still able to reach the part of him he had believed he’d closed off forever.

Even before his hand drove lethally through her chest, Sasuke’s mind – and anything else that was left of him – shattered. Someone was screaming – he didn’t know if it was him, or her making such terrible sounds - and then pure chaos ensued, as lightning energy exploded, blinding his vision.

When the chaos ceased, Sasuke opened his eyes to find her crumpled on the ground beneath him. His hand was still embedded inside her mortally wounded chest, and her body convulsed as the remnants of the Chidori stream jagged through her system, before sizzling out.

No. His heart thundering, Sasuke yanked his arm out of her. It was stained crimson with her blood. He numbly thought that he had never seen so much blood – not since the day of his Clan’s massacre.

He scarcely even registered that his entire body was shaking.

No. No!

Her long-lashed eyes were still open – but glazed. There was no life in them – nothing but the pools of tears that were already drying from their outer corners.

Not her, his reeling mind rejected unthinkingly. Not Sakura!

His gaze had frozen onto her face. Somehow, he just couldn’t look away. The unspeakable horror of what he had done and what he had allowed to happen was suffocating, asphyxiating, made it so difficult to function, to breathe. He was silently choking on air. Choking. And at that second, all thoughts of a revolution – of anything else – evaporated from Sasuke’s head. As if he could no longer make sense of anything; as if he suddenly couldn’t remember why he had even started such a stupid, meaningless fight.

This was the innocent girl who had offered him the love he had spurned and rejected. The love his cursed self had never been worthy of, the love he thought he could never have again – and with her gone, he knew was lost to him, forever. The girl who had held his hands in the Forest of Death, allowing his fingers to near crush her delicate bones from the depth of agony he’d experienced back then as she’d held him tightly and comfortingly to her. A girl whose sheer will to find him had kept a portal open - for his wretched self - across a scorching desert, when she’d pushed her body to its absolute limits. A girl he’d sincerely thanked, who he’d left far behind, who had wanted nothing more than to look after him, to smother him with her concern, her kindness and love until all the pain and demons of his past were erased.

And now… now he had killed her. He had killed her. And this time, it was no illusion.

“Sakura… chan…” a hushed voice spoke.

Sasuke’s heart constricted excruciatingly. His gaze fell back to his bloodied hand in shocked revulsion. Inside his head, he was stunned to hear someone screaming in anguish. His inner voice. On the outside, however, he was perfectly expressionless. Motionless. Silent.

Naruto fell to his knees opposite Sasuke. With a trembling hand, he reached out to the gaping wound in her chest.

“Sasuke…” he choked, in a voice raw with emotion. “What have we done…?”

We? The urge to vocalise the internal screams intensified. What was he talking about? Didn’t Naruto realise that it was him alone who had done this? He had killed her! He had been the one unable to stop. He had been the one who had let his hatred consume and blind him!

It had taken her death to snap him out of it. But what was the use of seeing clearly at last? Self-loathing gnawed at Sasuke, burning at his insides like acid. It was far too late. He could never forgive himself.

“Sakura-chan…” Naruto’s eyes flooded with tears, as he whispered, “She- she just wanted us all back together…” His head bowed. “She didn’t want us to fight!” He leant over, and rested his head on her flat stomach, sobbing uncontrollably. “This- this wasn’t- this wasn’t how it was meant to end!” he wailed. “Damn it, it should have been me!” Weeping, he went on, “We’re so sorry, S-Sakura-chan! We’re so sorry, we’re so sorry!”

Overcome with nausea, Sasuke stumbled back up onto his feet. Without thinking, he turned dazedly away, turned his back as if in a trance, unable to stand the agony of looking at her lifeless form any longer.

Naruto was wrong. Naruto was wrong, because it shouldn’t have been Sakura, or him.

It should have been Sasuke. He was the one who deserved to die. To rot into the ground, unremembered by anyone.

Sakura… Sakura deserved death the least. Sakura, who had always been so full of life. He staggered slowly away, moving unseeingly, the will to carry on lost from his body. A world without her sunshine smiles and maddeningly annoying declarations of love was one that suddenly felt so alien to him. Things would never be the same. There was no place left for him left anywhere – no place but hell. There was no going back, no escape from the shadows in his mind, not after he’d committed such an atrocious and unpardonable crime.

There was nothing. Only her blood on his hand, on his clothes, and the crushing guilt and hatred for the person he loathed most in the world – himself.

A sharp intake of breath behind him alerted him to the fact that Naruto had noticed his half-hearted attempt at departure.

“Sasuke-!” he exclaimed, his voice shaking with fury and disbelief. “You bastard! How can you just walk away?”

The damage had already been done. What purpose was there in lingering? There was nothing else he could do. Sasuke continued to walk aimlessly onwards, finding himself strangely unable to focus on Naruto’s words.

A hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder, yanking him roughly back around. “You bastard!” Naruto yelled furiously right into his face, his fists closing tightly at the collar of Sasuke’s blood spattered top. “She loved you, and you-!” he broke off abruptly, as Sasuke stared dully back at him.

Something deep inside Naruto’s chest constricted painfully as he noted that Sasuke’s sharingan had deactivated completely. But that wasn’t what made him halt in his intended insults.

It was the staggering sight of the lone tear that rolled down Sasuke’s cheek. He seemed not to register it at all, however, for he continued to stare mutely and blankly back at Naruto.

“Sasuke…” Naruto whispered, realisation washing over him at last. “You…”

His voice trailed off for a second time. He didn’t need to finish the words. He’d already known it in his heart, all along – known that Sasuke had been lying all along, merely denying a transparent truth.

You care about her. You don’t need a reason, either.

The last Uchiha said nothing. He simply stared vacantly – the look of a defeated man who had given up on everything. A man whose enormous guilt was tearing his soul to pieces.

A man who had been completely crushed.

Naruto’s mind raced. It couldn’t end like this, he told himself frantically, his heart pounding. Not now that he knew the quarrel between them was finally over – for good.

“Wait a minute!” A sudden idea then struck him. He gasped, dizzy from the whirl of his thoughts – before dragging Sasuke abruptly back with him to Sakura’s corpse.

Sasuke watched, silently, numbly, as Naruto knelt back down beside her. He then glanced up, a frown of impatience on his debris and blood-marred features.

“Sasuke, come on!” he urged. “Give me your hand!”

Sasuke swallowed back the bitter taste in his throat. It was hopeless. She was gone. He couldn’t comprehend what Naruto was trying to do, or why he was suddenly looking so foolishly hopeful. The idiot had always been hopelessly naïve. Didn’t he understand that Sasuke had simply had enough? Why wasn’t he angry at him? Why wasn’t he pummelling his face into the ground and taking out his fury and grief over Sakura’s death on him? Sasuke thought that had their situations been reversed, had Naruto been the one to still Sakura’s heart, then Sasuke wouldn’t have hesitated for even a second to pulverise him into oblivion.

When he didn’t respond, Naruto reached out and tugged forcefully on his wrist. Sasuke finally knelt down, overcome once more with nausea and unbearable guilt at the sight of Sakura’s ashen face again.

“Naruto-” he managed to utter at last. His voice sounded unfamiliar to him. Alarmingly hollow, even by his standards.

“Just trust me on this!” Naruto interrupted. He positioned Sasuke’s bloodied hand above Sakura’s chest, palm-side upwards – the palm bearing the Yin Crescent. Meeting Sasuke’s empty gaze, he said, “The Sage gave us these seals for a reason.” Holding up his own palm to display the Yang Sun symbol, he exclaimed, “Let’s do this!”

Slapping his hand into Sasuke’s, bringing their seals together, he yelled, “RELEASE!”

Sasuke didn’t say it – he didn’t have to. Somewhere deep inside him, his still beating heart pulsated with the word.

A mighty gust of wind immediately shot up from the point at which their hands connected, accompanied by a great explosion of blinding light. Sasuke and Naruto shielded their vision, bracing themselves, and as the mystical, sacred energy of their chakras blended and tried to push their hands apart from sheer force, Naruto’s fingers closed more tightly around Sasuke’s hand, pressing it down more firmly against Sakura’s chest.

“SASUKE!” he shouted, over the deafening howl of air. “DON’T LET GO!”

Sasuke squeezed his eyes shut against the rushing wind funnelling around them and finally gripped back.

__________________________________

The riotous, blinding din seemed to last forever. When it eventually subsided, Sasuke’s ears were left buzzing and his head spinning. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He wasn’t as foolish as Naruto to believe that anything had actually changed.

He heard a brief, choked laugh. The crushing hold on his hand released. He felt fingers grip his wrist, turning his palm so it rested on Sakura’s chest.

It was strange, Sasuke thought distantly, how it almost felt warm. How it almost seemed to move-

Unbidden, his heavy heart palpitated violently inside him, a thoroughly startling and unsettling sensation. His thoughts grew deadly still – and every muscle in his body froze.

“You can open your eyes now, Sasuke,” Naruto chuckled teasingly.

With painstaking slowness, the last Uchiha’s eyelids dared to lift. Immediately his breath hitched in his throat, the air fragmenting in his lungs as he blinked down incredulously at the most beautiful and damned annoying sight he was certain he had ever seen.

Mismatched irises met shining apple green. And the emotional, trembling smile that curved her lips as she gazed up at him with tear-filled eyes was nothing, nothing compared to the explosion of conflicting emotions that ricocheted chaotically inside him, as a thoroughly overwhelmed and staggered Sasuke registered that she was alive.

But how? He suddenly didn’t care for an explanation. The blood had disappeared entirely from his hand – as if the light of chakra fusion had cleansed it. Sakura’s right palm lifted to rest lightly – almost shyly – atop his fingers. And when she spoke his name, it was like liquid sunshine, thawing the ice, flooding through the numbness and pain and guilt and leaving behind nothing but a deep, throbbing ache in his chest that he just couldn’t comprehend.

Not at that moment. Not right then. But in time, he would.

“Sasuke-kun,” she whispered.

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writingshiz · 5 years

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note: set during sasuke retsuden includes: butt stuff

when sasuke goes to see sakura that evening, she’s just finishing up with a patient. it’s still too early for them to head down to the library, so he came to spend some time with her beforehand. once sasuke is certain they’re alone, he steps out from his hiding spot and locks the door.

sakura doesn’t turn to him. instead, she heads towards the cabinet and puts away her most recent file.

“your prisoner number?”

it takes sasuke a moment to realize she’s talking to him. “what?”

“your prisoner number?” she repeats. she glances at him over her shoulder with a familiar glint in her eyes that makes sasuke tense. he knows that look.

his mouth feels dry as he replies, “487.”

she hums in response. “please sit down on the bed for now.”

Keep reading

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writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Strawberry Chap 4

Eren was still shaking as he gently pulled out of Annie's body, struggling to keep from slumping to the ground, leaning against the wall as he adjusted his clothing. It hadn't taken long for either of them—how long had it been since he had seen her fall apart like that? How long had it been since he had felt her crumble in his arms?

He raked a hand through his disheveled hair. "Fuck, Annie, what the hell are we doing?"

Annie looked away, shrugging as she adjusted her skirt. "I'm pretty sure you know what we were doing."

Eren gritted his teeth, his entire body burning with shame. "This was a mistake."

Annie pulled her hood back over her head, hiding her expression. "Maybe." She turned, walking away from him nonchalantly, as if she hadn't just twisted him up, as if he hadn't just been inside of her. "Go running back to Mikasa. She'll make you feel better."

Fuck.

"Annie…wait." Eren struggled. "Is that why you're doing this?" Shut up, he told himself, tried to stop talking desperately. "Because you want to get back at Mikasa for getting the job you wanted? Because you hate her?" Am I just a knife for you to stab her with? Do you really love me, Annie?

She took another step forward and stopped, still facing away. "You'll think what you want." She looked up at the grey sky. "But if I really hated her, Eren, I'd let her marry you."

The words struck him in the gut—prevented him from speaking as she walked away from him, only made him slump against the damp wall weakly.

How the fuck was he going to fix this? How was he going to face Mikasa now? Gods, it was probably written all fucking over him and he couldn't, couldn't go back in there, couldn't stomach the thought of facing her after what he had done.

But how long had he been out here?

He smoothed his clothing as best as he could, grimacing at the damp spots on his jeans, didn't want to think of what they'd been rolling over. He lifted his phone off the ground, saw the crack at the very corner. He was checking if it was still working, tried to hide the shaking of his hands, when he opened the door and looked up—and froze.

They'd been up against the wall, and they'd moved away from each other so quickly that Eren hadn't quite seen but—and it was laughable—he would have sworn that their mouths were touching.

But that couldn't be.

Mikasa wouldn't do something like that—Mikasa loved him. Him.

"What…" His brain wasn't quite turning, his shame forgotten as the sharp knife of anger slid into his chest. "Mikasa, what's going on?"

She blinked rapidly and he watched her adjust her pencil skirt self-consciously. "I…fell."

There was a split second of static, of awkwardness hanging in the air, as if her lie was obvious and he was struggling to decide whether to call her out on it or let it be. But his mind denied what he'd thought he saw. Mikasa obviously hated the guy from the get go. How could that change within a few minutes? Besides, Mikasa had never had eyes for anyone but him. Her devotion was concrete.

Wasn't it?

It wasn't as if he had any right to question her after what he'd done. It was probably his own guilt skewing his thoughts.

Eren pushed his hands into his pockets, his tongue thick. "You…hardly ever fall."

Levi stepped forward. "The move I made was a little too much for her." He bent, grabbing her small clip and tossing it at her. He faced Eren now, his glare in full force. "Oi, didn't I tell you to turn off your phone?" Levi walked by him—and paused just as he was about to.

Levi leaned in towards Eren, speaking quietly while Mikasa briskly picked up her hair. "Quite a unique scent you're wearing, Eren." Levi's voice deepened. "Don't quite recall you wearing it while we were dancing earlier. Neither do I recall those scratches on your neck."

Eren felt himself go cold. "Please…please don't say anything."

Mikasa stepped forward glaring at Levi suspiciously. "Eren?"

Eren fumbled, reaching for his jacket, swallowing the poisonous guilt lingering in his mouth and throat. "I was just apologizing again. I'm sorry, it was—an important call…It won't happen again." He vowed, his mouth tight. "I think our time is up anyway." He looked at Mikasa, discreetly pulling up his hoodie. "Are you ready to go?"

She kept her gaze on Levi for several moments but he didn't look at her. "Yes."

He moved forward, prayed she didn't see the way his hands were shaking as he lifted her scarf off the ground, haphazardly wrapping it about her neck. He smiled at her hesitantly as the material covered her nose and mouth, reminding him of when they'd been children, his remorse threatening to swallow him whole. He grabbed her hand. "Let's go home." He pulled her forward, waving at Levi. "We'll be here tomorrow."

Levi said nothing as he watched them both walk out the door.

The drive home was silent, broken only by the quiet murmur of the weather report humming through the speakers. They'd just pulled onto the freeway when she saw Eren's grip on the steering wheel tighten.

"Hey, Mikasa?"

She frowned. "Yes?"

He stared out onto the street for a long time. "We're in love with each other…right?"

Mikasa opened her mouth to answer—and hesitated. She gripped the seat belt across her chest, looking out the window. "Is there…a reason you're asking this, Eren?"

She watched the tic in his jaw through his reflection in the glass. "No, I just…" He forced a stiff laugh. "I guess sometimes I just feel like you can do much better." Eren touched the back of his neck. "Much better."

She tugged her scarf up, pressing it against her still tingling mouth, tried not to think of how good the kiss had felt, how alive it had made her feel. "I can't." She looked at him now, swallowed the shame wracking her. "You're my home." She shut her eyes. "My family."

Eren met her gaze and for a moment it looked as if he was going to say something—but he paused, shaking his head and reaching for her hand instead. He linked their fingers together. "I love you too, Mikasa."

It was a strange sensation, ghostly and guilt-ridden touches lingering on their bodies.

They'd gone their separate ways after the lesson, and Eren had stumbled clumsily into his shower, washing the sweat and dirt off his skin, finding lightly forming bruises, finding thin scratches, tiny marks of her teeth over his collarbones. And even as he scrubbed his skin raw he couldn't quite forget how her skin had felt beneath his palms, the way her nails had dug into his skin, the way she'd driven him up just as hard as he'd drove her. He woke up enough times in the dead of the night with her name on his lips, enough times to reach over and grab his cracked phone, texting her Goodnight Annie like he had when they had first gotten together.

She never responded and he erased it minutes after.

And he refused to think of his actions until the morning.

Or perhaps the morning after.

Just not now. Never now.

No matter how many times Mikasa had brushed her teeth, no matter the amount of coffee or tea she drank or how many times she brushed her fingertips over her lips she still felt Levi's mouth on hers, still remembered how exquisitely he had kissed her, still felt his fingers grasping at her hips and her ribs, felt how viciously his heart had beat within his chest, her palms lingering over it greedily.

And if she woke the next morning and found a text from Levi stating the check you left me was completely fucking unnecessary she didn't wonder when he had managed to grab her phone, didn't wonder what had possessed him to punch in his number to her contacts.

She only smiled and erased the text minutes afterwards, denying him a reply.

She only knew she felt curiously light hearted for the rest of the day, a lightheartedness that she hadn't felt for a long, long time.

They kept the precarious lessons up for a while, looks and touches hidden, a burning brush of fingertips across shoulder blades, a quick breath against the pulse at their wrists. Levi made it a habit to point out how much chemistry she and Eren lacked and Mikasa always made it a point to discreetly knee his gut or brush her fingers across his lower stomach.

Either one left him equally as breathless.

And if Levi enjoyed the shivers she gave him when he dragged his lips across the back of her neck or the way her breath hitched whenever his hands grasped her hips he never said a word, only memorized the flutter of her pulse, the glares softened with the desire he tugged out of her.

They didn't notice their small habits forming, didn't notice that they had almost begun to look forward to them, had begun to learn one another, to both anticipate and dread the electricity between them.

They didn't notice how easily they seemed to fit.

Neither did Eren.

Because he was much, much too preoccupied with darker things. Preoccupied with hiding his cell phone, finding Annie in the most inconvenient of places, taking her quickly and roughly in a closet, a dressing room, in the passenger seat of his car. Preoccupied with making sure Mikasa didn't see the scratches and bruises on his skin.

Preoccupied with trying to balance everything and with trying to stop this madness.

And yes they kept these forbidden and hidden touches in the dark for a week or so—a week or so before something finally gave.

Since Levi had given Mikasa his cell number she had not—even once—contacted him.

So when he received a text from her he immediately put the dish rag down, clicking the message open and reading it in the privacy of his office. It was a link to a video and just as he finished watching the dance number he received another text from her.

I want to try that.

Levi's brows rose, stemming his amusement as he replied.

Is that a request or a demand?

The screen lit back up almost instantly.

It's what you're being paid for.

Levi leaned against the edge of his desk, hair falling over his brow as he thought. It was, he supposed, but they had paid him to teach them a wedding dance and these moves were a bit advanced for two beginners. Or, well, Eren—he was sure Mikasa could learn them in a session or two.

It's an advanced move. That might be a little too much for you and Eren will probably end up hurting himself.

He heard the front door open, Hanji's voice talking excitedly. He kicked the door shut behind him just as he received her reply.

I'd like to learn it alone. I can pay you extra if that's what you're worried about.

Levi sat in his chair, sighing. It's not. He paused before adding on the question. Are you really sure you want to try it, Mikasa?

She replied after a minute.

I wouldn't have asked otherwise.

Levi hesitated before sending her another text.

Arrive an hour earlier than usual. Without Eren.

"Easy." Levi murmured, his lips pressed to the curve of her ear. "Relax. You're too tight."

Mikasa shivered, turning her head to meet his gaze, his breath brushing against her mouth. "Just do it."

Levi huffed, his amusement a little more than strained. "Patience. I'm the instructor, Mikasa." His hand slid down her spine, urging her to bend before him. "Not you."

She arched forward, her hands slipping between her thighs and clutching at his, their fingers linking. His blue eyes caught over the chills raking over skin, pausing to enjoy the feel of her against him, her heady scent enveloping him, how sensitive she was to his touch.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded.

He bent his knees—then yanked on her hands, flipping her neatly, quickly. She landed on her heels just in time, her hands still gripped in his, crouched between his legs. He looked up across the room to the mirrored wall, catching the flicker of a smile flitting across her lips, satisfaction evident in her dark eyes.

"Good." He murmured, helping her straighten up. "Again."

She shook her head, shaking out her left foot. "My leg is cramping." She admitted and he nodded. He'd noted her leg had kept stiffening even if she'd thought she'd hid it well and he had to admire how long she'd held out.

Levi released her hands, tossing her a water bottle as he drank from his. "Satisfied?"

Mikasa removed her scarf, pressing the cold plastic against her nape as she spoke. "No." She slid the wet bottle lower. "It's almost time for Eren to arrive."

Levi glanced at the clock. "So it is." He pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit down. "Rest until then."

She looked a little wary—but sat nonetheless, watching him as he sat across the small table from her. He took another deep drink, catching the way her dark eyes flickered over his working throat. "So," He put the bottle down, leaning back against his chair. "Where did this sudden urge to learn complicated lifts come from?"

"We tried lifts over the weekend." Mikasa spoke quietly. "I did most of the lifting."

Levi cracked his neck. "You wanted to be lifted, too, I'm assuming."

Mikasa shook her head. "I didn't care either way."

Levi felt slightly irritated. "Then why ask me?"

Several drops from the bottle slid over her skin, the fading sunlight from the windows painting the droplets in gold. "I'm not afraid to hurt you."

Levi watched the way her lips circled the rim of her bottle, the beads of water that clung to her bottom lip. "You're strong." He eyed her bare arms, the defined muscles shimmering with the barest sheen of sweat. He'd pressed his hand against her stomach a few times while they'd danced, had felt the hardness there, knew she had to put herself through brutal physical discipline to keep herself in such ruthless shape. "I'm stronger."

Her eyes met his at that. "Maybe." Her eyes drifted over him. "You're also older."

Levi nodded, his eyes lingering over her damp throat, the delicate sharpness of her collarbones. Yes, she was young and he wasn't quite young himself. "Years mean experience, Mikasa." He couldn't help but feel amused at her barb. "It gives me leverage."

"You may have more years, Levi." Her lips lifted in a small smile as she pressed the tip of the bottle against her mouth again, her dark eyes roving over him pointedly. "But that doesn't mean you have more experience." She swallowed, capping her bottle. "Or that you know how to use it."

Levi bit the inside of his cheek when her phone vibrated quietly, the table thrumming beneath it. She lifted the slim device, tapping at the screen, eyes flickering as she read.

"Eren?" Levi asked.

She nodded. "He's going to be late."

"Nothing unusual." He murmured, raking his mussed hair back. They sat there in comfortable silence, Levi watching the way she slowly relaxed in her chair, her head falling back after several minutes.

"You look exhausted." There was the faintest hint of a smudge beneath her eyes, a sluggishness to her movements that he had not seen before.

"I've been working late." She admitted, pressing the bottle to her neck again. "Haven't had much time to sleep." She touched her temples.

"Headache?"

She nodded, eyes shut.

He shouldn't he knew, but he could care less. He stood, dragging her chair towards him, standing over her. She stiffened when his fingers pressed in on her temples, lashes fluttering when he massaged, his thumbs sliding to her clenched jaw. "Keep your eyes closed."

Her breath shuddered out of her. "That feels…"

"I know." He murmured. "What kind of lifts did you practice?" He slid his fingers into her hair, more to feel it than to ease her achy head.

"A lot of them." She leaned into his touch the way a cat would, his pulse quickening at the sudden rasp of her voice. "I lifted Armin with one hand."

His lips quirked up. "That's easy. He's small, isn't he?" He'd seen a photo of the three of them and the blonde boy had looked slight and frail between them both, blue eyes alight with intelligence and happiness.

She looked up at him, sounding slightly disgruntled. "I lifted Eren with one arm." Her eyes slid down his chest. "I could lift you."

She moved to stand and he snatched her wrists instead, shaking his head. "Straddle the chair." She stared at him for a moment but complied, turning to straddle the chair face forward, propping her elbows on the back of it. "You're much too pale." He resumed his massaging of her temples. "You can prove it another day." His fingers moved down her neck. "Perhaps when you're not ready to drop dead."

"Hm." She stiffened when he found a ball of nerves at the nape of her neck, shifting when he pressed into it.

"When was the last time you took time off?" He swept his thumbs down her taut shoulder blades, circling into the muscle deftly. "You're as stiff as a damn corpse."

"I have this weekend off." She moved her hair aside for him, drawing his eyes to the elegant shape of her neck and shoulders. "I can't remember the last time I took a vacation." Her breath caught when he pressed his fingers into her tight left shoulder. "I don't like being aimless."

"You could travel." Levi moved to her other shoulder, pausing as the thought occurred to him. "Have you done any traveling?"

She pressed her forehead against the wood as his hands slid down her back. "No." She paused, as if unsure if she should continue speaking. "Eren and Armin have."

He frowned a little, fingers digging into her lower back. "Why didn't you join them?" He'd always had a goal to leave the stench of the city one day, had been saving up for it for a long, long time.

"I was offered a job at a very prominent company. If I took it I needed to start right away, so I did." Her gaze lowered. "It would benefit me more in the long run. I can always travel another day."

Levi pressed into a sore muscle just above her hip, her grip on the back of the chair tightening. He'd heard Eren and Mikasa mention Armin quite a few times, a softness appearing whenever they did. He was a childhood friend, that much he'd deduced, one they were fiercely protective of. "Where did they travel?"

"Everywhere." She sounded a little strained, her back arching as he pressed the knot away.

"That's quite a bit of travelling, then." He murmured. "Do you regret not traveling with them?" He'd latch onto Nile if it meant getting away from filthy sidewalks and car fumes.

She shook her head. "That has always been more their dream than mine." She watched as his hands moved down her arms. "I've always been happy with having a family again."

A family again?

She seemed to realize her slip of the tongue, her entire body stiffening, bracing herself for the inevitable question of again? He kept massaging her arms however, willing her to relax again, moving to her wrists and palms. "You've never wanted to travel anywhere?" He threw a pointed glance to the street outside the studio. "You're content living in this filthy city for the rest of your life?"

She smiled a little, relaxing. "No. I think I'd prefer the woods." Her gaze turned inwards. "As a child I lived with my parents in a small cabin, with a garden out back. My mother and I tended to it while my father would hunt." Her smile was pitifully small. "I'd like to live in a cabin again, some day."

She pulled her hair away again as he moved back to her neck, and in curiosity he touched the small scar upon her cheek. "Where did you—?"

She caught his hand, turning her head away from his touch, their fingers tangling. They locked together reflexively, both of them stilling—but she did not pull away, her dark eyes latched onto their entwined fingers. "It was an accident." She breathed.

He watched her closely, allowing the silence to draw out anything else she wanted to say, watching the nearly imperceptible struggle within her play out.

Her thumb slid over his scarred knuckles, her throat clearing as she steered the conversation away from her. "Fighting?"

He nodded curtly. "I didn't have much. I had to protect what I did." He didn't tell her that those scars were nothing in comparison to the ones fracturing his bones, the fissures in his soul and mind. "I wasn't going to let anyone take anything else from me."

She touched her own knuckles and there he saw the faint silvery lines of once split skin. Her scars were not as prominent as his—she'd healed better than he had. "You're like me." She sounded almost disbelieving.

"Like you?" Levi enjoyed the way her fingers kept stroking his knuckles, the muscles in his arms bunching to keep from moving. Her nail caught over an ugly raised ridge atop his wrist.

"Is that why I—?" She stopped, releasing his hand and gripping the back of the chair yet again. "Is that why I'm so drawn to you?"

He wasn't sure if she realized she was speaking aloud, the question more directed at herself than him. The admittance surprised him nonetheless, shoving the edge that had appeared between his ribs when he'd first found her deeper, making him a little unsteady.

"Maybe." He struggled to tell her that he saw the same jagged lines within her, hidden beneath dark impassive eyes, the hollow places within her heart shrouded with the carefully calculated distances she kept. "God knows I want to find out." He could admit that now, his touch upon her skin warming and shifting, as if he could open her like a lock, discover if they held the same thing within them.

If they had the same missing pieces.

He touched her chin, turning her to face him as he lowered his head. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, her breath warm and shaky against his palm.

"Mikasa…" He murmured, his hands gripping the back of the chair, encircling her in his arms. She tipped her head up and back just as his mouth found hers, her lips parting for the brush of his tongue. Her mouth moved along with his slowly, deliberately, none of the fierceness of their past kisses present but just as much intensity, and as he reveled in the feel of her open mouth beneath his he found he could taste the coldness of the water she'd drank, finding the barest hint of her strawberry lip balm.

She broke the kiss, her mouth pressed to the corner of his as she tried to catch her breath. "Levi…" She twisted in her chair, gripping the front of his shirt tightly, the buttons at the top of it slipping loose, the fabric parting over his upper chest. Her mouth touched the newly exposed skin, her fingers parting the rest of his shirt as her mouth lowered over his hard stomach. Her tongue felt scorching hot, the nip of her teeth making him hiss.

He smoothed the thin straps of her shirt off her shoulders, callused hands brushing over her skin, flushed a deep rosy color.

He was shaking, he realized, his fingers threading through her hair. He tugged her hair back, tipping her mouth up to his again, parting her teeth with the tip of his tongue. How long did they have?

Her nails dragged back up his shirt, gripping his collar, bunching the fabric as he slid his hand down her stomach. Let me, he found the hem of her skirt, dragging his hand up the inside of her thigh, breathing harshly when she parted them. He caught her gaze and held it, his jaw clenching as he found much softer skin.

Let me.

"Levi." She breathed his name against his mouth, her brow furrowed as her teeth dug into his bottom lip like knives. "Wait. I can't."

He went still, his hand freezing between her legs, his other hand bunching her skirt in his fist.

The words sounded ripped from her mouth. "We shouldn't…"

He touched his forehead to hers—almost weakly—willing his hand to move away with every inch of self-control he possessed. "If that's what you want." He slid her skirt back down for her. He straightened, every muscle in his body as stiff as his words. Eren could be here any minute. Anyone could have walked in on them. He hadn't been thinking clearly.

She never let him think clearly.

"Let me know when Eren gets here." He pushed the words past his teeth. "I'll be in my office."

"Levi…"

He walked away and she let him.

"I can lift you."

"Eren—"

"Mikasa, stop." Eren bit back a curse, hating the mocking way Levi was watching them. "Just let me try. Please."

Mikasa inhaled steadily, nodding. They'd been at their wits end and she'd tried every method to cut the lift out of the dance but as soon as Eren had watched the effortless way Levi had lifted her he'd tried, and tried—and failed.

Miserably.

It wasn't that he couldn't lift her—because he could do that quite deftly—what he couldn't do was lift her,keep his posture upright and go through the correct steps, fumbling at the twist. They'd tried it all, the tension mounting with every minute that ticked by.

Levi's grim looks weren't helping much either.

Eren set his jaw determinedly, wrapping his arms around her stiffly. "Again."

She nodded reluctantly and they went through the steps robotically. He crouched, preparing to lift her—and faltered just as he raised her, his arms trembling, nearly dropping them both.

She caught her balance, catching Eren in her arms as he stumbled. "Are you hurt?" She knew she was no featherweight, knew Eren didn't weigh much more than her, that she had weighed more than him until they'd hit their early twenties. He could have pulled a muscle, hurt his back and back injuries were always—

"No." Eren gritted his teeth. "I just didn't have my footing right."

Mikasa glanced at the clock on the wall, relief and disappointment making her throat ache. "The lesson is over, Eren." She straightened, smoothing her skirt, trying to press away the wrinkles Levi's grip had made.

Even if she couldn't press away the feel of his touch.

Mikasa shook the thought away. "We still have enough time to grab everything we need tonight."

That is, if he remembered what they were supposed to do—which she very much doubted.

She pressed her lips together, ignoring Levi's suddenly watchful look at her words. It seemed she needed to remind Eren why she'd been given this weekend off. "We're supposed to—"

Eren caught her gaze, the look within them fierce, silencing her. She knew that look intimately, knew that it meant he would not give an inch.

It had been the same look he'd worn when he'd saved her life. "I can give it another try."

We've already tried.

"The lesson is over." She repeated, almost a little mulishly. She would not let him hurt himself over something as ridiculous as lifting her for a wedding dance. She did not need a dance at all and all of this extra strain had been bogging her down.

Eren exhaled, glaring at the clock as if it had offended him. "Just—one more time, Mikasa. Please."

"Give it a rest." Levi stepped forward—between them—and Mikasa stiffened at his intrusion. "You're exhausted. We'll try again tomorrow." He eyed Eren critically, almost condescendingly, his next words making Eren look pitifully disheartened. "Or perhaps we can cut the lift completely."

Mikasa cut Levi a glare. "I told you to cut the lift since the beginning."

Levi shrugged. "I thought he could do it." He caught Eren's gaze again. "My mistake."

Eren moved forward, side stepping Levi and crowding Mikasa, grasping her elbows. "We're not going to cut it. I can do this. I did it at Sasha's, remember?"

"That was a different move, Eren." Mikasa curled her fingers into his sleeves. And it had been—this was different, more rigid and precise. "If you hurt yourself—"

"Stop." Eren shook his head, tension written all over him. "If Levi can lift me—if he can lift you—so can I."

"Eren." Levi grasped his shoulder tightly, voice hard. "Enough."

Eren stilled, eyeing Levi from over his shoulder, green eyes catching on the way his fingers bit into the fabric of his shirt tightly. His voice softened but it still held its weight. "I can do this, Levi."

Mikasa moved forward, grasping Levi's wrist, tugging it away from Eren's shoulder the way one removed a cat's claws. "Fine." She nodded, catching Eren's gaze. "We'll try one more time."

Levi lifted his head, narrowing his gaze as he scanned her features. She was momentarily riveted by the dark blue color of his eyes, by the way his dark hair fell over his brow. She saw his eyes slip to her mouth, felt her pulse leap in response, the phantom touch of his lips ghosting over hers, guilt and desire lodging just behind her clenched teeth.

Levi spoke quietly, his wrist still within the circle of her slim fingers. "Don't you think you've had enough, Mikasa?" His eyes traced over her throat, lingering over the hollow where her pulse leapt up, peeking just beneath her scarf. "For today?"

Mikasa released his wrist as he pulled away and before she could respond Eren stepped forward yet again, touching her waist. "Just…one more time, okay? Then we can go."

She nodded, smiling at him tentatively. He had remembered, then, and the relief of it made her relax. "Okay."

Eren smiled at her in return, his green eyes tracing over her features curiously and Levi stepped away.

Their hands touched, positioning themselves properly, moving through the steps yet again. To her surprise it went much more smoothly, the tension that had held them in its grasp earlier slipping away as if it had never been. Eren bowed awkwardly to lift her—and she let him, her body rising up unsteadily.

Eren laughed a little as he spun her slightly, his expression triumphant. "I did it." He shook her in his excitement, breathless as he kept spinning them. "I told you I could, didn't I?"

Mikasa broke her stance, reaching down to place her hands on his broad shoulders, her scarf slipping off and onto the polished floor. She smiled, a little excited despite her earlier reservation. "You did." But he always did the nigh impossible when he set his mind to something. Nothing was ever out of his reach if he tried hard enough, and he'd proved it time and time again.

He'd given her that same sense, the sense of being untouchable, of being able to do anything—as long as she had him by her side.

Had she really been willing to endanger that for a moment of lust and passion?

Eren's cell phone rang from across the room, causing Eren's arms to buckle slightly in surprise—and his shoe caught over the scarlet fabric of her scarf. Eren hissed as he fell back, his shoulder slamming into the wall, his weight taking Mikasa down with him.

She tried to right herself but he folded in onto her, her heel accidentally digging into his foot and making him jerk forward. She twisted her foot away from his, her other heel snapping from the pressure. Her foot scraped across the hard wood, twisting her ankle harshly, the pain flaring upwards.

Eren struggled to hold onto her, but they both fell forward, hitting the ground with an audible slap. The back of her head snapped against the floor hard, pain flashing across her skull—and she heard Eren shout her name before everything blurred, her vision darkening.

There was the sound of a constant, rhythmic tapping, stirring her from her slumber.

"If you don't stop shaking your leg," A familiar voice began. "I'm going to strangle you."

The tapping quieted. "Sorry."

Her lids lifted slightly, heavily, and she saw two chairs beside her bed, Levi and Eren sitting upon them. Eren was crouched forward, hands clasped together tightly while Levi had his legs crossed, fingers gripping the handles of his chair a bit too tightly. Armin stood behind Eren, his hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"You don't have to be here." Eren raked his hair back. "You did enough by driving us to the hospital."

Hospital?

She felt the hardness of an unfamiliar bed beneath her body, the smell of antiseptic and sickness within the air. There was a light overhead, much too bright, the window beside her covered in cheap cream colored blinds.

They'd brought her to a hospital?

"Why?" Levi threw a look towards Mikasa, unnoticing of her stirring. He looked at Eren pointedly. "So you could finish her off by dropping her in the parking lot?"

Eren winced. "I didn't…"

"She's fine." Armin squeezed Eren's shoulder reassuringly, his other hand ruffling his hair like a father would a child. "No concussion—but there was some mild dehydration. Looks like she isn't taking care of herself the way she should be." Eren linked his fingers with Armin's and Eren leaned his forehead against his knuckles, as if seeking comfort. "It was an accident, Eren." Armin repeated quietly.

"She could have caught herself." Levi shook his head, blue eyes flickering from Armin to Eren, lingering over their joined hands. "Her heel dug into your foot so she pulled it away and put all of her weight on the other. It's what made her heel snap." Levi looked to her heels propped on the small sink, one lower and on its side, the broken heel dangling by a thin strip. "She let herself fall to keep from hurting you."

Eren dropped his head into his hands. "I know."

"Eren." Armin murmured.

Eren spoke between clenched teeth. "I know. I know I'm an idiot alright? But I don't need—"

Mikasa willed herself to speak. "I'm fine." Her tongue felt thick, her throat dry, and her head hurt like they'd drilled nails into it but she'd be damned if she let Levi blame Eren for her mistake. "I'm okay, Eren."

Eren leapt up from his chair—and before she could blink his hands were on either side of her head, his mouth on hers. She stilled in surprise, his mouth moving against hers fervently—and then her eyes shut, her lips parting willingly, her heart swelling at his kiss.

She broke the kiss a moment later, grasping the sides of his head gently. "I'm okay."

Eren nodded, eyes still squeezed shut, his jagged breaths brushing against her lips. "I'm sorry."

Levi looked away, hands clenching into fists. He breathed slowly through his nose and in the reflection above the small cheap sink he spotted the way Armin was watching him instead of Mikasa and Eren, brow furrowed, surprise and concern and perception all rolled into one.

He didn't like that look one bit.

"I see you're awake." Levi muttered, standing, wiping his damp palms on his shirt as Eren pulled away. Mikasa looked at him, her gaze soft, her mouth swollen, kiss stung. The way he'd left her just hours before.

"Why did you…" Her voice sounded dry and splintered and Levi reached forward, shoving the cup of ice water into Eren's hands. Mikasa grimaced and swallowed as Eren tipped the drink into her mouth awkwardly, letting him help her sit up. She looked back to Levi. "Why did you bring me here?"

Levi held her gaze steadily. "You were unconscious."

Mikasa's pale hands pressed into the mattress. "I didn't need to be taken to a hospital."

Before Eren or Armin could speak Levi did, repeating himself slowly. "You were unconscious."

Mikasa looked away, moving to get off the bed when Armin lunged forward. "You'll rip the IV out!" He snagged her wrist.

"Mikasa." Eren grabbed her shoulders, pushing her back onto the bed. He was glaring at her—as much as he could—panic still making his eyes too bright. "You can't move yet."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not! You're dehydrated!" Eren snapped, pinning her to the mattress forcefully. "You hit your head. You hit your head because I dropped you. Because you let yourself fall so you wouldn't hurt me." His teeth were clenched, his voice shaky. "You're always protecting me—stop. Just, stop it, you don't need to protect me anymore."

"Eren—"

"Is it because you think you owe it to me?" His green eyes shimmered, voice thickening with tears he didn't show. "You don't. I never asked it of you."

Owe it to him? Levi watched the way Eren and Mikasa looked at one another, so much being displayed and so much unsaid, their eyes searching for questions they couldn't quite bring themselves to ask.

"I know." Mikasa said thinly.

Eren clenched his hands. "So stop."

Armin touched Eren's shoulder gently. "Eren."

"I'm fine." Mikasa twisted the fabric of Eren's shirt between her fingers, tugging as she averted her gaze. "I'm okay, Eren."

Eren dropped his forehead to hers weakly, relenting. "Yeah." He kissed her again. "Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry."

Levi watched them for several more seconds, his feet unmoving. If one didn't know better they could almost mistake them for new parents—which they could be quite soon. They were getting married after all, Armin most likely becoming the godfather. They'd be happy, he thought, everything coming together through the force of their will.

And he had no place in their lives.

Levi struggled to quell and name what he was feeling—until he found Armin watching him again. He bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm going to get coffee." He walked away.

He didn't think anyone heard him.

He'd tried, halfheartedly, to convince himself to leave. She was awake and she was well and she wasn't alone and he was an unnecessary presence.

He despised hospitals anyway.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, blue eyes narrowing when he spotted the muck at the bottom of the pot. He scowled, tossing the cup in the trash.

An elderly woman glared at him with a look a mother would give a disobedient child.

He explained needlessly. "They can't wash a fucking coffee pot properly."

"Here."

He turned when a styrofoam cup was pressed to the back of his hand, finding Armin standing beside him. "The coffee upstairs is better." He gestured to the filthy coffee pot. "Or, well, cleaner."

Levi took the cup a little warily. "Upstairs?" This was the lobby. Where else had he gotten coffee?

"I work here." Armin informed him, waving at the group of nurses walking past them as if to emphasize his point. "I just wasn't supposed to be working today. My schedule switches constantly. Eren thought I was in today."

Ah. That explained why Eren had insisted on bringing her to this hospital in particular and why Armin had been very informative.

"Little too young to be a doctor, aren't you?"

Armin nodded. "Still learning." He shrugged. "May have skipped a grade or two."

Levi nodded, examining his cup critically. He couldn't quite tell if the boy was bragging and he didn't quite care.

"So," Armin stuffed one hand into his pocket, the other cradling his own cup against his thin chest. "You're the dance instructor."

Levi took a careful sip. "I am."

"The way you spoke to Eren was very angry." Armin didn't say it with much venom, not with much emotion at all really, his gaze thoughtful instead of accusing. "Are you worried they'll take legal action against you?"

Levi swallowed the bitter drink, almost biting back a laugh. "No." With the forms they'd signed they couldn't even if they wanted to and, despite not knowing them much, the thought hadn't occurred to him. They didn't seem like the type, anyway.

"I've known Eren for almost my entire life." Armin grabbed the small plastic container of sugar and slid it over to Levi, as if sensing his distaste. "He's honest. He's always looked everyone straight in the eye and said whatever came to his mind. No filter." His small mouth was curved up gently. "It got him into a lot of trouble." Armin took another sip. "But lately…" Armin swirled his cup, more out of habit than need. "He hasn't really been able to look Mikasa in the eye. Or me, when I ask him if something is going on."

Levi wondered if the boy really didn't know. "Is that so?" He spilled a packet of sugar into his coffee.

"It was just us. He couldn't look us in the eye. Everyone else was excluded—until just now." Armin's blue eyes caught his—and to his surprise he found he could not look away. "He couldn't quite look at you, Levi."

Levi pressed his lips together, looking away. "I don't care."

Armin's pale fingers tightened about his cup. "Is there something going on with Eren, Levi?" Armin licked his lips. "It's obvious you know what it is."

Levi felt as if he'd rusted, his movements slow, weary, beads of sugar clinging to his fingertips.

"You don't have to tell me what it is. Not exactly." Armin lowered his voice. "I just want to know if Eren is okay. If he isn't in any trouble."

"Oh, he's fine." Levi brought the cup to his lips again, the burn of the liquid hiding any sweetness. "He's just fucking peachy." Levi lowered the cup. "Mikasa is the one you should be worried about, don't you think?" His lips twisted, preparing to continue—when he realized saying anything was probably a bad idea.

When the hell had Levi cared about what he said?

"Mikasa?" Armin breathed, watching him carefully. "Mikasa is fine. She's just a little dehydrated. She works too much and sometimes forgets she's not a machine."

Levi scowled, the question tearing from his mouth unwillingly. "What did Eren mean?" Levi glared at nothing in particular. "Owe it to him? What does she owe him?"

Armin's blue eyes examined Levi's features, slightly perplexed by his interest. "Eren saved Mikasa's life."

Levi looked up at him, his grip slackening.

Saved her life?

"How?"

Armin licked his lips, contemplating whether he should explain or not. "It was—a long time ago. They were children. Mikasa was abducted and almost…sold. Eren found her and saved her. They've been together ever since."

He knew Armin had watered it down, knew he wasn't nearly telling him even half the story but it started to make a sickening amount of sense to him; Eren's idiocy and Mikasa's devotion, her protectiveness, how she accepted his unfaithfulness so calmly. Owe it him.

"Is that why she's marrying him?" Levi held Armin's gaze intently.

Armin shook his head. "Of course not. They grew up together. They love each other. They have since they were kids. Mikasa is marrying him because she loves him and…" Armin trailed off when Levi looked away. Realization struck Armin visibly and he blinked rapidly. "You and Mikasa?" Armin's voice was weak. "Are you…?"

Levi had had enough. "I'm leaving."

Levi tossed the cup into the trash—for the second time—and walked down the hall without another word.

It didn't surprise Levi when he received a phone call from Eren the next day. The doctor had ordered Mikasa to take it easy for a few days—more for her dehydration than her head.

Which, much to his dismay, relieved him endlessly.

"We won't be showing up this weekend." Eren informed him unnecessarily.

"Alright." Levi muttered, cloth in his grip, table still not as glossy as it should be. He should be glad, he thought. He'd have a bit more free time during his evenings.

Eren breathed slowly. "Sorry about…everything. Thank you for driving us to the hospital."

Levi didn't reply.

"Alright. I'm heading out. I'll see you in a few days."

Levi clenched his teeth but the words broke through anyway. "Are you taking care of her?"

Eren hung up before he heard him.

"I can't find my jacket." Eren muttered, rummaging through the closet. "Mikasa do you know where my jacket is?"

Mikasa dragged a towel through her damp hair, looking at Eren over her shoulder. "At the studio." She paused. "You didn't have it at the hospital."

Eren dropped his forehead against the wall with a dull thud. "Shit. You're right." He sighed wearily. "I'll pick it up after work. I'm running late."

Mikasa shook her head. "I'll get it."

Eren gave her a hard look. "You're staying in. The doctor said to take it easy."

"My scarf is there, too." Mikasa began to comb her short black hair. "I need to get a few things from the supermarket, anyway."

Eren sat on the bed behind her, pushing his head against her shoulder tiredly. "If you're not going to listen to me," He groaned. "Can you at least listen to the doctor?"

Mikasa felt herself smile a little, leaning against him affectionately. "I'll come straight home after."

A few drops of water fell onto his nose and he pulled away. "Promise?"

She nodded, wiping his face with her towel. "Promise."

Eren smiled, getting up from the bed. "I need to get to work. I might work pretty late tonight." He cracked his neck. "If you need anything just give me a call alright?"

She nodded, stilling when he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. He'd been more affectionate with her these past two days then he'd been in months.

"I'll check on you in the morning."

She smiled. "See you tomorrow, then."

He'd just stopped to pick up a cup of coffee when he spotted Annie sitting in the corner of the café, the low glow of her laptop illuminating her—pinched—features. She was dressed in a tailored jacket and pencil skirt, the color an ice gray that made the blue of her eyes much more stark than usual. She lifted her cup to her lips, grimacing a little when she found it empty, tossing the cup with careless precision into the bin several feet away from her. Her small fingers kept tapping at the keyboard rapidly, her eyes occasionally shifting to the window two tables over, her brow furrowed.

And though he couldn't be sure, she seemed worried.

Eren added another drink to his order, waiting until they handed him both cups before walking over to her.

She looked up at the very last second, a brief narrowing of her eyes the only hint of surprise she gave.

"Hey." He slid the cup over, seating himself across from her while watching her carefully.

She took the cup, shutting and shifting her laptop away to give them more space. "Hey."

Eren nodded to her laptop, eyeing her suit. "What have you been up to?"

Annie took a tentative sip of her drink, relaxing once the familiar taste of her tea curled over her tongue. "Job interview."

Eren pulled his cup away from his lips at that. "You're job hunting?"

She looked away. "It's what job interviews are usually for, yeah."

He nodded stiffly, feeling a little slow. She'd said she'd escaped—or, willingly left—her father's ironed out plan but Eren had always held onto that small warning his gut had constantly repeated, knowing she could very easily go back, that he couldn't let himself hope again. But if she was job hunting—perhaps, just perhaps, she was really going to stay this time. "You're serious about staying, then?"

Annie looked away, saying nothing. The silence felt thick.

"It's not only for you, you know." Annie murmured after a few minutes.

He was going to be awfully late for work. "I know." Eren brushed his fingertips over her sharp knuckles. "I'm glad you're finally doing it, Annie." How many times had he asked her to go for what she wanted instead of what her father had asked of her? Demanded of her? How many times had he encouraged her to take the classes her eyes lingered over when she didn't notice him watching? "You always liked those art classes." His smile grew as he remembered those talks they'd had until sunrise. "You told me you liked the idea of becoming a tattoo artist." He recalled, remembering the small sketches she'd shown him one night.

"You're an idiot, Eren." Annie turned her palm upwards, making his pulse thicken and slow. Her fingernails dragged across his skin. "But you were right."

He grinned, the callused pads of his fingers dipping into the center of her palm. "That's the first time you've ever said that to me."

Her blue eyes were soft with amusement. "Don't get used to it."

He laughed, linking their fingers over the table and squeezing affectionately. "I won't."

Annie allowed him to hold her hand the way she had when they'd gone on dates. There was a wistfulness seeping into his chest; memories of their time together flitting through him brightly.

Except this wasn't a date.

Or it shouldn't be.

She'd left and he'd moved on and what they were doing was like trying to salvage the bones of what they'd once had.

"Annie…"

She hummed quietly, relaxing her fingers between his. She looked up when he didn't reply—and she froze at his expression, her guards coming up instantly.

She knew what he was going to say.

And he hated himself for it.

"What are we doing, Annie?"

Annie pulled her hand away slowly. "Eren…" She didn't say anything else, just his name, her voice catching at the very end—and the small sound nearly undid him.

"I think we...I think we need to rethink things." He kept his gaze focused on the scared surface of the table. His hands kept clenching as he forced the words past his teeth. "I loved you for a very long time but what we're doing—it's a mistake. I want to fix it but I don't know how—"

Annie shifted her laptop before her. She opened it, the screen flickering brightly.

"I know." Her voice was strained despite the blankness of her features. She swallowed and spoke again and this time her voice was quiet and steady. "It's fine."

"Annie…"

She began typing—and it was as if he no longer existed.

He left, walking a little unsteadily, his cup of coffee forgotten on the table.

Levi glared at the offensive jacket darkly.

He could throw it away, he supposed. Logical thing would be to set it aside until they returned to pick it up but Levi wasn't feeling particularly logical and hadn't since he'd met her. He could perhaps set it ablaze and watch it wither up in the alleyway beside their building. Or, perhaps give it to one of the homeless men that straggled about and give his karma a badly needed bone.

The thought of them returning for a dance lesson and finding a random street rat wearing his jacket was awfully amusing.

"What's wrong, Levi?" Erwin prompted, sitting behind his desk, blue eyes on the sheets of paper scattered over it. "You've been quiet."

Levi dragged his gaze away from the jacket. Erwin had noticed Levi following him about more than usual—though he'd said nothing at first—and he'd finally cracked. "I don't think I can teach them to dance."

Erwin hummed. "Do they not cooperate?"

Levi bit the inside of his cheek. "They try. They lack chemistry. It's robotic—the way they move." Though when Eren had lifted her the last time they'd seemed relaxed; a breakthrough that had been short lived. He should have been pleased to see them move the way they had—however briefly—but he'd only felt curiously bitter. Even if he had felt any sense of accomplishment at finally getting them to learn it would have been largely overshadowed by seeing Mikasa's head snap against the ground.

"I can teach them the steps but I can't teach them anything more."

Erwin scribbled something down, speaking half-distractedly. "Then don't."

He wondered how she'd react once she saw him on her doorstep.

He stood, grabbing the jacket stiffly, its fate sealed. There was only one way to find out. "I won't." He muttered. "Do you mind closing up?"

Erwin shook his head. "Not at all."

Levi nodded, grabbing her scarf and pausing briefly. He wondered how she was holding up without her withered security blanket. "Until tomorrow, Erwin."

After buying everything she needed Mikasa met Armin for a quick bite, his spacey apartment smelling of spices and smoke.

"I'm in here." Armin called from the kitchen and Mikasa tugged her jacket off. She'd almost reached for her scarf before realizing she still didn't have it, shaking her head as she kicked off her shoes. "Food is ready."

Mikasa slid a chair out and took a seat, eyeing Armin as he slipped a plate towards her. "What is this?"

Armin sat beside her, his own plate before him. "I'm learning how to cook Mexican food since Jean won't stop eating it."

Mikasa hummed, taking a tentative bite and letting the spices linger on her tongue. Armin watched her carefully.

"It's good." She took another bite. "Might be too spicy for Jean."

Armin laughed quietly. "Yeah. He can't handle too much zing." Armin swallowed his own spoonful and seemed satisfied. "Not the way we can, anyway."

Eren hadn't been one for spices either though he never really liked admitting it, especially when Armin and Mikasa had been able to stomach mouthfuls of jalapenos in one sitting.

She wondered if Levi liked spicy foods.

Armin spoke after swallowing. "Eren's working late today?"

Mikasa shook the thought off, reaching for a glass of water. "Yes. I spoke to him a while ago—he might spend the night there."

Armin nodded. "Eren's usually pretty busy during this time."

The conversation flowed smoothly as they finished up. Mikasa swept up their bowls and cups, Armin opening the double balcony doors and lighting his cigarette as she washed. He sat up on the edge of the balcony, turning his back to the sky. His blue eyes watched her curiously.

Mikasa didn't look away from her soapy hands. "Is something wrong, Armin?"

While their conversation had been easy she'd noticed his eyes lingering over her; his teeth had constantly bit at his chapped lips. Mikasa was not one to pry however and had decided to wait until he was ready to tell her himself.

"Levi." Armin breathed his name out with a haze of smoke. "He was kind of…involved, wasn't he?"

Mikasa began to rinse the dishes slowly. "Perhaps he was worried we'd sue him."

Armin huffed. "I said the same thing to him."

Mikasa turned at that. "What did he say?"

Armin shook his head. "He wasn't worried about that." He gestured to her head, glowing embers falling from the tip of his thin cigarette. "He was more worried about you."

Mikasa shut the water off. "It was unnecessary." She placed them on a towel beside the sink.

"Not exactly." Armin breathed out slowly, looking young and frail beneath the night sky. "I've wanted to ask you something, but I think I know the answer."

Mikasa licked her lips, coming to sit beside him upon the balcony. She toyed with the ends of the dish towel in her damp hands. "What question, Armin?"

Armin eyed her through the smoke sifting between them. "What's going on between you and Levi, Mikasa?"

By the time Eren left work he felt half dead. His feet dragged against the gritty pavement and his temples throbbed. Too much fucking paperwork and too much small print that had to be thoroughly read once—twice and three times over—mountains of boxes and shelves that needed to be sifted through.

"We're being audited," he'd been informed and had been thrown into a building of endless chaos and frazzled nerves.

He'd tried to lose himself in his work, tried not to think of the small sound she'd made when she'd said his name and of how icy she'd become after—and he found focusing on work was nearly impossible.

What could he say? What could—should—he do now? Would telling Mikasa do any good? Maybe she deserved to know but if he could keep it to himself and bear all the pain alone, quietly—why should he hurt her when he didn't have to?

Even if he could muster the resolve to tell her he wouldn't know how to begin.

"I was screwing Annie behind your back but it's over now. Sorry."

Except it wasn't just 'screwing' and he knew that. He swallowed Annie whole—cradled and clung to her. He'd clutched her pale hair and demanded that she look at him even when they both lost control. He memorized every sharp angle and curve of her slight body, every sound she'd made even when she hadn't wanted to.

He groaned, running his hands over his face miserably. He needed a fucking drink. He could feel a migraine beginning to form, the pain cracking up his jawline and pressing in at his temples. The bright glow of the streetlights made his eyes narrow as he walked down the sidewalk.

He shoved his fists in his jean pockets, shoulders hunched as he made his way home for a quick shower and some food before he spent the night at work.

He didn't notice that he wasn't walking home until he found himself in front of Annie's place, the front porch lit up as she stood there with Bertolt.

Bertolt?

Annie murmured something—too low for him to catch—and he pressed against the dilapidated wooden fence to stay hidden, willing his heart to slow its vicious rhythm.

Why was Bertolt here?

Bertolt touched the back of his neck in agitation, nodding and pulling away from her. He walked down the steps slowly—then turned back. His throat worked as he spoke. "Annie…"

Annie had her small hands tucked into the front of her hoodie, her shoulders hunched against the cold. Her blue eyes watched Bertolt impassively. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry." Bertolt mumbled, cheekbones flushed. He looked as if he wanted to say something else but he shook his head instead. He turned, walking away—but Annie called out and he froze.

"Bertolt?"

He blinked, looking up at her again. "Yes?"

She looked away, shifting—almost—a little awkwardly. "Thanks. For…" She shrugged. "Caring. For talking to me." She looked disgruntled with herself, as if she hadn't wanted to say the words but had forced them out nonetheless.

Bertolt looked as stunned as Eren felt—but then he smiled, looking at her the way he had since they'd been a bunch of kids in high school. "You're welcome, Annie."

Bertolt walked away and towards him—forcing Eren to slip behind the trunk of a tree so he wouldn't be seen. His fingernails bit into the bark as he waited for Bertolt to turn around the corner, his heart beating so hard he could feel it in his skull.

He should leave.

Whatever was going on between Annie and Bertolt wasn't any of his concern. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

He turned away, taking one step, another—and stopping, his teeth gritting. The week had been fucking awful, work had been busy enough as it is, now they were being audited, he'd cut it off with Annie, the dancing lessons had been pure fucking disaster—for god's sake he'd dropped Mikasa on her head—and now the sight of Bertolt and Annie had filled him up with something dark and bitter. He wanted to forget about it all and wanted to have a drink—but maybe…maybe he just wanted Annie.

Maybe he wanted to feel her small body pressed against his larger one, feel her soft blonde hair under his rough fingers and get her icy blue glare to melt the way he'd always had.

He swallowed, grabbing his phone and dialing Mikasa, cursing the shake in his hands. "Hey, Mikasa." He breathed out, leaning against the fence. "How do you feel?"

"Eren," She sounded a little relieved, making the guilt thicken. "I'm fine. Are you still at work?"

"Yeah." He could hear the rattle of cashiers and shopping carts in the background. Was she still out in town? "It's going to be a little crazy for a while so I'm going to spend the night at the office." He kicked at a pebble, watching it skid off the sidewalk and onto the street. "I have a really bad headache, though."

He felt like kicking himself as soon as the words were out. He had a really bad headache? He'd dropped her on her head.

She sounded worried nonetheless—but she was always worried for him. "I could take you some aspirin—"

"No." Eren said quickly. "No, it's fine. Thanks."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I just wanted to let you know." He licked his lips. "Go straight home."

Another pause. "I am."

Eren exhaled. "Good night, Mikasa."

She breathed in slowly, the little sound of it against the phone speaker almost endearing. "Good night, Eren."

"I…" He faltered a little, his green eyes eyeing Annie's front door. "I love you."

And he meant it. He did. He loved Mikasa fiercely. They'd gone through hell and back together and he would never be complete without her. He couldn't imagine life without her just the way he couldn't imagine not having Armin. They were his family, too.

But he couldn't stay away from Annie.

He just couldn't.

There was a smile in her voice. "I love you, too, Eren."

He hung up slowly, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth as he walked up to her door. He lifted his fist to knock and hesitated. The times they'd usually met had been chaotic and haphazard, rushed and fierce and almost accidental—but this was infinitely different.

He was at her home now. This was him deliberately seeking her, asking her. There was no risk of being caught here—they'd have the privacy of a bedroom, time to think and stop before they touched one another.

Every other time had felt like a storm, the choice ripped out of their hands as they'd collided.

There was no storm now. The choice was there in his hands and he was making it and he'd be asking her to, too.

He lifted his fist, knocking twice. He held his breath.

If she doesn't answer I'll leave. I won't persist. I shouldn't be here. This is wrong.

The door opened and his green eyes found her. Her blonde hair was disheveled and her blue eyes were slightly irritated—his gaze snagging on something pink at the corner of her lips. She was wearing a huge sweatshirt that looked more like a nightgown on her, the sleeves engulfing her small hands completely.

She lifted her fingertips to her mouth and wiped away the pink color—strawberry ice cream, Eren guessed—away. She'd devoured that stuff ravenously since he'd first known her. "What are you doing here?" She sounded as vexed as she looked, nothing like the way she'd spoken to Bertolt. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know. I know what I said but I'm not sure I meant it. I don't want to push you away or for you to push me away I don't want you to leave. I was walking home and somehow I ended up here in front of your house and I—" He paused. "I can't." He moved as if strings tugged him towards her helplessly. "I can't stay away." His hands touched her small waist, finding her hips amidst the excess of fabric. "Can I stay?" He leaned down, brushing his mouth over her cheek. He knew she could feel him shaking. "Is it okay if I stay with you, Annie?"

She gave him a hard look and pulled away. "You're giving me whiplash." She shoved her hands into the front pocket of the sweatshirt again. "You said it was a mistake." Annie's body was rigid. "If you think I'm only doing this to get back at Mikasa why do you keep coming back, Eren?"

Eren bit the inside of his cheek. "It is. We shouldn't be doing this but—" He clenched his fists. "I can't keep away from you. I keep telling myself this is wrong—it's hurting her, hurting you. I tell myself you'll just end up hurting me again but—what does it matter?" He swallowed thickly. "What does all that other shit matter now that I have you here with me? Now that I finally have you back when I went without you for so long?" He wiped his damp palms on his jeans. "You can turn me away. As much as you hurt me you don't deserve this, either." He had to be brutally honest with himself, with her, couldn't sugar coat anything for the life of him. "Do you want me to go?" He clenched his jaw. "Or can I stay?"

Her eyes searched his for a long time. "You're an idiot, Eren." She swallowed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like I'm an idiot—before dragging him towards her and lifting her mouth up to his in silent answer.

Eren was surprisingly forgetful.

He'd forgotten their anniversary, for one.

He'd also forgotten he was supposed to help her paint the apartment.

But—Mikasa reminded herself grimly, wiping her paint smeared fingers on her t shirt— Eren had been particularly attentive, lately.

He was busy and often didn't answer her calls or texts—but when he was beside her he was unusually affectionate and struggled to keep his temper in check where before he hadn't quite cared to filter it. He'd concentrated fiercely on the dance steps she and Levi so effortlessly moved through and the effort he'd given had moved her deeply.

He was trying and it was more than she could have asked for, despite Levi's ridicule.

Despite what she felt for Levi.

She shook off the thought, refusing to dwell on him or the way they'd kissed.

Again.

She hadn't been able to lie to Armin, nor had she wanted to. He'd only watched her quietly and to her surprise she'd told him everything, sparing herself nothing, telling him all she had done and had continued to do.

You need to talk to Eren, Mikasa was all Armin had told her, squeezing her hand.

In her restlessness she'd uncapped the two cans of paint she'd bought, taping and covering the counters and furniture meticulously, burying her unease with her work. It was soothing to say the least with her music crooning quietly in the background. The muscles in her arms and back began to burn pleasantly as she rolled the warm ocher color over her living room and kitchen walls. She'd opened the windows to let the night breeze sweep in, helping dissipate the suffocating scent of the paint—when a knock suddenly sounded on her door.

She blinked, breaking from her reverie. She put the roller down and tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling herself smear paint across her cheek. She cursed quietly and made her way to the door.

Was it Eren? He'd sounded so strained over the phone. Worry suddenly knotted her insides as she reached for the door—and paused briefly, eyeing her messy appearance in slight dismay.

She shook her head, dismissing her self-consciousness as she twisted the knob—it was Eren, after all—and came face to face with Levi instead.

His thin brows rose. "I see you're still alive." He cocked his head as he eyed her, taking in her disheveled appearance; paint stained oversized t-shirt, messily tied hair, stringy jean shorts, bare legs and all. He parted his lips—then snapped them shut, seeming to rethink his question. He cleared his throat. "You paint?"

"No." She gathered her composure, stemming the urge to pull down on her shorts. "I'm painting my living room."

His eyes slid past her, seeing the half painted walls. Realization touched his dark blue eyes and he gave a barely perceptible nod. "That's what Eren forgot." He murmured—more to himself. "Painting."

His eyes found hers again, lingering over the curve of her face, her dark hair—and she flushed a little. She must look filthy. "Was there something you needed?" Her eyes narrowed when she saw she'd smeared paint on the door knob too. "Or did you come just to say that?"

"I thought it'd be a good idea to make sure you were taking it easy—but you're not." He lifted his right hand, showing both Eren's dark jacket and her scarf dangling off a curled finger. "You two left this at the studio."

He held them out to her as his eyes continued examining the inside of her apartment. She took advantage of his inattention to survey him herself, realizing he was a bit more formal today than usual. The ice grey vest over his dark blue button up shirt was unbuttoned and hanging limply from his broad shoulders, slightly wrinkled, looking untucked. His sleeves were only half rolled up but even so the veins in his arms were visible. He had strong hands she knew, had felt them lift and twist her quickly and easily—but they could be gentle, too, careful as they slid into her hair, tracing her jaw and cradling her head.

She inhaled, dragging her eyes back up to his. "How did you know my address?"

Levi looked a little exasperated. "Did you forget all the paperwork you filled out?" He shoved the jacket and scarf towards her, urging her to take it. "You weren't answering my phone calls."

His calls? She looked behind her, remembering how she'd set her phone to charge in her bedroom as she'd painted, the music most likely having shrouded any ringing.

Had he been worried?

"Thank you." Mikasa reached for them but paused when she spotted paint still smeared on her fingers and wrist. "Let me wash my hands."

Levi eyed her form once again. "Please do."

She felt the corner of her lips twitch as she stepped away and into the kitchen, the rush of the water muffling the sound of the door shutting. She tried to remove all traces of paint from her hands and arms quickly. Levi followed behind her more slowly, draping the jacket and scarf on the back of a chair, his dark blue eyes surveying her small apartment critically.

She wondered if it met with his approval. "I swung by the studio a while ago." Mikasa lathered the soap up to her elbows. "It was closed."

Levi nodded. "I left early and Erwin never stays late." He grabbed a napkin from the counter, wiping at a splotch of paint on the floor. "You're lucky I caught that before it dried." He muttered.

She'd seen enough to know that he was quite particular when it came to cleanliness. She could remember the spotlessness of his home, his bedroom, the way he had to stop and drop everything if there was a spill in the studio, no trace of dust that escaped his sharp eyes.

While she did like to keep her things neat she doubted she was up to par—considering the mess of tape, plastic coverings and paint littering her place at the moment.

Before she could shut off the water she saw him reach forward, dipping a clean dishcloth into the stream. He pressed it to her cheek gently, wiping at the smear she'd forgotten.

"You're a mess." His voice was thicker than usual, his eyes a touch darker. "You're alone?"

She felt her pulse kick up at his proximity, his scent a strange mixture of soap and lemon wood polish. "Eren's working." She shut the water off and turned away.

Levi placed the dish towel onto the counter. "For how long?"

She walked into the living room, tugging at her hair band and shaking her hair loose. She scratched at her scalp gently—pressing her lips together tightly when she accidentally brushed the sore spot at the back of her head. "He's spending the night at work because he has a lot to do. Eren's a very hard worker." She sounded tight and wound up even to herself—knew she had no reason to defend Eren's absence.

He said nothing—only calmly removed his vest and folded it, rolling up his sleeves swiftly.

She went very still. "What are you doing?"

Levi undid the top three buttons of his shirt, exposing his throat and collarbones, walking towards the rollers and paint buckets. "This place is a fucking mess. Can't really stand it." He shook his head in disapproval. "You have another roller?"

She faltered. "Yes."

"Good." He muttered, lifting the freshly dipped roller to the wall. His strokes were even, measured and neat and her gaze focused on the way the muscles in his arms worked for a little too long. "Go get it. I have nothing better to do tonight, anyway."

She hesitated for a moment, recalling the thoughts that had pressed down on her chest on her drive home. She'd been set on talking to Eren—and she still was—but she'd also been set on cutting Levi out of her life. The thought had bothered her much more than she'd ever thought it would, bringing a question she hadn't wanted to dwell on; what did it matter if she never saw the man again?

He'd only criticized them from the beginning, demeaning them and pointed out flaw after flaw, insulted Eren countless times. He'd enjoyed flustering her, enjoyed making Eren feel inferior, enjoyed provoking her and making her pulse race when Eren wasn't looking.

He'd only picked her up when he'd found her kneeling on the sidewalk, treated her scrapes and given her a place to stay. He'd only kept quiet about how they'd first met, never threatened to tell anyone of what had happened though he could have. He'd only driven them to the hospital and stayed until she'd woken. He'd only been worried enough to come all this way to check on her, using Eren's jacket and her scarf as a flimsy pretext.

He bent forward, rolling the roller into the paint again, turning to look at her as his hair fell over his brow. His dark blue eyes scanned her. "What is it?"

She was sure after speaking with Eren seeing Levi again…wouldn't be wise. Perhaps she could have just tonight with him. Just for a while before she ended whatever kept blooming between them.

She looked away, shaking her head—and left to get the other rollers with a gentle smile gracing her lips.

Sasha hadn't planned on walking home that day. It hadn't been the best of days—she'd had to leave her car in the shop after it decided it didn't want to start, almost giving her entire check to the mechanic to have it ready by the end of the week. She couldn't even scrounge up a measly amount of change for the bus—or even lunch—and Mikasa or Connie hadn't answered the phone, and instead of waiting about she'd decided to have a long, long walk.

She'd just been passing their old neighborhood, eyeing the house where Annie used to live. She slowed down her pace, hands in her pockets, recalling the reserved girl who'd once been their friend—when the door opened, Eren slipping out onto the porch.

Sasha froze, her breath catching in her throat. Eren looked disheveled; his hair mussed every which way, his clothes slightly twisted. He didn't have a jacket and his mouth was red and slightly swollen and she knew even if she didn't want to.

Eren's green gaze lifted, catching hers, and they went wide with shock and horror as he realized that she really was standing there.

Before either of them could say a word the door opened again and Annie was there, holding Eren's wallet and cell phone, shoving them at him carelessly. At his lack of reaction she scowled and looked up, following his gaze—and spotted Sasha just on the sidewalk.

Oh, no. Please, please, no.

"You guys…" Sasha shook her head, equal amounts of panic and disgust rising within her. This would break Mikasa, this would cut her wide open, and she wanted to unsee it, didn't want to know but she did, she did and Mikasa had to know. "Mikasa…"

"Sasha." Eren croaked, and Sasha's body finally moved, feet stumbling back.

"Eren…" She gritted her teeth. "Eren, how…?" Sasha turned her gaze to Annie. "And Annie?" Sasha struggled to speak past the thickness of her throat, shaking her head. "How could you?"

Annie's throat worked—but she looked away, staying silent.

Eren stumbled down the porch steps. "Sasha, wait." He reached out. "Please don't—"

Sasha shook her head fiercely, tripping forward and away. Mikasa needed to know, even if it would cut her up, even if Sasha desperately didn't want to tell her, she needed to tell her now before she could convince herself not to, before Eren or Annie could convince her, no matter how hard it'd be—she needed to know.

"Sasha, listen to me!" Eren ran towards her. "Sasha, wait!"

Sasha shot forward, running as quickly as she could, determined to reach Mikasa before Eren—or anything—could stop her.

0 notes

writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Heartless

StormyInk

Summary:

Where I'm tossing all of my rivamika drabbles, one shots, prompts you guys toss at me and anything else of the like. I try to put all of the warnings I can think of in the tags so check those before you read.

Chapter 1

: Two hours till midnightSummary:

Most of the (reluctantly shared) elevator ride was silence laced with loathing—until the lights flickered, reflected a million times in the mirrored walls about them, the cab jolting awkwardly and stopping midway.

“Levi,” Mikasa murmured, her breath hitching, shutting her eyes as her pale hands gripped the railing behind her tightly, knuckles bone white. “Why did the elevator stop?”

Levi moved forward, punching button after button—the levels, the service button, emergency—every hit becoming progressively violent when the elevator didn’t react. “It’s not working.” Levi spat out a slew of obscene epithets. “The power’s out.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for several moments, calming himself. He tugged out his phone—his lip curling when the screen lit up. “No fucking signal. My battery is about to die—and its two hours ‘till fucking midnight.” He dropped his briefcase, turning to face Mikasa, his expression grim. “Merry fucking Christmas to us.”

Notes:

I participated in a Secret Santa on tumblr and I wrote this little one shot as a (poorly written) gift for FyeahRivaMika on tumblr. I was watching a lot of cheesy christmas movies so forgive me. Happy holidays, everyone.

Chapter Text

~4:30p.m.~

It wasn't as if she intended to work until the late hours of Christmas Eve.

Or, perhaps she had. She didn't have anything or anyone to go home to—had tried not to let that fact bother her. She was single and alone for Christmas but that did not necessarily mean she had to be unhappy.

And yet she couldn't help feeling strangely…troubled.

She wasn't one to get too riled up for the holidays—they reminded her of family, of children and parents.

They reminded her she had none.

Except for Eren and Armin of course, a family she was fiercely loyal and protective of, a family that she'd do anything to keep safe and happy.

Even if that meant stepping away from them.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I'm sure."

"It'll be fun. Eren and I won't be too touchy with one another and make you feel awkward at all. It'll be like old times. We can all sleep in that cabin Hanji lent us up in Big Bear and enjoy the snow. Come with us, Mikasa. Please. You shouldn't have to be alone for Christmas."

"I have a lot of work to do, Armin. I'll probably work for most of the day and shower and go to bed as soon as I get home. Don't worry about me. You two have fun. As long as you and Eren are happy…I am, too."

And it wasn't as if she had lied, really.

If anyone deserved and needed Eren's indomitable passion, unshakable loyalty and dauntless bravery it was Armin. And if anyone deserved Armin's unparalleled intelligence, his patient tactfulness and his infinite kindness it was Eren.

If anyone deserved her fierce protection it was them.

They loved each other. She was happy for them.

And so she'd found herself up to her neck in paperwork on Christmas Eve, most of her coworkers having dropped off a small Christmas gift on her desk; small handmade Christmas cards, a few foil wrapped delicacies, an excessively large tin box of chocolates from Jean and a large bottle of wine wrapped in candy cane striped paper—from the second head of the company.

She been a bit startled to find it on her desk, had narrowed her eyes as she'd read the name written in lettering as caustic and cutting as his tongue.

Levi.

And for several moments she hadn't really been able to comprehend just why he'd given her a bottle of wine—why he'd given her a gift at all—because they hadn't spoken much, at least not on a personal basis. Most of their work forced interactions hadn't been what she'd call pleasant by any means; they were too good at their jobs, too competitive, too stubborn to not clash during meetings.

Levi took a little too much perverse pleasure in scaring Eren witless and piling mountains of paperwork upon him—would have done the same to Armin if Erwin hadn't assigned him as his personal assistant. She had made it her goal to surpass him, to prove her worth to him despite being so much younger, to best him.

She wanted to earn his respect as much as she wanted to crush him beneath her sharp heel.

Because when they worked together, when they agreed on a subject and executed their plans with their single minded ruthlessness—she'd felt a high like no other.

But she shouldn't think of those things.

She'd dragged a fingernail across the paper on the front of the bottle, peeled the edge away to reveal the label—and had felt her brow furrow.

How did he know this was my favorite wine?

And it was with a strange giddiness twisting her insides and a fierce look of concentration darkening her gaze that Sasha found her, walking into her office, her coat thrown over her arm, her large purse in hand.

"Everyone is leaving." Sasha yawned, stretching. "Well, everyone except the boss." Sasha pointed over her shoulder to the office across from hers. Mikasa looked, saw Levi hunched over his large desk, his pen furiously scratching at pale sheets. He looked unhappy, she thought, miserable almost, knew he'd snarl at anyone who dared to interrupt him—but perhaps he wasn't as unpleasant as he made himself to be.

Perhaps he was the kind of man who was keen and attentive enough to notice a subordinate's favorite wine and wrap and gift it to them on Christmas Eve.

She flushed and looked away, eyeing the bottle with reluctant gratitude.

Sasha pointed at the bottle in Mikasa's grip. "You got a bottle, too?"

Mikasa blinked. "Too?"

Sasha nodded. "We all had bottles on our desks this morning. A gift from Levi." She reached into her bag, struggled to tug out her own bottle—wrapped in reflective green paper. "You got fancy paper, though. I think mostly everyone got green or red." Sasha slid the bottle back into her purse. "You leaving now?"

Mikasa held very still. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Sasha hesitated. "Remember you can come over later if you'd like. Connie and I are holding a party for everyone at our place…"

Mikasa shook her head. "Thank you, Sasha."

Sasha sighed. "Alright, then. Good night, Mikasa. Merry Christmas." She left with a small wave.

Mikasa sat in her chair, carefully placing the bottle in the bottom drawer to her right.

We all had bottles on our desk this morning.

She tugged out her thin laptop, tugging out a small note pad and pen along with it.

You got fancy paper, though.

Mikasa quietly buried her disappointment with every soft tap of her keyboard and scratch of her pen.

~9:45p.m.~

Levi didn't look at the time until the words on the screen began to blur together. He massaged the back of his cramped neck as he shut his laptop, grimacing when he saw how late it was.

Nine forty-five.

He stood, stretching, his back giving several audible, satisfying pops. He began gathering his belongings—suit jacket, his coat, all the other tacky trinkets his employees had messily strewn about his office swiftly stuffed into his briefcase as he shut the light off and walked out—when he saw Mikasa Ackerman's office light still softly glowing.

When he saw her sleeping on her desk.

She had her arms folded over the desk, her cheek pressed over the back of her hand, her small lips parted, her breathing slow and even.

She was beautiful, he admitted to himself, lovely, even. He'd known she was attractive since the first time she'd walked into his building—hadn't known just how exquisite she was until he'd worked with her. It had been a frustrating thing, a slowly satisfying one, discovering the different aspects of her character: quiet tenaciousness, a sharpness that nearly matched his, a bone deep protectiveness and loyalty to the company—or well, Eren mostly.

And her softness.

It had left him breathless on more than one occasion, the blood boiling glares she'd give him one second, the cutting words they'd bite out over a long work day—and then Eren would call her name, or Armin would smile at her, and every one of her lethal lines softened, her shoulders relaxing, her dark eyes almost fucking sparkling.

As if Yeager or Arlert were built out of fucking diamonds.

And he was just a lump of ashy coal.

Yes, Mikasa Ackerman was a woman who troubled him with how much she intrigued him.

If only she didn't completely loathe him.

He sighed, walking over to her office. He pressed his lips together as he rapped on her door sharply—watched her jump awake.

"How unprofessional, Mikasa." Levi leaned against the door, enjoying the open confusion on her pretty features—such a rare display of vulnerability. "Sleeping on the job? I don't think I pay you for that."

She cleared her throat, standing quickly as she straightened her prim dark blue dress. "I wasn't—"

"Yes you were." He gestured to her belongings in the corner of her office. "I'm leaving and I need to lock up. Hurry up."

Mikasa ran her hand through her hair, trying not to seem flustered. She snapped her laptop shut, clicking off her lamp and gathering her belongings deftly.

He watched her as she slid on her coat, bundling that damned scarf about her neck and mouth, sweeping everything up into her long arms. He'd often marveled at the way she'd moved, all poise and grace—had seen how brutally she could break someone just months after she and all the interns had started working for them, just a week before they'd decided who was going to go and stay.

Which one he, Hanji and Erwin would pick to take under their wing.

It had been a curious morning—Erwin had called him into his office, two security guards nervously standing with their hands clasped in their laps.

"Have a look at this, Levi."

Erwin had pointed at a large screen on the wall opposite from them, the video fuzzy and choppy. It was a view of the street right outside their building—and before Levi could ask why the hell he wanted him to watch a street he saw Mikasa walk out the front doors.

She walked down the sidewalk—ignorant of the two men trailing closely behind her. Levi felt his gut clench, his body moving forward of its own will, as if he could reach into the screen—and before he could think rationally Mikasa whirled, dropping her purse and briefcase, decking the two men before they even realized what the hell was going on.

And for a moment Levi was completely stunned—something he rarely was—and then he felt the relief wash over him, along with a black, black humor. He felt the edges of his lips curl up, shook his head as he watched Mikasa calmly pick up her belongings and keep walking, disappearing off the edge of the screen.

"That one is mine, Erwin."

Mikasa walked towards him now, breaking him of the memory—he eyed the huge box beneath her arm in dismay.

"What the hell is in there? A small child?"

She frowned. "It's a gift from Jean…they're sweets."

Levi stayed quiet for a few moments—moved away from her doorway, motioning for her to follow behind him as they walked down the hall. "I would say it was a thoughtful gift." Levi tapped the button for the elevator twice, catching Mikasa's gaze through the blurry reflection of the stainless steel doors. "Except you don't like sweets."

He saw the surprise that lifted her brows and parted her lips—before she promptly looked away, tugging her scarf up with a finger. "It's not—"

The elevator gave a soft ping, the doors gliding open, presenting the posh elevator; all mirrored tile, mirrored walls, a softly glowing light above.

A small twig of mistletoe ominously hung in the center.

Mikasa stepped away. "I'm taking the stairs."

Levi sighed wearily, catching her elbow before she could move away. "Get in the elevator." He glared at the stupid sprig. "No doubt done by Connie and Sasha." He made a mental note to have a word with them. He tugged Mikasa forward—and realized he couldn't. "I'm not going to bloody kiss you so get in the—"

"It's not that." Mikasa bit out, looking away carefully. "I…don't like elevators."

Levi's brow furrowed—reached out when the doors began to shut, forcing them back. "Claustrophobic?"

She nodded. "Not…excessively. Elevators make me…uncomfortable."

Levi kept his hand around her elbow. "The stairs are locked."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"They're locked." He shrugged. "We had a few homeless straggle in a few nights ago and so Erwin decided to lock them to keep them out while we were gone for the holidays. He was the keys for those doors." He nodded towards the elevator. "You're going to have to get in there or stay here the whole bloody night."

Mikasa reluctantly set her teeth, and he watched with idle fascination as a tic appeared in her jaw—until she stepped forward, all poise and grace vanquished, rusty hinges in its place.

He followed, pushing the bottom to take them to the bottom floor. The doors shut—and Mikasa stayed in the far corner of the elevator, leaning against the wall and glaring at the offensive mistletoe above them.

Yes, Levi mused, she most definitely despised him.

It went pitch black.

"Levi," Mikasa murmured, her breath hitching, shutting her eyes as her pale hands gripped the railing behind her tightly, knuckles bone white. "Why did the elevator stop?"

Levi moved forward, punching button after button—the levels, the service button, emergency—every hit becoming progressively more violent when the elevator didn't react. "It's not working." Levi spat out a slew of obscene epithets. "The power's out." He pinched the bridge of his nose for several moments, calming himself. He tugged out his phone—his lip curling when the screen lit up. "No fucking signal. My battery is about to die—and its two hours 'till fucking midnight." He dropped his briefcase, turning to face Mikasa, his expression grim. "Merry fucking Christmas to us."

It was the last thing she heard before she fainted.

~10:15p.m.~

"Don't you dare fucking pass out on me, Mikasa."

It was the first words out of his mouth when he caught her, fumbling to keep her upright—cursing and folding onto his knees instead.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." He put her on her back, grabbing his phone and using it to light up her face, relief cracking through him when he saw her lashes fluttering. "Mikasa," He growled, shaking her. "Mikasa wake the fuck up." What the fuck were you supposed to do when someone fainted? He'd seen it a few times—you carry them, get a doctor—but where the devil was he supposed to carry her to if they were trapped in a fucking box?

He searched her pockets, finding her phone. He checked the signal—damn near threw it at the wall when he saw that it had none.

He lifted her head, checked her breathing, her pulse—all seemed relatively strong.

Perhaps it was just the fright?

"How in the hell," Levi unbuttoned her coat swiftly. "Can someone fearlessly fight two thugs on the sidewalk without batting an eye…" He peeled it off her shoulders, tugging her arms out. "But faint when the bloody lights go out?" He lifted her against his chest, slapping her cheek gently—calmed slightly when her hand lifted to push his away. "Mikasa wake up."

Her lashes fluttered, her chest rattling with an unsteady breath. The elevator was still glowing with the multiple reflections of her cell phone, and her eyes met his in the white blue glow.

"Levi?" She murmured thickly.

"Are you alright?" He scanned her features, saw her realize they were still in the elevator.

She pressed her fingertips over the backs of her eyelids. "We're still trapped." Her breath quickened.

"Don't pass out again." He snapped. "Sit up."

He leaned her away from him and against the wall, saw her head loll back weakly. "Here." He pressed her cell phone into her damp palm. "Keep it lit up. I'm going to try to climb the hell out of here."

"Climb?" She muttered thinly.

"Up there." He jerked his chin towards the ceiling, dropping his coat and suit jacket onto the ground. "There's a latch, isn't there?" He began deftly rolling up his sleeves, yanking impatiently at his tie. "Stay awake. It's just a damn elevator."

He stepped up onto the railing, lithely holding himself upright up against the corner, reaching upwards with a grimace. "Fucking hell," He cursed.

He heard Mikasa give a strangled sound—couldn't quite decipher what it meant.

"You can't reach." She whispered.

Levi scowled, shoving the small door above aside. "Are you amused, Acker—shit." The railing snapped beneath his foot, and he was falling—Mikasa kicked away from the wall, trying to catch him in time.

She didn't—his body hit the floor hard but she caught his head, cradling it in her lap as he groaned. Mikasa brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"Are you alright?"

He spoke between jagged breaths. "Does it fucking look like I'm alright?" He tried to stand—she pressed her palm to his forehead, kept him on his back.

"Stay still for a few minutes."

Levi grunted—but obeyed, oddly soothed by the way her fingertips smoothed over his brow and into his hair.

He stared at the mistletoe dead center above them until his pulse returned to normal.

~10:30p.m.~

"I'll try this time." Mikasa let Levi help her to her feet. "Give me a boost."

Levi nodded, crouching onto his knees.

"What are you doing?"

"Sit on my shoulders."

"No."

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Then how?"

Mikasa looked disgruntled. "I don't know."

"Get on my fucking shoulders."

~10:35p.m.~

"Can you reach it?"

"Yes." Mikasa pulled herself up, her body halfway through the opening—when suddenly the entire cab jolted back to life, the cables beside her rolling. "Levi—"

He slid her down instantly, her stomach dragging over his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady as everything shifted. "Are you hurt—?"

She clamped her hand over his mouth as the lights flickered on weakly.

"The electricity is back up." Mikasa slid her hand away from his mouth, curled her fingers into the fabric over his shoulders. "We're going to get out."

Levi nodded grimly, felt his eyes latch onto the thrashing pulse at the base of her pale throat. "About fucking—" The elevator jerked to another stop, the lights flickering again.

"No." Mikasa whispered.

And the elevator gave another lurch but stayed in place, the lights dimming but staying lit.

And it still didn't move.

Lev gripped the back of Mikasa's blue dress in his fist. "Fuck."

~10:45p.m.~

"Do you know what I would have been doing at this time if I wasn't stuck here?" Levi asked Mikasa, sprawled across the ground with his jacket rolled up beneath his head.

"Celebrating." Mikasa murmured, her knees drawn up as she sat in the corner opposite of him. "Party with your business partners."

"Sleeping." Levi admitted, dark amusement thick in his voice. "Or perhaps I'd be sitting in bed, catching up on bills and other shitty, seemingly never ending paperwork." He turned his head, catching her gaze, eyeing her pretty pale legs, her skin glowing softly in the low light. "And you?" He let his voice deepen. "What would you be doing right now if you weren't…" He gestured flippantly about them. "…trapped in here with me?"

She pressed her cheek to her knee, tracing invisible circles on the dark blue fabric of her dress skirt—making Levi dimly realize the fabric had the slightest of shimmers to it. "Eating and watching T.V." She eyed the wine bottle he'd gifted her. "Drinking."

Levi exhaled wearily. You have no one either. "How dreary."

She turned away. "It'd be better than being trapped in here."

He smirked. "I bet so."

~10:50p.m.~

"What are you doing?"

"You can see what I'm doing."

Levi narrowed his eyes as she opened the huge box of sweets Jean had given her, a letter slipping out and sliding between them. There was a name written on it in a strong hand—

Mikasa. From Jean.

"Is that a fucking love letter?"

Mikasa slid it towards her quickly, tucking it into her coat pocket with flushed cheeks. "No."

"Open it."

"No."

"We need some fucking amusement or we're going to go insane."

"I'm fine."

"Tch," Levi raked his hair back, glanced at the time. "I'm going mad."

She slid the wine bottle towards him silently.

~11:00p.m.~

"Are you going to eat the whole fucking box?"

She slipped another chocolate between her lips. "I haven't eaten today."

Levi curled his lip when his own stomach growled.

"Don't eat them all."

~11:12p.m.~

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Levi took another swig, placing the bottle back between them.

Mikasa paused in the middle of stretching. She turned her head, sprawled on her back, her coat the only thing between her and the cold floor. She looked at him with a frown—saw him sitting against the wall, one knee drawn up, his fingers idly toying with a silver candy wrapper.

She reached for the bottle, drinking from it deeply before speaking. "You're abrasive."

He let out a dark huff of amusement. "That's a fucking understatement." He tossed the wrapper back into the box. "You aren't exactly all sugary sweetness either, Mikasa."

She smiled softly—saw him go very still. "Also another understatement, Levi."

~11:25p.m.~

"So…you and Jean?" Levi gestured to the letter peaking from her coat pocket beneath her.

She shook her head. "I'm not discussing my love life with you, Levi."

"Not much of one, I'd say." Levi shifted, moving to lie down beside her. They faced the mirrored ceiling, locking gazes through their reflections. "He buys you sweets when you could care less for them." He handed her the bottle. "Do you think he knows your favorite wine?"

Mikasa leaned up to take another drink. "You gave everyone wine, Levi." She handed him the bottle, looking at him from over her pale shoulder. "Jean gave me something…different from what he gave the others."

He took the bottle—placed it aside. He reached up, slowly—almost tentatively—touching her bottom lip, wiping away a stray drop of wine. "Do you honestly think me gifting you a bottle of your favorite wine was a lucky coincidence, Mikasa?"

She shut her eyes as his fingertips brushed over her cheek. "You're drunk."

He pulled his hand away. "I spent fifteen fucking minutes trying to pick out that wrapping paper."

She flushed, lying back down. "Shut up, Levi."

~11:35p.m.~

"I'll give you a pay raise if you open the shitty love letter."

"It's not a love letter." Her small smile disarmed him. "And no."

~11:40p.m.~

"And if I threaten to fire you?"

Mikasa sighed. "I have plenty of other job offers."

Levi cursed, his words slurred. "You—from who?"

She shook her head and ignored him, tipping the bottle into her mouth.

~11:55p.m.~

"I've never been kissed under the mistletoe." Mikasa suddenly murmured, her dark eyes latched onto the greenery hanging above them. "Really kissed. I was caught beneath it once with Eren." She touched her cheek, deep in memory. "I…leaned in to kiss him on the mouth—he kissed me on the cheek instead." She swallowed. "I felt…" She took a jagged breath. "I knew he'd never…"

Eren's a fucking idiot.

"Neither have I." Levi lifted himself up, his head swimming as he crouched over her. He slid his hand beneath her head, angling her mouth beneath his as his lips touched over hers gently. He felt her sharp inhale—paused. "There." He rasped thickly. "Wasn't so special." He dragged his lips over hers again. "Was it?"

Her tongue touched his bottom lip—and his breath caught. He swept his tongue into her mouth, tangled it with hers, tasting the bitterness of the wine, the sweetness of the chocolates she'd eaten. She slid her hands up his back, her thin fingers tangling in his hair as they deepened the kiss—the quiet buzzing of her phone vibrating against the ground between them.

They broke the kiss—lips kiss stung, breathless—and Levi glanced at her phone. He huffed, pushing her hair back. "It's midnight." Her dark eyes were clouded—a mixture of alcohol and lust, her blush lovely in the soft light reflected about them. "Merry Christmas, Mikasa."

~12:10a.m.~

"What the hell is going to happen when we need to take a piss?" Levi asked out loud.

Mikasa sighed, rolling to her side and shutting her eyes.

She'd been starting to wonder the same thing.

~12:20a.m.~

Somewhere between being half asleep and half-awake Mikasa found herself gathered within Levi's arms, his mouth tracing over every inch of exposed skin. "You're so soft." He kissed down her throat, his hands bunching up her dress, her thighs parting for him. "I never knew."

Her hands yanked at his shirt, tearing the buttons apart, peeling the shirt away from his shoulders impatiently. He slipped his arms out of the shirt, let her run her palms over his bare chest, his arms, her nails lightly scratching down his back. He held still for her as slid her hands to his hard stomach, her fingertips slipping beneath his belt.

He hissed, catching her mouth in another hard kiss, muffling his groan when her palm dragged over his clothed erection, gripping it tightly. He broke the kiss, buried his face in her throat as she unbuckled his pants, her hand slipping in eagerly.

"Mikasa," He breathed, gritting his teeth when her hand found him, fingertips dragging over the rigid length. "Mikasa, fuck." He grabbed her wrist—grabbed both of them—pinned them above her head in one fist. He caught her gaze, saw the look of almost triumph in it, the power she felt at working him up so quickly.

I see, Levi thought, trying to clear his head. "My turn." He dragged his free hand over her front, rasped his fingertips down her throat, over her chest and down to her stomach—parting her thighs. "Hold still." He snaked his hand beneath her skirt, fingers tickling the inside of her thighs—she arched, her hips jerking up. He smirked. "I said hold still."

She jutted out her chin defiantly—made a strangled sound when his fingers cupped between her legs, teasingly tracing over the lacy fabric, the wetness seeping through.

"Levi." His name cut from her lips.

"You're wet." He murmured—hooking his fingers into the fabric, yanking it down roughly. "But not enough." He slipped her lace down her legs, the material tangling on her heels briefly. He tossed them aside, his fingers cupping her ankle, sliding his palm up her leg, back up her thigh—pausing. He released her hands, slipping his beneath her back, searching. "Where—where's the fucking zipper?"

Mikasa caught his wrists, dragged them to her chest. "Here."

He frowned—until he felt a small fold, a long line in the fabric from the top of the dress to the hem. He found the zipper—dragged it down achingly slowly, reveling in every newly exposed inch of skin. When he reached the end he leaned back on his knees, parting the fabric like he was unwrapping a desperately needed gift.

And when he bared her to his gaze—his lungs locked. "You weren't wearing a bra…" He smoothed his hands up her bare stomach. If I'd known…he crouched over her—saw their bodies reflected about them in the low light from above. His fingers slid between her legs, his fingertip brushing against her teasingly, making her arch beneath him wantonly.

Slowly, he slid one long finger into her, curling it forward. "Wetter," He observed, his mouth finding the side of her neck, his teeth nibbling. "Still not quite ready for me."

"Levi." She moaned, wrapping her long legs around him, her nails digging into his back viciously as his finger worked within her. "I need…"

"I know." His thumb slid up, pushing in, searching. "I know what you need." His mouth slid down her chest, his breath tickling her skin, tongue tracing small circles as his thumb found the small button of sensitive flesh. "Here." He rasped his thumb over it roughly—her cry muffled with her own hand. "Don't." He reached up with his other hand, tugging her palm away from her mouth. He circled her clit in time with the movement of his finger, driving her up, watched her arch her back, her neck, her pulse thrumming. He lowered his head, catching the tip of her breast between his white teeth, dragging another strangled moan from her lips.

He worked over her slowly, methodically, savored every touch, every moan, looking up to see her watching their reflection on the mirror over their heads. He smirked—brought her as close to the edge as he needed her—and slid her breast out of his mouth, pried his hand away from her.

"Don't—" She was shaking beneath him violently. "Levi—what—?"

"Just a little more." He dragged his lips down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her belly button.

He moved lower still, dipping his head between her legs, her soft curse satisfying him immensely. He dragged his tongue over her, sifting into her restlessly until he found the soft button, circling it easily once he did.

"Levi—please."

He angled his head, suckling—and she fractured, her fingers tangling in his hair tightly, holding his mouth to her as she bucked beneath him, a long drawn out moan pried from her lips. He gentled the movements of his tongue, nurturing her through it until she begged him to stop.

He conceded, his mouth dragging back up her stomach, pausing to nibble at her collarbones, kissing his way up her throat. His fingers curled into her—gentled when she flinched. "Still sensitive." He murmured, his fingers still delving deeper into her. "But you're ready now."

She couldn't quite open her eyes, her mouth pressing against his clumsily as his hand fumbled into his pocket. He found the condom, tearing it open and rolling it on quickly—pressed the tip against her entrance.

He dragged in a badly needed breath, bracing himself over her. "Wrap your legs around me." She obeyed, gripping his hips and lifting her own, pressing him into her in one smooth movement. "Wait," He cursed, letting her impale herself onto him helplessly. His hands gripped her hips, pulling them higher, burying himself deeper—she was all damp, unbearable heat, scorching him. "Fuck, Mikasa." He pushed harder against her, burying himself to the hilt, a groan tearing from his throat when she pushed against him roughly. "Stop moving."

She kept grinding onto him, finding an easy rhythm, her breath hitching as her pleasure began to build again.

Shit.

He pinned her hips down, almost slipping completely out of her. "I'm trying to slow down." He bit her bottom lip in punishment. "I'm trying to be fucking gentle—"

"Don't." She flipped them over—slid him back into her body, spreading her thighs, seating herself fully onto him. "I don't want slow." She threw her head back as she began to ride him, spoke between ragged breaths. "I don't want you to be gentle."

I don't want you to be gentle either.

She flattened her palms against his chest as she rode him roughly, greedily searching for her own pleasure, nails digging into his skin. He watched her, clenching his jaw as he tried to hold on, waiting for her to find her own pleasure—realized he wasn't going to be able to hang on for much longer.

He slid his hand down her stomach, his fingers tips pressing up between her legs, dragging across her soft flesh with every shift of her hips.

She moaned—moved faster, and fuck he couldn't hold back, couldn't—she gave a small cry, hunching forward and collapsing onto his chest, grinding onto him fiercely, breaking his control.

His hands fumbled, grasping the sides of her head, muffled his moan against her mouth, his hips bucking upwards as he came.

His hands gripped her ribs hard enough to bruise.

He tore his mouth away from hers, his pulse slowing gradually. They said nothing as their breathing returned to a normal tempo, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, the delicate, powerful lines of her back reflected in the mirror above them.

He slid his palm up her spine soothingly, quieting her small trembles. "Are you okay?"

The look she gave him was almost insulted—but mostly tired.

He smirked, brushing her hair away from her flushed face. "Stupid question, I suppose." She sat back up, pulling away from his body, curling onto her side beside him.

He removed the condom with a grimace, tossing it into a small bag of empty treats. He reached for his coat and draped it over her bare body. He shifted as he adjusted his pants, searching for his shirt. "Do you want your dress?" He looked back at her—found her eyes were shut, her breathing slow and even.

"You're asleep." Levi murmured, feeling rather winded himself. He sighed, rolling onto his back, glancing at their reflections on the mirrored ceiling, on the walls. "Merry fucking Christmas to us."

~1:00a.m.~

He woke feeling her stir, seeing her shut his jacket closed over her front—her heels still on. She looked lovely—all flushed cheekbones, bare body wrapped in a jacket too short for her, the curve of her hip exposed, her slender feet still prettily arched in strappy heels.

Naked except for his jacket.

And she looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but here.

Levi looked away, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She looked uncomfortable—and he didn't want her to be but neither did he know how to go about easing her distress.

Don't make it worse.

"A little too late to get all skittish now, isn't it?" He arched a thin brow as he looked at her. "Considering…" He eyed her half exposed form pointedly.

Levi discovered that heels could be quite painful when dug into the skin.

~1:20a.m.~

"How long do you think it's going to take for someone to notice that we aren't anywhere to be found?" Levi murmured, carefully devouring a small sweet off of her stomach.

Mikasa's breath quickened, her fingers grasping his shoulders tightly. "Eren and Armin…always call me at midnight."

"Hmm," His mouth found the next sweet—lower down, the small caramel carefully placed over her thigh. "Hanji and Erwin call me, also." He sucked at her skin lightly, enjoying her little gasp. "They also show up in the morning to wish me happy birthday—ridiculous."

He moved lower—but she shifted, rolling over so that he was beneath her.

He scowled. "I wasn't done."

Mikasa straddled his legs, a furrow between her brows. "It's your birthday?"

Levi nodded. "It's not as if I'd do anything special to celebrate it anyway." He grasped her hips. "I hate birthdays anyway."

She eyed him grimly—and then something changed in her expression, a glint of determination, a look he'd seen when they'd been struggling through a meeting and a moment of clarity broke through her.

She reached up, grabbing a small handful of chocolates—neatly placing a line of them over his chest and down his stomach. She crouched, her mouth working over him, her tongue seeking sweet after sweet.

Levi shivered, chills plucking over his skin as her head moved down his stomach. "Shit—Mikasa." Levi clenched his jaw, his fingers cradling the back of her head as her lips encircled the sensitive head.

She glanced up through her lashes, her warm breath tickling him. "Happy birthday, Levi."

She took him into her mouth—and he cursed, arched his neck back—decided maybe he didn't hate birthdays after all.

~2:00a.m.~

"Levi," He felt her fingers sift into his hair. "Levi the lights are flickering."

He cracked open his lids, his head still in her lap. "They are." He looked up at her, still not quite awake. "It's making you nervous."

She inhaled deeply. "No."

He moved, pulling her onto him, cradling her head against his chest. "Sleep."

Her fingers gripped the side of his ribs tightly as his hand smoothed down her back and over her bottom.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Levi eyed their bare, entwined reflections—wondered what the hell would happen once they got out.

If she'd pull away.

If he would.

They both fell asleep soon after.

~6:00a.m.~

The sound of a loud buzzing woke them, along with the sudden flicker of the lights brightening. Levi sat up—pulling Mikasa up with him, held her when she slipped sideways.

"Levi—?"

"Shit." He stood, helping her onto her feet. The elevator began to move down. "Shit, shit."

They dressed as quickly as they could, barely managing to make themselves decent when the elevator stopped, the doors gliding open.

A group of technicians—along with Erwin and Hanji—stared at them openly.

Levi cleared his throat, buttoning his suit coat stiffly. "About fucking time." He grabbed his briefcase—eyed the mess of torn gift wrap and candy wrappers strewn about the elevator, the hand prints marring the mirrors, Mikasa's mussed hair—his own.

"Oh." Hanji muttered.

"Well," Erwin cleared his throat. "Thank you, gentlemen." He shook hands with the technicians, discreetly but firmly dismissing them. "Thank you for getting my coworkers out. Merry Christmas. You're free to go now."

~7:00a.m.~

Levi and Mikasa sat beside one another on the sidewalk outside, the cold biting the tips of their noses and their chapped lips. Erwin and Hanji had brought them two cups of coffee before they'd given them some privacy, and they held them between their cold hands, a stilted silence hanging between them as the sun began to peak over the tops of the buildings.

"We don't…" Levi paused, frustrated with himself. "We can pretend this never happened, if you'd like."

Mikasa kept her pretty dark eyes on the sunrise as she took another sip of her coffee. "If that's what you wish."

Levi frowned. "It's…not."

Mikasa looked at him, her expression unreadable—until the smallest of smiles touched her petal pink lips. "What now?"

He shrugged. "Dinner. Dates." He grabbed an end of her scarf, tugging her forward for a brief kiss, the movements of their mouths tinged with the relief that broke through them. He broke the kiss, kissing the side of her neck. "My apartment is just down the street." He moved to the other side of her neck, giving it the same treatment. "Spend Christmas with me, Mikasa."

Mikasa nodded, breathless.

They stood—gloved hands clasped as they walked away. Levi paused when they reached the corner, frowning at Mikasa suddenly. "This isn't just some ploy to get a pay raise, is it?"

She shoved his arm away and walked away from him—he gave a dark huff of laughter, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her back to him. "It was a damn joke."

She let him kiss her. "I deserve a pay raise."

He smirked. "You're just a younger woman out for my money and company, I see."

She shifted her hips against his. "Is it working?"

"Not one bit."

She pulled away, tugging her scarf up over her mouth as she linked their fingers. "I suppose I'll have plenty of time to work on that."

He smirked, tugging her into step beside him, letting her keep the chill away as the sunlight enveloped them. "That you will."

1 note · View note

writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Subtle Unraveling Chapter 7: Untether

Notes:

I updated two chapters in one night. They're both rather lengthy so I'm sorry. Also, this chapter gets rather explicit so feel free to skip over to ffnet if that isn't your cup of tea. The censored chapter is there. I feel a need to thank three people in particular (on tumblr) because if they hadn't encouraged me the way they had I think I would have dropped this story out of sheer anxiety of disappointing everyone. (you'll find my photo under the definition of nervous wreck) beautiful-illusion-wonder, megillien and mikasa-ism Thank you. Rather, when anyone encourages me I take it quite to heart. I hope you don't find this terribly inadequate for the wait.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It came as no surprise that Levi and Mikasa were the only two who attended the burial. They stayed through the entire ceremony, silently watching as every shovel of soil tucked Sophia neatly underneath their feet, every soft scrape both grating and soothing.

They left the burial late afternoon, leaving a small bunch of flowers the exact shade of Sophia’s eyes, a cut spool holding the stems together awkwardly.

They mounted their horses, their pace slow and measured as they wound their way back home. Her head was no longer bandaged and most of his own bandages were gone also—but their bodies were still tender, bruises running deep into the muscle and perhaps that was the reason their pace was so leisurely.

Or perhaps, she admitted to herself, seeing him painted gold in the dying rays of sun, his hair windswept and in bad need of a proper haircut and clothes in slight disarray—was something she wanted to relish for as long as he’d allow it.

Mikasa would almost think the combination of the lonely stretch of road and colorful sunset would have bordered on romantic if they weren’t so heavy, bones cracked and fractured with bitterness and regret.

About midway into their trek home Levi broke the thick silence, surprising her. “I’ve known Sophia for most of my life.” He paused, as if wasn’t sure if he should continue. “I met her when I was just a boy.”

Mikasa watched his expression carefully, waiting for him to unlock his own chains, encouraging him with her silence.

“I broke into her place on a cold night. It was one of the worst snow storms of the winter and I was usually good with finding a place to stay but they were all cramped with the other rift raft that lived on the streets. I knew Sophia didn’t always stay in her shop, that she had another home. I was cold and filthy enough to risk it.” A bitter smile touched his mouth, the sunlight deepening the stormy blue of his eyes. “I slept full and warm and I woke with her beating me blind.”

He lifted his head into the breeze that passed over them. “She tried to take me in but I never had any of it. Neither did she try very hard. I was too much work.” He shrugged. “She’d give me a spare shirt or jacket every now and then, sew up the holes I always made in them, taught me how to sew a thing or two myself.” He touched his cravat lightly, and though he did not say it she knew it was a token of their relationship.

Mikasa had always wondered about the life Levi had lived when he was younger, had heard only rumors of its darkness. Claude had only been a glimpse of it and she had not pressed for details in their moments alone together. She did not need them. “Brave of her, then.” She murmured quietly.

Levi’s gaze lowered. “I told her associating with me could be disastrous for her but she always said she was too old for anyone to hurt her. Idiot, really.”

Levi continued to prattle on, telling her small stories of her unorthodox methods of caring for him—and while he said them with disparage she knew that these small charities had struck him deeply as a bereft child, that he had carried that gratitude with him as he’d become a man. She knew that all of it had made her death all the more painful.

“I knew,” He finally finished, voice as tight as his clenched fists, reins wrapped about his knuckles tightly. “I knew that I risked her life—her family’s—every time I sought her.” His gaze was clouded, inverted, lost within a bitter memory. “I was selfish.”

She didn’t comfort him, perhaps because the way he spoke his words, tone brimming with bitterness—regret etched across his features—spoke not only of Sophia’s death but of many others, of names she’d never know of.

“How’s your arm?” He asked suddenly, clearing his throat. “And your head?”

She looked down to her arm, clenching her fist and bending her elbow experimentally. “It’s fine. My head…” She looked back up, straight ahead. “I’ve healed fine.” He’d often asked for her health and she found the repetition slightly irritating. If anything had really bothered her it had been the pain in her ear that had plagued her the nights after the incident with Claude—but it had waned enough.

Levi kept his gaze on her arm and shoulder, eyes trailing up and watching her expression carefully. “That brick was for me.”

She recalled the boy, the looks from the crowd, the odd sense of protectiveness that had welled up within her. She’d constantly told herself that she could only feel those things for Eren and Armin but her body had proven her wrong time and time again; moving to save Sasha, Historia, countless others—and now Levi.

Perhaps…perhaps she was not as pitiless as she’d made herself to be.

Perhaps neither of them really was, even if heartless was what they were very well capable of.

“It was for the both of us.” There was one question however, that had refused to fade away, pushing at her insides until she gave it voice. “Claude…” She saw him tense, asking the question anyway. “Are you angry that I killed him?”

His mouth pressed together. “No. Claude was…” His horse shifted warily, as if sensing his unease. “Claude was like me, then, a child doing what he had to do to survive. I might have ended up like him if Erwin hadn’t caught me.”

She pondered his answer, wondering how things would have wound up if it had been Levi who had been the leader of the thugs instead of Claude, a life where she had never known him. She wondered if he would have wound up dead at her hand if they’d met on that street, and she would have never been the wiser.

The thought troubled her more then she knew it could.

It made her realize that, despite the friction between them, she was grateful for his presence in her life. That he had not been left to rot on the streets—that he’d taken her under his wing and found her worth his time and effort and training.

Mostly, she was grateful to be able to call herself his comrade.

They were not, however, quite friends.

“As long as you’re fully healed for our next mission.” He glanced down at his own bruised hands. “I don’t want to pick up your slack again.”

She bit back her smile, tugging her scarf up over her mouth as the wind picked up.

They reached the castle at nightfall, swiftly giving the horses food and drink, the breeze chilling them to the bone as they stepped inside. It was dark, a mostly melted candle lit by the doorway. They made their way down the hall silently until they reached his bedroom door.

She should have continued onwards to her bedroom and down the hall but she felt curiously rooted to the spot, watching his pale fingers circle the knob of his bedroom door and hold still.

He had not touched her since that night at Sophia’s, since the night they’d curled together in their jail cell—had not so much as hinted at wanting to touch her. She had not been able to focus much on that part of their relationship, either—perhaps only at night, when she was alone and her bare skin was pressed to the cool sheets, reminding her of a much rougher and warmer touch.

She’d grown comfortable with his presence, with his mannerisms and way of thinking but she knew a baser part of herself had wanted to learn him in different ways. She’d felt the lick of heat flare up her stomach often enough; when he brushed against her, when his eyes dropped to her mouth, when his tone deepened and he mussed his hair, the scent of him clean and heady.

“I can make you feel good. I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to feel me.”

Mikasa built her resolve, ignoring the way her insides jangled. “I can stay, Levi.”

“Whether you can ignore everything and everyone, whatever everyone else might think, is up to you and you alone. As long as you’re sure you won’t regret your choice.”

She clenched her jaw, the words bubbling up past her lips willfully, falling between them, stilted and wooden. “I can stay. With you.” She licked her lips, feeling curiously breathless, palms damp. “Tonight.”

She saw him freeze, felt his gaze touch over her in brief surprise—and then he looked away, back to his hand gripping the knob.

“Mikasa…” Levi murmured.

She held her breath. Ask me. Ask me to stay. “Yes?”

He paused for just a moment too long. “Good night.”

She kept her expression still as stone. He’d…changed his mind, then. She nodded curtly, pulling away, already numb. “Good night, Levi.”

She walked away, pretending she didn’t hear the way his breath caught.

“Do I know you?” She’d asked him curiously, dark eyes sparkling prettily in the fading sunlight.

Levi felt uncharacteristically shaky, licking his lips before speaking. “No.”

She tilted her head in confusion, her pretty black hair slipping over her thin shoulder, giving him the look older women gave children who looked frightened or lost. “Is there something else you need?”

“I…” He couldn’t find his voice, didn’t seem to know how to tell her what he’d been meaning to for months now.

But it was simple, wasn’t it?

He’d finally mustered the courage to speak to her. Speak he would—he had to. He lifted his gaze and suddenly she was gone, a bloody smear upon the ground where she’d just stood and he knew, he knew—

Levi woke in the middle of the night, trembling and choking on his own spit. He struggled to sit up, kicking the sheets away and pressing his bare feet over the rough floorboards. He dragged his hands over his face, willing the nightmares away, could still feel the slickness of the blood between his fingers.

He breathed, slowly, deeply, tried to remember other things; the cracks and pops of the gear as he flew through the air, the clean smell outside the walls, the slosh of soapy water as it ran down grimy windows and the taste of black tea.

He breathed through his nose, swallowing, letting his mind wander into other thoughts.

The feel of her open mouth, the softness of her hair and how lovingly her thighs had cradled his hips, the power of her body begging to be tested against his. She could swallow him whole, he could drown in her, and he was so used to being the one who did the devouring he wasn’t sure he’d be able to crawl back from it.

You should tell her, Levi. Tell her now before it goes any further.

She’d asked him to be noble and it had been that that had prevented him from tugging her towards him, prevented him from dragging her onto his bed, from coaxing her open for him then and there.

But he couldn’t keep away. Not now, not when he needed her the most. She wouldn’t forgive him, wouldn’t hesitate to cut him out completely. Mikasa was loyal down to her bones and she would not forgive betrayal, had never forgiven it. After discovering the shifters among their midst—Annie, Reiner, Bertolt, Ymir—Mikasa had been ready to cut them down, had cut Annie down and almost brought down Reiner and Bertolt. And, if the reports were true, had been willing to strike even Ymir.

He saw it in how long she’d clung to her anger after he’d beaten Eren, in how she’d vowed to harm him for hurting him—she did not forgive easy.

She would not forgive him at all.

There were too many tethers, too many reasons why he should keep his hands off of her, why he shouldn’t think of her, want her the way he did—but none of them seemed to matter in the face of their circumstances, in the ugliness of the deaths that surrounded them.

He’d never been one to be cling to righteous morals, either.

Moments of beauty, he recalled bitterly, removing the remaining bandages around his chest with shaky hands.

He wondered if he could have one.

Mikasa woke feeling someone in her bedroom.

She had good instincts, always had, and she knew who it was even before she opened her eyes and found him perched beneath her window upon the ground. His pale night shirt was mostly unbuttoned, hanging loosely from his broad shoulders, his elbows propped on his raised knees. His hair looked damp and disheveled, several locks of it falling over his brow, curtaining the blue eyes that were watching her intently.

“You’re awake.” He murmured, his voice thicker than usual.

She slid to the side of her bed, tugging the sheets away from her, asking without preamble. “Why are you here?”

He pressed his lips together in displeasure but had he really expected any less? “You know why I’m here.”

She tilted her chin up a little, dark eyes glinting beneath the moonlight eerily. She stayed stubbornly silent, demanding a verbal answer from him. She’d offered to stay just hours earlier and he’d denied her—but he’d crawled back, and she would have nothing but his complete surrender.

He was just broken enough to give it to her.

“I thought I could be noble.” Levi looked away, his expression betraying the guilt he felt despite the nonchalance of his words. “But I want to stay.” He let his eyes sweep the mostly bare room, her bed, a nightstand, her scarf hung over the back of a chair. “With you.” He looked to her now, holding her gaze steadily. “In your bed. If you’ll have me.”

She said nothing, only watched him for several drawn out moments, letting the tension climb until he was half sure she’d tell him to get out—and then she rose, walking towards him silently.

She wore an artless pale gown that hung loosely off her shoulders, a tiny row of buttons lining down the front, the fabric snowy and thin enough to be slightly sheer. She crouched before him, her hands brushing his away as he reached for her.

He frowned, her fingers beginning to slowly unbutton his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders with precise, practical movements. “You’re still hurt.” Her cool fingers ran over his hard chest, fingers lingering over the long brutal lines they’d carved into him. She didn’t quite say it with concern, said it more as an observation, a doubt.

He caught her wrists, her look of reluctance making him speak. “I’m fine.”

She pressed the tips of her fingers into his ribs experimentally and he scowled, pulling her hands away. He licked his dry lips. “I’m well enough.” He amended.

She didn’t look very convinced—but he tugged her closer, pressing his mouth to hers, his eyes shutting as she slanted her mouth over his. He released her hands, his fingers slipping down her back and bunching her gown in his shaky grasp, lifting it up past the swell of her hips. She pressed her body to his, making his pulse leap as she sat astride his thigh.

His hands grasped her bare hips and before he could stop her she was shifting over him tightly, her hand tugging his hair to expose his throat for her eager mouth, his pulse leaping erratically. He was the experienced one, not her, and yet here he was, beneath her swift, greedy touch, letting her peel everything away until she had him exposed and vulnerable before her.

He tore his mouth away. “Mikasa—”

She slid her hands down his chest and stomach, slipping her fingertips beneath the band of his pants, lingering over his sharp hip bones. He inhaled sharply, feeling his body rush with warmth as she continued to tug his pants lower as she moved down. He lifted his hips, letting the fabric slip down his legs and off, bared before her impassive gaze.

He swallowed as she looked him up and down, her lips parting slightly as her breath quickened.

Desire, Levi thought darkly, a vicious bite of arrogance sweeping through him as he watched her tremble. He straightened onto his knees, cupping one hand over her hip and the other behind her neck, forcing her to lean back.

“Lie down.” He breathed the words against her neck when she stiffened, his lips brushing the bandage she still wore over the bite wound.

She gave a small shudder and surrendered, letting him lay her on her back on the floor, the moonlight draping over her prettily. He pressed his knee up between her thighs, nudging against her intimately, giving her pressure where she needed it the most. She dug her nails into his back in response.

“Levi.” She clutched his thigh between hers tightly as he gave another push, her hands clawing around his ribs, raking down his front, lower still.

“Not yet.” He brushed her hands away before she could touch him, his hands working at the buttons of her gown as his mouth caught hers again. She parted her lips for him instantly, letting him in as deep as he wanted, letting him drink her with the thoroughness he’d been unable to before. He felt her sharp intake of breath when he parted the fabric against his mouth, urging her to slip her arms free of the small sleeves.

He spread the gown over the ground beneath her, using it as a blanket of sorts though he knew it was not enough. He broke the kiss, sitting back and looking her over greedily, his breath rasping at the sight of her pale, spread form, vulnerable beneath his hands.

Her skin was flushed prettily, the hard lines of her stomach quivering with a mixture of nervousness and desire. He was careful not to reopen her wound, his gaze darkening as he recalled the way they’d had her tied and helpless on the ground, the way Claude had pressed a gun to her head.

Mostly, he recalled the way it hadn’t deterred her from disarming Claude, from saving his life and her own.

He hadn’t remained as composed as he should have—had downright lost it at the end, only vaguely remembered the dull thuds as he’d broken Claude until Mikasa had pulled him back ripping him out of the memory of seeing someone else dead and broken on the floor.

Mikasa reached up, tugging his head down and catching his mouth, demanding his attention, as if she’d seen how he’d momentarily gone adrift into his thoughts. He breathed slowly, shutting his eyes as she pulled him back to her, her arms and legs wrapping around him. She was almost cradling him except he knew better, knew she was only demanding he give himself to her, knew she’d be as ruthless as he’d be with her.

He bit her bottom lip, his hands pressing her shoulders back and forcing her to release him as he continued his perusal of her body. Her breasts were small, rose tipped and firm beneath his callused palms. He dragged his hands down her front, grasping the sides of her wide hips as he pulled her further onto his hard thigh, her startled moan making his jaw clench.

He dragged his mouth over the tips of her breasts, breathing over her before he parted his lips and drew her into his mouth. She said his name, strangled, one hand digging into the back of his shoulder viciously. Her other hand snaked between them and before he could snatch it she was cradling his stiff erection in her palm, her thumb sweeping over the head.

He cursed, hissing as he slid his mouth lower, letting her stroke him tentatively, tightly. It felt good—much too good—and before he knew it he was crouched over her and sweating, his entire burning focus on her hot damp palm, on the grip of her tight fingers.

She pressed a kiss to the pulse at the base of his throat, her murmur breathed across his collarbones. “Lie back down.”

He almost nodded, almost moved to obey her, the hunger sizzling on his tongue—but he shook his head, inhaling deeply and gathering his wits. She was winding him up faster than he wanted to go and he needed to slow himself down, push her up with him.

“No.” He pulled her hand away, pressing her wrists onto either side of her head. “Another time.” He caught her wrists as she made to move them again, pulling them back up by her head and catching her gaze forcefully. “You’ve had your fun. Let me have mine.”

She relinquished control with a stiff nod and a press of her pink lips, letting his hands rove over her where they would. He ran his fingertips over every inch of her, finding places that made her jump; her sharp collarbones, over the thin, sensitive skin on the inside of her wrists and palms, her thighs, brushing the backs of her knees and making her shift uncomfortably.

“Ticklish?” He murmured, the edges of his lips lifting despite himself.

She licked her lips, breathing shallowly, quickly. “Hurry.”

He lowered his head, letting his weight press over her squirming form. The feel of her bare body against his made him groan a little, her soft thighs parting further over him, the head of his cock brushing against her softness.

She murmured quietly at the contact, tentatively shifting so the head nudged in further—and he cursed, grasping her hips and pushing her back down to the ground with shaky hands.

“Mikasa.” He growled, his self-control nearly at its end. He should have known she’d have him falling apart, should have known she’d know how to untether his restraints with a thoughtless, feather-light touch and a tilt of her hips. “We’re not in a hurry.” He breathed against her skin, crouching over her open body, narrow eyes tracing over her trembling form. He slid his hand down her chest, skimming over her hard stomach and between her legs.

She shut her eyes, tossing her dark head back as his fingertips lightly traced her, finding her only a little wet. “Relax.” He shifted back, fingers still lightly nudging her apart. “Spread your thighs.”

She obeyed shakily, flushing a little at his openly appreciative gaze, rewarding her with a dip of two fingers. He rasped his callused fingertips against her soft flesh, hardening further when she moaned his name.

“Good?” He asked, pressing his dark smile against her skin, fingers catching at her roughly, making her stiffen and buck beneath his hand.

“Yes.” Her chest shuddered, pale skin flushed. “Yes.”

He watched her lazily, possessively, reveling in having her under his control now. “It’s always better to take your time, Mikasa.” He watched her squirm before him, pale fingers clawing at the floorboards, reduced to a wanton mess before him. “You’ll learn that well enough.” He shifted, preparing to move lower down her body as his hand slid away.

“Levi,” She breathed, her hand reaching down to grip his wrist, keeping his hand against her.

He spoke slowly, her blunt nails digging into the thin skin of his wrist. “Let go of my hand, Mikasa.”

Her grip only tightened further—and he stopped the movement of his fingers, her hips shifting restlessly.

Her jaw clenched, her impatience amusing him, the word sounding pried from behind her teeth. “Please.”

He slid lower down her body, his tongue tracing small circles over stomach. “Release my hand.” He mouth moved lower, their hands blocking his path. He breathed against her wrist, watched her lashes flutter shut as his head hovered over her spread thighs. “I’ll give you what you want, Mikasa.”

She hissed—and loosened her grip, his wrist left with the blush red imprint of her slim fingers. “There you go.” He slid his hand over her hip, dragging her body down so his mouth could reach her better.

Her pale hands clenched, muttering something beneath her breath, frustrated, taut curses.

He nipped at her hip, making her flinch. “Try to hold still.” He instructed, his head lowering. His tongue delved into her softness with a long, slow sweep, dipping into her leisurely, his hands gripping her thighs and parting them for his head. She bucked beneath his mouth, the pleasure crackling through her with an arch and a dazed gasp of his name. She wrung one hand into his hair as he flicked his tongue over her, her fingertips pressing over her lips as if to quiet the strangled sound she made.

“Too much?” He murmured, hands pushing her thighs further apart, angling his mouth as he pressed his tongue in deeper.

“No.” Her voice was thin and breathy, and he glanced up at her through his lashes, watching as her body tightened over the hard floorboards. Her thighs kept shifting on either side of his head restlessly; parting when he pulled away, clenching when he slid back in.

“Stay still for me.” He reminded softly, breathing the words against her.

She was shaking violently beneath him, the heel of her hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sounds he pulled out of her. He kept searching her with his tongue, nurturing the sensation until she felt she’d go mad. “Levi, I can’t…I can’t.”

He pulled his mouth away, slipping his hand between her legs, finding her scorching hot and wet. He spread kisses over the inside of her thigh, nipping hard enough to leave a mark. He slid up her body, her hips arching up—but he shifted away, his palm pressing over her stomach.

She yanked at his hair, her teeth biting into his shoulder hard, making him curse. “Levi.” She breathed, her tone a threat.

“Not yet.” He coaxed again, though he was almost at the end of his rope, too. “Hold onto me.” He slid his hands beneath her, one arm cradling her spine while the other cupped the curve of her rear, holding her against him securely. She clung to him shakily as he sat back, lifting her up as he made his way to her bed.

Her thighs gripped his hips tightly, lifting herself over him, her mouth devouring his once she found it. Her hands raked through his locks, the feel of her against him making him stumble as she adjusted her hips against his stomach, sliding down onto until he felt himself pushing into her tightly. He groaned, slipping out of her quickly and earning a painful tug on his hair.

“Wait.” He bit out, tumbling her onto the bed a little clumsily, the soft cool sheets billowing about their bare bodies as they sunk in, his weight pressing her in deeper. He slid his other hand back between them as her hands gripped his shoulders, positioning himself against her as his other hand tugged her thigh up higher.

He didn’t have much self-control left but he forced himself to stay still regardless, grating out the question. “Are you—?”

“Yes.” She cut in, hips shifting restlessly. “Yes.”

He kissed the thrashing pulse at the base of her neck as his hips surged forward, his hand sliding beneath her back, gripping her shoulder and anchoring her beneath him as he slowly sank into her. His grip tightened when she bucked beneath him, keeping her in place as he slid into her body, his breath catching at the ease of it.

“Don’t stop.” She hissed, her grip on his hair going slack at his slow thrust. He watched her expression carefully—possessively—as he buried himself fully within her, hips pressed flush together. She pulsed around him, cracking his restraint slightly, his forehead dropping onto her chest as he shut his eyes and breathed as best he could, scrabbling back for control.

“Levi…” She shuddered beneath him, eyes shut, brow creased—almost in discomfort— focused entirely on the feel of him inside of her.

And the sight of it helped him lock himself back into place. “Mikasa,” He called gruffly, throat much too tight. “Look at me.”

She inhaled shakily, lids lifting reluctantly. Her dark eyes shined curiously in the moonlight, her gaze heady and dazed. His hand slid down, catching hers, linking their fingers, palms pressed together tightly. He sunk her hand into the bed by her head, holding onto it as their gazes held.

He arched his back, sliding out of her gently, watching her reaction carefully. Her lids lowered but did not shut, her swollen lips parting with the softest of moans as he sank back into her. He grinded his hips against hers tightly, a groan catching in his throat at the slick heat surrounding him, at the way her free hand gripped his hip and pulled him in tighter. He tried his best to hold still, his damp hair falling over his brow, pressing a quick hard kiss to her mouth.

“All right?” He bit out, his breaths jagged.

She nodded, almost calmly, her thighs wrapping around his waist invitingly as her hand kept urging him in deeper. “Don’t stop.” She repeated, arching her neck, exposing her pale throat for his mouth.

He pulled his hips back, surging forward again, struggling to keep a lazy, deep rhythm. He sucked at the side of her neck, breathing against the sensitive curve of her ear. He murmured a soft warning before he circled his hips, catching her at the right angle, a cry of pleasured surprise tearing from her throat.

He covered her parted lips with his, their hands clinging as he deepened his thrusts. It felt the way he knew it would, the feel of her beneath him, of them, of the power and ease of their bodies moving together. He was reveling in having her open and splayed for him, in feeling her thighs shake as she tried to grip him, in hearing the frustration in the pleasured cracks of her moans. She was not an idle lover, mouth and nails tugging and clawing, her long legs wrapping and unwrapping about him restlessly—and if he’d let her she’d have him beneath her in the blink of an eye.

But not tonight.

“Levi.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand tugging at the sheets fretfully. “Faster.”

He caught her hand, leading it to his back, urging her nails to scratch at him instead of the bed. He kissed her bottom lip when she did, groaning when she lifted her hips for him, letting him in easier, smoother. She hooked her leg high up over his back, the increased friction making them both jerk.

He slid one hand up behind him, pressing her knee lower. “No.” He brushed his lips across her throat, slowing his pace, the brutal bite of her nails only winding him up higher. “I want you to come apart for me.” She spread her thighs further apart for him and bit his lip, her grip on his hand tightening. He squeezed it reassuringly as his hips snapped forward, roughening his thrusts. “Just like this.”

She moaned against his mouth as her orgasm struck her, her thighs trembling about his hips, her pulse skittering wildly. Her nails tore into his skin as she reached her peak, his thrusts quickening, riding her through her orgasm, his teeth clenched against the heady mixture of pleasure and pain. She bit his collarbone, clinging to him as his thrusts quickened, hard enough to shake the bed beneath them. His pleasure fractured through him, dizzying and crackling, his body straining as he muffled his choked groan against her throat.

His mouth sought hers and she parted her lips obligingly, the kiss fierce and hard as the last bits of pleasure were wrung from them, their trembles quieting. He caught his breath and released the death grip he’d had on her hand, forcing himself to keep the entirety of his weight off of her on shaky arms. Her fingers threaded through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp, the sensation sending small shivers down his back as her tongue dipped back into his mouth.

He spoke when she broke the kiss, tongue thick as he pulled out of her body reluctantly, pressing the words to the corner of her lips. “You all right?”

Her dark eyes scanned his features almost curiously, lingering on his mouth. “I am.”

He didn’t know what that look meant but he knew it was a softer one then she’d ever given him, a tender possessiveness he’d never seen her show before. The edges of her kiss stung lips lifted sultrily, entrancing him, making him reluctant to move away from her open body.

“Did you think you’d hurt me?” She questioned softly, the pads of her fingers pressing over his shaky arms idly.

He eyed her beneath him, her pale skin flushed, knew she’d wake with bruises from his hands and mouth. “I’m not gentle, Mikasa.”

“Neither am I.” She ran her hand down his chest, eyeing the strain of his body as he continued to hold himself crouched over her. “I’m not the one still shaking, Levi.”

Still shaking?

He lowered his head over hers as he slid onto his elbows, amused despite his exhaustion, his mouth a breath away from hers. He paused before he kissed her, his smile dark as his fingers tangled into the back of her hair. “Are you teasing me, Mikasa?”

She tugged his head down, slanting her mouth beneath his in answer, the kiss lazy and unhurried, the taste of her making him half hard again.

And if he was at his full strength he’d be very much be tempted to have at her again—but he wasn’t, and despite her challenge neither was she. He pulled away reluctantly, collapsing onto his stomach beside her, the cold air like ice on his overheated skin. “Brat.” He muttered, his hand slipping down her back, palming her warm skin with a languid fervency.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but before he knew it his eyes were shutting, his breathing deep and easy—until he felt her shift away.

She sat up, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet over her bare body.

He frowned, a little more than sluggish as he spoke. “Mikasa…”

She made to move away but he grabbed her elbow, holding her in place.

She stiffened and he rubbed his thumb over her skin soothingly, waiting until she relaxed before speaking. “I’ll leave. This is your room, not mine.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, nodding towards her gown on the ground. “I was going to get dressed.”

He pressed his lips together, regretting having spoken as he released her. “You don’t need it.” It wasn’t as if he was going to bother putting his clothes back on—at least not now that it didn’t seem she wanted him to leave.

She ignored him, pulling it on and buttoning it quickly. Perhaps it was because she was younger and he wasn’t exactly young himself but seeing how much energy she had left and how much he didn’t soured his mood a little.

Or it would have if he wasn’t so damned relaxed. She crawled back into the bed and he pulled the sheets over them, admitting to himself that knowing she’d stay beside him through the night made him feel much more at ease. He slid his hand beneath her gown and up her thigh, cupping her bare hip and shutting his eyes, the feel of her soft skin soothing him though his thoughts were restless.

“Mikasa…”

He should tell her, he knew. But he didn’t have to. When had he ever been a good man? What did knowing about the past matter if it only brought pain and you could not change it? Telling her would be pointless.

“Yes?”

She was on her side, her hair splayed over the pillow. It had grown longer, he noted dully, the tips of the inky strands tickling his lips. The moonlight played over the edges and curves of her body forgivingly, both highlighting and softening her scars and bruises. She watched him perceptively, that same peculiar look she’d given him before. “Levi?”

He fell asleep only a moment later.

“Forgive me.”

Mikasa woke with a start, the words ringing in her head. She was not sure if she had dreamt them or he’d spoken them—but it was all a distant blur as heat spread from between her legs, fanning up her stomach and throat. She was on her side with Levi pressed flush against her back, his hand between her thighs, his mouth against the side of her neck. Her gown was bunched at her waist, her chest and hips exposed for his roving hands.

“I told you,” He murmured softly. “You weren’t going to need it.”

She swallowed thickly, parting her thighs when his knee pressed between them. He spread her legs, her leg hooking back over his. “Levi…” She shuddered, hands gripping the sheets with pale fists as she arched her back.

“Easy.” He breathed, her breath catching as he slid into her slowly, gently.

She nodded, tilting her hips back welcomingly, shutting her eyes as he slid into her with just the slightest pinches of discomfort. He felt her body stiffen—as slight as the movement was—and held still.

I’m not gentle, he’d murmured, but his touch and voice belied his words.

“Relax.” His hand continued to work between her thighs, the rough touch making her heart beat viciously, her breaths short and quick. “I can stop if it’s too much, Mikasa.” He pressed his palm against her lower stomach and she clung to it as his hips shifted against her experimentally, his own breath catching when her hips moved against him.

“Don’t.” She linked their fingers as he had done before, beginning to tremble as her pleasure built with every shift of his hand and hips. “Keep going.”

She felt his smile against her ear, feeling so full of him she thought she’d fracture. “Brat.” He breathed against the nape of her neck. “You’ll learn patience if it’s the last thing I teach you.”

He kept her anchored to him with his hand pressed to her stomach, her fingers interlaced with his. She turned her head, his mouth catching hers, the tip of his tongue running over the seam of her lips teasingly. She relaxed her body just as he found a rhythm that had them both shaking, muffling his name against the sheets as he slowly took her apart again.

Despite what most thought it was not a rarity when Hange became awfully serious. Erwin had lived and seen enough of humanity to know that people were not one thing despite the comfort of placing a single trait upon those you knew.

It was something he’d often took advantage of.

“This mission…” Hange’s brow furrowed. “Will be dangerous. We’ll need Levi and Mikasa and they’re both still injured.”

Erwin’s lips pursed ever so slightly, his large hands smoothing the sheets of paper over his desk. “They’re well enough.” He shut his eyes, body weary with the weight of one who had lived too long and too much. “They’ll have to be.”

“Get me some food, will you Armin?” Eren yawned as he spoke.

Armin looked a little sleepy himself, nodding. They’d woken a little earlier than usual, the sky still gray with the lack of sunlight. Armin parted his lips to reply when Sasha walked around the corner, nearly stumbling straight into them. Armin smiled at her. “Good morning, Sasha.”

Sasha smiled nervously. “Morning.” She wrung her hands together, throat working. “You two going to eat?”

“Yeah.” Eren raked his hair back, cracking his neck as he spoke. “I’m just going to go check on Mikasa first. You guys go ahead.” Eren waved at them as he turned but before he could he felt Sasha grab his wrist. Eren stiffened, looking at her incredulously. “Sasha, what—?”

She yanked him forward with surprising force, nearly sending him tumbling into Armin. “Sasha what the hell—?”

“I’ll go get her!” Sasha’s smile was—despite its brightness—very strained. “Save me a bowl.” She paused before she moved away. “Remind Connie he owes me half his food.” She spun on her heel, walking down the hall quickly.

Eren’s brows knitted together, following close behind her and leaving a protesting Armin behind. Something was wrong. “I wanted to check up on her because I fell asleep early last night.” Eren lengthened his strides in order to keep up with her, a little irritated with the way she kept speeding up. “Is something wrong, Sasha?”

Sasha flushed deeply, shaking her head, brown pony tail bobbing. “No.” They reached Mikasa’s door and paused. Sasha bit her lip. “I’ll go in first.”

Eren stepped forward before she could go for the knob. “Sasha, what’s going—?”

Sasha tried to block him, squeaking when he managed to grab the doorknob. “Eren, no!”

Eren shoved the door open—and nearly slammed against it as Sasha leapt onto his back, her hands clamping over his eyes and blinding him.

“Mikasa!” Sasha shrieked.

He heard a curse and a thump, a muffled growl of ‘get out’ and before he could get Sasha off of him the door slammed shut. “Sasha get off of me!” He pried her hands away from his face, shoving her off of his back. “Mikasa!” He grabbed the doorknob but it was locked now. He banged his fist against it. “Mikasa open the door!”

He’d heard someone’s voice and it hadn’t been Mikasa’s. In fact it had been a very male voice and it had almost sounded like—

Mikasa sounded very strained as she spoke from behind the door. “I’ll be out in a minute, Eren.”

Eren caught Sasha’s wrist before she could jump him again. “Mikasa, what the hell is going on?”

He heard more shuffling within her bedroom and she opened her door, slipping out and shutting it behind her quickly. She looked a little disheveled in her civilian clothing, her hair slightly damp, her dark eyes skirting away from his. “What’s wrong, Eren?”

He gave her a very, very hard look. “Why didn’t Sasha let me into your room, Mikasa?” Eren felt a sense of foreboding spreading low in his gut, his hands clenching of their own volition. “What’s going on?”

She licked her lips before speaking, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I was just getting dressed, Eren. Sasha knew I’d just finished bathing.”

Mikasa had gotten a little better at lying—but she was still horrible at it. “You’re lying to me.”

“Eren,” Mikasa clenched her fists. “There isn’t anything—”

“Then why can’t I go into your room?”

“Because—”

He moved to her door but she grabbed his wrist tightly, sliding her body between him and her room. “Eren, don’t.”

“Just tell me what the hell is—?”

The door flew open behind her back and Mikasa made a strangled sound—and oh. Oh.

“It’s too fucking early to be making so much noise, Eren.” Levi stood in the doorway of Mikasa’s bedroom, shirtless and the button of his pants undone. “She’ll catch up with you in a minute.” He gave Mikasa a pointed look then turned away, letting the door swing open carelessly.

Eren couldn’t quite think clearly for several seconds—couldn’t quite breathe properly—and as he eyed Levi’s mostly undressed form, the clothes strewn about the floor, the rucked up sheets and the nail marks raking down his spine his brain still struggled to come to the conclusion that was obvious.

Levi and Mikasa?

Mikasa looked into her room furiously—then back to Sasha. “Sasha, take Eren.”

Sasha nodded jerkily and before Eren could suck in a breath the door was shut in his face.

Levi and Mikasa?

Levi sat on the edge of her bed, ignoring the glare boring into the back of his skull as he tugged on a boot. “First she walks in on us.” Levi pulled on his other boot. “And then she returns with Eren who decides to throw a tantrum outside your door.” Levi pondered for a moment. “Good thing she walked in on us first. No telling how Eren might have reacted if he’d seen us like…” He gestured to the bed flippantly. “That.” Levi’s brow furrowed, as if contemplating Eren’s possible reaction.

Her words were frighteningly—or they would have been, perhaps, to someone else—hollow, airless and thin. “I told you to stay hidden.”

Levi threw her a dark look over his shoulder. “Why the hell would I have to hide, Mikasa?” He stood, sliding on his belt.

“Because I asked you to.” Mikasa grabbed his shirt off the ground, balling it in her fist. Just an hour ago she’d been twisted about him, an hour ago he’d been inside of her and she hadn’t been able to press closely enough—and now she looked as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him. “Because he wasn’t ready.” She threw the shirt at him, her tone controlled, her movements jerky and stiff. She sat on the edge of her bed, hands gripping the side of the mattress tightly. “Get out.”

Levi didn’t move, his eyes watching her closely, his thoughts straying as they slid down her body

As much as he admired how she looked in her uniform he’d always been enthralled with the way she looked in her civilian clothing, with the way the fabric draped over her loosely, how soft it looked in comparison. He could almost pretend they weren’t soldiers, that they were just a simple man and woman who’d found each other through one way or another.

He could almost pretend that their deaths weren’t lingering around every corner, that they bore no responsibility beyond their own lives, and that they hadn’t been driven together because of the usefulness of their extraordinary strength, because that strength had never really been enough.

He could almost pretend they were normal people with ordinary lives; could almost pretend things between them were simple.

He spoke quietly. “Because he wasn’t ready, Mikasa?” He moved a little closer, tossing his shirt onto the bed. “Or because you weren’t?”

She shut her eyes. “Get out.”

“Answer me, Mikasa.” He stepped towards her, cupping her chin and lifting her face up to his. “Did you want to keep this—” He gestured to the clothes on the floor, the bed, the space between them. “A secret?”

She licked her lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth, his stomach tightening.

“Yes.” She admitted, his grip on her chin slackening. “This is most likely temporary. He had no need to know. Not so soon.” Not ever.

Levi gave her a hard look, his mouth hard. “Well he does now, doesn’t he?” He released her. “You couldn’t baby him forever. I could care less who does or doesn’t know. Neither should you.”

Her jaw clenched, her glare cutting him deeper then he’d like to admit. “You wouldn’t.”

He pulled on his crumpled shirt, ignoring the sting of her words. “It wasn’t as if I had a choice, anyway.” He began to button it quickly, words as terse as his movements. “We both know Eren wouldn’t have left until you let him into your room. He’s a stubborn fucking brat and not even you would have been able to stop him.” Levi tucked his shirt in. “But if you want to place the blame solely on my shoulders go ahead. Whatever the hell is more convenient for you, Mikasa.”

He left without another word.

“These are the plans for our next mission.” Erwin pointed to a center group etched upon the worn chalk board, the squads gathered in the room still in their civilian clothing for the impromptu meeting. They all eyed the plan intently, some looking grim and most looking nervous. Erwin looked to Levi. “You’ll be leading the center group. Hange will lead the left and Mikasa will lead the right.”

Mikasa looked to Erwin at that, surprise flickering across her usually stoic features. They all looked a little surprised—but Levi had spoken to Erwin before about Mikasa’s strength and capability and it had only been a matter of time. She would be the one to replace him when he was gone, and her training had only begun.

“Mikasa is…?” Eren swallowed thickly. “Mikasa will be leading a squad?”

Erwin nodded. “We need our strength spread out as evenly as we can.”

Levi eyed the plan grimly, seeing everyone tense at his next question. “Where will Eren be placed?”

Erwin pointed to the center group. “He will be in your care.” Erwin did not say it but Levi heard it nonetheless. Hange would be a little too reckless with his power and Mikasa would be too protective. Eren had always respected him and obeyed his orders and that made missions easier.

“I would like Eren and Armin to be placed in my group.” Mikasa kept her gaze fixed on Erwin. “We work better when we are together. Separating us would only—”

“Mikasa,” Levi interrupted. “You have no say in this matter. Eren will be in my team.”

Mikasa gave him a look that was all daggers. “Eren should be with—”

“He should be where Erwin places him.” Levi cracked, the entire room becoming dead silent at his low spoken anger. “You’re foolish when it comes to Eren’s safety. You think of no one else’s, much less your own. Having Eren beside you would only hinder you because you can’t control your baser instincts. Stop arguing, Mikasa. You’re much too young and stupid to doubt the orders you’re given.”

The silence hung thick in the air, everyone shifting uncomfortably. Mikasa made to stand—but Jean reached out, touching her shoulder gently and murmuring something in her ear. Mikasa’s throat worked tightly, but she nodded, her expression stony as she forced herself to relax back in her seat.

Erwin looked to the rest of the group, blue eyes sharp. “If you have any questions about the placement of yourselves or anyone else, ask them now.”

Levi didn’t look away from Mikasa, his gaze fixed on the way Jean’s hand lingered on shoulder, his thumb pressing over her soothingly. He’d seen them become closer over the years, touches becoming slightly more frequent but it hadn’t quite seemed so stark as it did now.

Eren spoke again, breaking the taut silence, directing the question to Erwin. “Where will Armin be placed?”

Erwin looked to Mikasa. “He could be in your group.”

Mikasa licked her lips and Jean’s grip tightened imperceptibly. She gave Armin a significant look and he nodded ever so slightly. “No.” She looked away. “It’d be better if he was in Levi’s squad.”

Levi narrowed his eyes slightly, her response surprising him. He’d expected Mikasa to—at the very least—attempt to have Armin under her care. But perhaps she wanted Armin to accompany Eren because if she was not there to prevent him from being reckless Armin would be. Hange would most likely have Mobilt along with Erwin, it seemed—and Mikasa…as much as she never really thought of her own safety he was sure he could count on Sasha and Jean to watch out after her. He just needed to make sure they were placed with her.

Jean’s hand slipped away from her shoulder, his fingertips brushing the hair that had been gripped in his fist just hours ago.

Levi bit the inside of his cheek discreetly. He could give Mikasa that if nothing else. He had to. “I’ll take Armin.”

Armin gripped Eren’s sleeve tightly.

Erwin nodded. “We’ll assign the rest of the squads in the days to come.”

Eren and Armin looked to Mikasa worriedly—but Mikasa only stared straight ahead unseeingly.

“You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so—”

Mikasa swung her axe down, cutting the thick stump neatly in two. Sasha sighed as she replaced it with another, gathering the halves and tossing them into the wooden wheelbarrow.

“We need firewood.” Mikasa swung the axe again, as if emphasizing her words. “I need to keep training or I won’t be prepared for our mission.”

“We have a week.” Sasha grabbed the split pieces, sitting on the grass and glaring up at the bright sunlight. “I guess telling you to take it easy on your body is kind of pointless since you and Levi…” She flushed and bit her tongue.

Mikasa gave Sasha a very unamused look.

She looked away apologetically. She’d tried her best to keep Eren from finding out but she didn’t really think anything could have stopped him. When the meeting had ended Sasha had found Mikasa and Eren arguing and Eren had stormed off, Armin trailing after him to try and calm him.

Mikasa had looked worried—but she’d hidden it quickly with her usual cool exterior, how bowl of food untouched. And as the hours had passed and Eren and Armin still hadn’t returned Mikasa had thrown herself into her chores with her usual dogged determination, mood black enough to keep everyone at bay.

Well, everyone except her, that is.

“You didn’t eat, either.” Sasha reminded her. She looked up at the lack of response—found Mikasa staring off into the distance, almost as if she hadn’t heard her. “Mikasa..?” She tried again and Mikasa finally turned towards her. She looked up at her with a frown, holding her gaze as she asked a question she knew was none of her business. “Do you love him?” Sasha bit her lip. “Levi, I mean?”

Mikasa froze, her grip on the axe slackening. She reached for her scarf and tugged it over her mouth, looking perplexed despite the bite of her answer. “No.”

Sasha looked away, putting the pieces of the split log together like a puzzle, speaking carefully. “How do you know?”

Mikasa stared at the scarred stump, features blank. “I don’t know.”

Sasha shifted uncomfortably. “Connie and I are—together.” She stuck the split wood together again. “But not really.” She knew loving anyone was unbelievably stupid—but he’d crept under her skin nonetheless.

Mikasa had, too. They’d all grown up together and the thought of losing any of them…

Mikasa watched her, her long skirt swaying in the slight breeze. “I know.”

“I’m not going to repeat myself, Mikasa.” Levi murmured his final warning. After speaking with Hange and Erwin and agreeing on the squads he’d gone in search of her, becoming more irritated by the minute. He’d found her chopping wood alone, stopping to readjust the bandages on her arm—when he’d spotted the fresh blood upon them.

And if she thought whatever had occurred between them would give her more leniency on his part she was very, very wrong. “We have a mission in a week. I need you in top shape. Reinjuring your arm is needless and stupid. Go to the medics.”

Mikasa ignored him, moving to pick up her axe as if he didn’t exist—he moved swiftly, kicking the axe away and grabbing her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back. She tried to twist back but it only made the pain flare up her arm again and before she could blink he had her pressed face first against the wall, hands restraining her.

He spoke very quietly. “You will be leading a group of your own, Mikasa—with Jean, Sasha and Connie. You will be the strongest and they will depend on that strength. Your body is injured and you pushing yourself will not only lessen your chances at survival but theirs. You can’t act the way you’re acting now.”

Mikasa gritted her teeth, twisting her leg between his and hooking her foot behind his ankle as she shoved back. He stumbled and she spun, punching his still tender ribs and watching as he fell back—until he caught the front of her shirt, jerking her forward with him. He shoved her underneath him just as they struck the ground, his hands pinning her wrists on either side of her head, legs jerking to avoid her knee.

“Listen to me, Mikasa.” Levi muttered, ribs still throbbing, his teeth gritted. “You can be angry at me all you want. You can go back to loathing me—but you will obey my orders or you can leave the survey corps. Your attitude will only get you and everyone else depending on you killed.”

She stropped struggling, her breaths jagged. “Get off of me.”

Levi remained crouched over her, eyeing the way she clenched her teeth when she spoke, the tightness of her mouth. “Are you going to listen?” He pressed his thumbs into her damp palms. “Or are you going to keep throwing a fucking tantrum?”

She spoke slowly, much more softly. “Get off of me, Levi.”

He released her hands, straightening up onto his knees. “You should go over every possible scenario with your team. Keep Sasha close to you—she’s got good instincts and she’ll catch anything you might miss. Listen to Jean when he proposes a plan—he thinks clearly when he’s under pressure. Put him in charge in case you cannot take control. Connie is quick, almost as quick as you—use his speed to your advantage.”

Mikasa stayed on her back, her scarf unraveling, pulse at the base of her throat thrashing. She stared up at the clear sky as she spoke. “Don’t use Armin to fuel Eren. Putting Armin in danger will only make Eren become reckless—he won’t be able to focus. Eren has gotten better at using his titan form and if he uses it make sure Armin stays close to him—on his shoulder, if there aren’t too many titans. Armin can lead Eren and Eren won’t be distracted by wondering if Armin is safe. Eren trusts Armin’s decisions more than anyone else’s.” Mikasa swallowed. “You’ll have to make sure they’re protected.”

Levi watched her for a moment then stood, dusting himself off. “Worry about yourself, Mikasa.”

He walked away and she was on her knees in the blink of an eye, his wrist in her grip, halting him. Her head was bowed, her hair falling forward and curtaining her features. Her nails bit into his skin, the pressure weak, fragile, and seeing such a powerful woman begging him nearly undid him.

“Please, Levi.” Her voice was just a rasp. “I won’t be there to protect them.” Her words shook, nearly muffled by the breeze. “Keep them safe. In my stead.”

He looked down at her, waiting for a long moment before turning his hand and breaking her hold.

“Mikasa…” He laced their fingers together, the way he had throughout their night and morning, trying to convey things he could not speak aloud. He swallowed tightly. “I’ll try…if you do the same.”

She lifted her head at that, her dark eyes terribly perplexed. “Levi?”

“Protect your squad.” He circled her wrist with his fingers tightly and tugged, urging her onto her feet. “Protect yourself. Keep safe. Don’t be reckless.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “You need to think about yourself too, Mikasa. If something happened to you your brats wouldn’t ever forgive themselves.”

He could feel her examining him, feel the way her eyes lingered over his hard jaw and lowered gaze, a question hanging in the air.

But she knew, he thought.

She had to.

“I’ll try.” She murmured, repeating his own words.

And he supposed it had to be enough.

Notes:

As always, I'm sorry for any mistakes. I'm probably going to wrap up this story with the next two chapters, three max. It feels a little strange to think that my first rivamika fic is nearly at its end already. Thank you for sticking it out so long.

0 notes

writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Subtle Unraveling Chapter 6: Under

Sophia knew she wasn’t able to move the way she had when she was a young girl, knew that at times it was hard to simply walk down the street and back. She’d told herself she was holding up well for her age, that she could do what many her age couldn’t—but she had never been more wrong until now.

They’d hit the ground as the window had shattered and Levi had snapped at her to get up but her body had felt so heavy, her hip rife with pain, her arms shaking and folding as she tried to lift herself over and over.

Levi hadn’t said a word when she’d struggled and fumbled, had been half way to the door before he’d seen she hadn’t been able to stand—had just swooped down, lifting her with a strength she hadn’t quite known he’d possessed. Before she could blink he was bodily carrying her down the hall and shutting them within her bedroom, locking it swiftly as all hell broke loose outside.

She was shaking violently, hearing screams and more glass shattering coming from the street, a pang of worry filling her at the thought of Mikasa being all alone with those men, of being at their mercy.

She was so young—she couldn’t know what they were capable of.

Couldn’t know half of the horrible things they had done, or could do. But as she remembered Mikasa’s peculiar features and the vague familiarity of them, she thought, maybe she did.

“Lie down.” Levi muttered, sitting her on the edge of the bed.

She tried to pull air into her too tight lungs, her hand weakly clutching at her pounding chest. “What are you—?”

“Shut up.” Levi growled, tucking a knife into his boot, another into his jacket pocket. He handed her a third—her kitchen knife she realized—forcibly curling her fingers about the smooth hilt. “Stay put. We’ll deal with the thugs. Don’t open the door unless you know it’s me.”

He moved towards the door stiffly.

“Wait,” She gasped, grimacing when her chest constricted further, making it nearly impossible to speak clearly. “You shouldn’t go—”

“My subordinate is out there, dealing with them all alone.” His dark blue eyes locked onto hers, his lips curled back in a fierce expression. “Do you really think I’m going to let her fight without help? She’s hurt.”

Sophia’s chest loosened a bit, her eyes traveling over Levi’s face astutely, surprised at his lack of a mask, the underneath exposed so openly. She’d only seen him this open just once before, a night she’d never forgotten. She spoke her question aloud. “She’s that important to you?” She watched him sternly, his gaze skirting away from hers, and it told her everything. “You should tell her, Levi.” Her chest felt unbearably tight, recalling how they’d had similar airs, deadly and powerful and restrained. “You don’t think I know who she is? I wasn’t sure at first—but I am now. Tell her now before it goes any further.”

“Now’s not the time.” Levi scowled, shaking his head and twisting the lock.

“You’re going to regret not telling her.” Sophia pressed. “You should have told her long ago.”

Levi was rigid. “Sophia—”

“There’s another exit.” She snapped, a bit testily now, flinching as she heard something slam against the wall. “My closet has a door on the ceiling. Just push it up and to the side and it’ll take you straight to the roof. You have a better chance surprising them from above instead of walking into the street blindly.”

Levi paused—then twisted the lock back in place. “Stay here.” He tucked the last knife into his belt, shoving the closet door aside. “If they try to break in lock yourself in the closet. It’ll give me more time to get to you.”

He leapt up, his body disappearing through the small opening.

“My hero.” Sophia muttered, her grip on the knife much too weak.

Mikasa was a good fighter, spectacular, to some. If anyone had learned that it had been the thugs she’d encountered yesterday.

But apparently they hadn’t learned well enough.

Mikasa had just finished saddling her horse when she spotted one of the thugs walking towards her, not at all discreetly. She watched him from the corner of her gaze, tugging out the small knife from the pocket of her jacket.

When he was close enough to her she walked around the horse to meet him halfway, glancing inside the window to see Levi and Sophia speaking, determined to finish what they’d started—when the thug suddenly stopped. He smiled, a cruel smile, a triumphant one, and she felt adrenaline rush through her, her instincts prickling unpleasantly.

She’d done something wrong.

She spun on her heel, gripping the hilt of her knife tightly, seeing people scrambling every which way, muffled cries of panic surrounding her.

Where are they?

Several people slammed into her in their haste to get away, blocking her view, preventing her gaze from catching where the commotion was coming from—until she realized it was coming from every which way.

There were five of them, she counted quickly, dark eyes sweeping the street hastily. Two thugs walking towards her from the right, crude makeshift weapons in hand; two thugs from the left and another thug across the street, a large clay brick in his thin hand. He grinned, throwing the brick at her head—she flung herself forward, the brick missing her entirely and striking Sophia’s window instead, glass exploding about her.

She threw her arm over her head, the glass peppering above and slicing at her skin and clothing. She tried to spring to her feet quickly—felt someone grab the back of her hair, lifting her up viciously, her scalp stinging as she was jerked backwards.

She swung her elbow—but several hands grabbed at her at once, twisting her arms behind her back, kicking the back of her knees and forcing her onto them. She tried to dig her knife into their hands but they gripped her fingers, crushing them viciously, the blade slipping from her grip and striking the ground sharply.

She gritted her teeth as they surrounded her, their fingers bruising her skin, wrapping around her jaw and wrists and ankles. A grimy hand grabbed at her face, fingertips digging into her cheeks and lifting her face up, holding her immobile.

Claude appeared, holding a large blade in one hand, the other carefully placed in his pocket, looking pleased at her restrained and helpless form—but nonetheless wary. “Where’s Levi?”

Six, she amended, Claude was the sixth. Mikasa kept her eyes fixed on him, biting her tongue spitefully.

He bared his teeth, blue eyes pale in the dust and sunlight. He wasn’t as old as she’d first pegged him to be, Mikasa realized suddenly, the curve of his face becoming more prominent as he moved closer. “I’d like to see how loyal you are after we cut that pretty face of yours up.” He brought the knife up to her cheek, the tip of the blade scratching her skin lightly. “You look awfully familiar.”

Familiar?

Mikasa strained against their hold, hissing when they yanked her hair, feeling as if her neck would snap from the force.

He smiled, still seemingly nervous. “Tie her up. We’re taking her back with us. Forget about Levi—we’ll sell her before he gets a chance to find us.”

He nearly shouted the words, his pale eyes sweeping the street, the inside of Sophia’s shop, finding nothing. She knew he’d made his words loud enough so that Levi could hear them if he was around—knew he was trying to bait him.

And she hoped he wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall for it.

She could very well handle this on her own.

They tied her wrists together, tugging another thick dusty rope over her mouth, the taste of it like a mouthful of dirt.

“Don’t like that, do you?” Claude murmured, grinning at her cheekily. His filthy hand reached out, his thumb passing over her bottom lip. She shut her eyes, willing those awful memories of when she was a child away, “I could get a pretty penny for you.”

How much do you think we can get for her?

Like the thugs who’d murdered her family and who’d almost sold her off.

Familiar.

She snapped her head forward, driving the top of her skull into the bridge of his nose, knocking him down instantly. A fist twisted into her hair again, yanking her bank and restraining her from lunging at him. Her scalp stung and she fought to keep herself from struggling further.

“Hog tie her!” Claude slurred, holding his re broken nose, blood beginning to slip between his fingers. “I don’t want her to be able to move a fucking inch.” He kept cursing, tears mixing with blood as he leaned against the wall.

She was held stiffly on her knees as they draped and tied the ropes about her arms and chest, working down to her legs. She shut her eyes, forcing herself to stay calm, to think. There was a knife tucked into the back of her belt, small and thin and she knew they’d miss it—she could use it to cut her binds later when they weren’t looking. For now she needed to cooperate, bend to their will until the moment presented itself.

They shoved her face down, beginning to coil the rope about her booted ankles—when she heard a sudden curse and grunt, a heavy thud resounding on the ground pressed to her cheek. The hands on her fell away and she turned, skin scraping across the ground as she tried to see where the sounds were coming from.

She saw knives buried into the chests of two thugs, watched as they dropped onto the ground hollowly, only two feet from her. Levi was crouched on the roof of Sophia’s building above them, blue eyes hard, the glint of another knife held between his long fingers. He twisted when they threw their own blades at him, leaping off gracefully, plunging into the group of men on the street, a cat digging its claws into mice.

Levi crashed into the group of thugs, his knife and clothing already bloodied as he viciously dug his blade into them, blue eyes blank as he hacked and slashed neatly, dropping one more.

Three, Mikasa struggled to free her hands, just three left.

The man who’d fallen beside her lunged to grab Levi—but she rolled, pinning his body underneath hers as best she could with her arms and legs slightly restrained, giving Levi a few extra seconds to deal with the thug he was fighting. She dug her knees into the man’s back, using her weight to hold him down—but where had Claude gone? She struggled to keep her balance, straining to tug the knife out of her belt but he bucked beneath her, throwing her off of him.

She grunted as her shoulder struck the dirt, the dust stinging her eyes, blinding her—the glint of a knife her only warning as he swung a blade toward her chest. She choked, kicking her feet up and striking his chin so hard the crack of his teeth was audible. He stumbled back but regained his balance, his pale face mottled with rage.

He moved towards her—she looked to the side, saw Levi still struggling with the thug, a small, thin man who was fast and graceful, almost as much as he was.

He wouldn’t make it in time.

Her fingernails bit into the hilt of the small knife tucked behind her belt, tugging it out as quickly as she could—but his large boot smacked over her stomach and ribs, pressing down painfully, the blade of the knife biting into her own skin instead.

She struggled but he only pushed down further, unknowingly digging her knife deeper into her back—he avoided her kick this time, kicking her knee hard enough to make her arch and grit a cry behind her teeth. She knew he wasn’t supposed to kill her—but the rage clouding his gaze seemed to blind and control him, invisible strings moving his stiff limbs as he lifted the knife up again, just above her neck and heart.

She struggled, twisting the knife beneath her back and forcing herself to slice at her own skin, sawing at the ropes about her wrists—but it was too late.

He swung his arm, slicing the knife down and she bucked—and heard a sharp puncture, the man stiffening over her. His knife dropped dangerously close to her face, the tip of the blade digging into the ground as his eyes widened in shock. He choked, dropping forward and to the side—and suddenly Sophia was standing there, blood staining her prim dress and wrinkly hands, a knife embedded into the man’s back deeply.

She looked a little dazed—her pale eyes moving towards Mikasa. “I cut him, Amelia.” She rasped breathlessly, blue eyes wide and unseeing. Amelia?“They won’t hurt you anymore.” She dropped beside her, hands running over the ropes on her body shakily. “You’ll be fine. They can’t hurt you anymore. Mommy is here, now.”

I’ve lost a few people to these streets.

Mikasa paused, dark eyes scanning the odd look on Sophia’s face, trapped in a memory that she couldn’t seem to break out of.

“Amelia.” Claude appeared behind Sophia, his brow furrowed. “I knew you looked familiar.” He grabbed the back of Sophia’s hair, arching her head back. “Amelia’s dead.” He slid his arm around Sophia’s neck, burying his knife deeply into her side, his expression dead. “Just like her father—who couldn’t save her, either.” The blade bit deep between Sophia’s ribs, her cry a wet gurgle. “You can join them now.” He shoved her aside, throat working viciously.

Mikasa felt her heart stutter, her teeth digging into the rope tied across her mouth as she tried to cut at the ropes hurriedly. Sophia’s eyes went blank, her body dropping to the side, hand outstretched towards her—the way her mother’s had.

Claude grabbed the back of Mikasa’s jacket, dragging her away from Sophia’s body. She still held the knife between her stiff fingers, didn’t tear her eyes away from the blood pooling beneath Sophia’s blue dress, the dust soaking it up greedily.

You remind me of my daughter.

You look awfully familiar.

It finally connected within her skull, like a snake finally latching onto its own tail, something sour dropping into her stomach—these men were part of the group who’d murdered her family, and who’d, seemingly, murdered Sophia’s.

This was the group that Levi had been a part of. Levi very well could have had a hand in the death of her parents. He could have been the reason she’d lost her family.

“Don’t.” Levi growled, his expression dark and murderous, his voice breaking her of her reverie.

Dully, she realized Claude was holding a gun to her head, seconds away from ending her life. She blinked, willing herself to come to her senses, fumbling with the small knife still gripped between her fingertips.

Now was not the time to be emotional.

Levi was standing just a few feet from them, bloody knife in hand, blue eyes locked onto Claude with a hollow kind of rage she knew intimately well. “Don’t.”

Her gaze slid back to Sophia, saw her chest shuddering—she was still alive.

She forced herself to speak the words tangled at the back of her throat, the rope nearly making them indistinguishable. She could put everything aside for now. She had to. “Levi.” She swallowed, willing him to understand that she did not need rescuing—but Sophia did. “Sophia.” She could get out of this situation easily enough. She was sure with enough force she could free her hands—she just needed to wait until he wasn’t pointing the gun at her head.

Claude dug the barrel of the gun harder into her temple, as if reading her thoughts. “Don’t talk—or move.” Claude inhaled deeply, shifting his weight nervously as he spoke with false calm. “We didn’t get to talk much, did we, Levi?” Claude’s tone was almost affectionate, a hint of shakiness just underneath. “But you see last night I got to thinking.” He lowered the tip of the gun to her cheekbone. “She—” He pulled at her hair for emphasis, her teeth biting into the rope tightly. “Is the reason my friends—our friends—are dead.”

“They were old acquaintances of mine—Claude, and his gang. I wasn’t always a member of the scouting legion. Back then I was something much more distasteful.”

Levi faltered for just a moment, looking a little strangled, and she’d almost say he looked guilty. She’d known that they’d been in the same circle of thugs and seeing him pause now when their lives were dangling on a string cleared her head more effectively than anything else could have.

Now was not the time to be emotional.

“You weren’t there. You’d moved on to better things.” Claude sounded terribly wounded, and Mikasa briefly wondered how deep his bond with Levi had been.

You weren’t there.

Perhaps Levi’s guilt was not directed towards her but to Claude and the friendship they’d once had. If he hadn’t been there…then he couldn’t have possibly had a hand in her past.

“If you had been there they would have been alive. You were the strongest, you were the one who protected us when things got ugly—but you abandoned us. And for what? To play soldier? For someone you didn’t even know?”

“Claude,” Levi began, deadly soft, expression controlled. “The military police are most likely on their way.”

Claude shook his head again, a sob catching in his throat. “You left us all without batting a fucking eye and you deserve this—” He pressed the side of the gun against the right side of her skull, aiming squarely at Levi—and without thinking Mikasa moved. She threw herself into him, biting the rope as she slammed her shoulder into Claude’s knee, throwing him back.

Levi’s hand flicked up lightning quick, his dagger whistling through the air by her cheek, biting into Claude’s shoulder. The gun fired, the explosion of sound tearing into her ear drum, the bones of her skull vibrating—deafening her. She jerked away from the shot reflexively, dropping onto her hip. The bullet struck the ground behind her, nearly striking Sophia square in the chest. Claude kept stumbling, his blood splattering her hair and face, incredulously looking at the knife embedded in his shoulder. He gave a smothered cry of pain, fumbling to point the gun back up—

Mikasa surged to her feet, using her weight and strength to slam him against the wall of Sophia’s shop, the gun dropping between them sharply. She tried to pin him but her hands were still tied and he’d twisted his hand into her hair—but she held her ground viciously, boots digging into the dirt as she kept him up against the wall.

Her knife slipped from her fingers and she silently cursed herself, struggling to free her hands as he bit her neck hard enough to let blood. Her sound of pain and frustration was muffled against the rope, digging her elbow against his chest to get him to release her. His hands flew to her throat, pressing into her windpipe as he tore his teeth away—

Levi shoved her back, unintentionally dropping her, kicking Claude so hard he flipped him flat on his back. Mikasa kicked the gun away as she hit the ground, the binds about her wrists snapping. With her hands free she yanked at the rope around her arms and mouth, pulling it down her neck.

“Get Sophia.” Levi bit out, kicking a now cowering Claude.

She hesitated—but nodded, grabbing the gun and tucking it into the back of her belt. She moved towards Sophia’s prone body, her pale hands hovering over her blood drenched side, over her heaving chest.

“It’ll be fine,” Mikasa spoke, her voice sounding far off, the screams of the crowd muffled by the still painful ringing in her ear. “Don’t move.”

Sophia opened her eyes, lips bloodless. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.” She shut them again, tears seeping down her temples, threading into her silver hair. Her lungs rattled as she spoke. “I didn’t want to see what happened to my daughter happen to you.”

Mikasa removed her jacket, pressing it over the wound, grasping Sophia’s hand and guiding it. “Hold this here.” She pressed in, seeing blood gush and dribble down.

“I couldn’t protect her.” Sophia’s face contorted, the expression agonized and tortured. “They did awful things to her.”

Don’t.

Mikasa looked over her shoulder, seeing Levi continue to pummel Claude. It was a won fight but Levi continued, a few of the townspeople looking on in horror. There had to be a doctor nearby. She looked back to Sophia. “I’m going to pick you up now.”

Sophia shook her head, continuing to speak, words rasping. “What kind of mother doesn’t protect her own daughter?” She took another strangled gasp, self-revulsion rolling off every strained breath. “I don’t even have god’s forgiveness.” She exhaled, her chest going still, eyes dull as they gazed up at the sky unseeingly.

Mikasa froze. “Sophia…”

There was no response, her body too still, tears still dripping off her thin veined skin. She tried to feel something but her guards had come up—and she could only feel the hollowness she’d never been able to hide very well, numb and blank as she gazed upon the corpse before her. Perhaps she’d feel something in the dead of the night, in a few days, weeks but for now she felt nothing.

Nothing for the woman who had given her life for her.

Mikasa didn’t know how long she stayed there on her knees, dry eyes fixed on Sophia, blood slipping from the bite on her neck down her chest—until the audible snap of bone and a pained cry finally made her drag in a breath. There was another guttural cry, the ground vibrating, forcing her to look behind her. Levi had Claude on the ground and pinned against the brick wall, his boot and fist repeatedly driving into Claude’s face and skull, the man looking more like a bloody smear than human.

Much like the way he’d beaten Eren before the entire court.

Mikasa breathed harshly, taking one step, another, legs shaky from her ringing ears. Everyone was watching them. She spoke, knuckles stinging and voice thin. “Levi.”

There was an awful choking sound, Claude gurgling blood, his nose smashed in—but Levi kept kicking, his eyes frighteningly blank. “You know nothing.” Levi paused, panting, looking half mad. “You don’t know a fucking thing.” His teeth clenched, delivering another kick.

She felt no pity move her.

This man had been part of the reason she’d lost her family. This man had had a hand in their deaths. A part of her didn’t want to stop Levi—a part of her wanted to kill Claude herself and perhaps, if there had not been an entire town watching, she would have given in to that darkness.

She and Levi were a bad mix—broken and violent and corrupted, any softness they could possess lost between the savagery of their own strength and the bone breaking burden they bore because of it.

Levi had cracked under the pressure, rage in every vicious strike—and she was the only one who could force him to get back his control.

Mikasa gritted her teeth, snapping backwards, grabbing the back of Levi’s jacket and yanking him away. He snarled, his elbow flying towards her face—she narrowly dodged it, ducking and tackling him to the ground.

“Levi.” Mikasa bit out, tongue thick as he rolled her beneath him, the crowd gathering about them. They struggled over the dirt street violently, steel against steel—until he managed to wrap an arm and a leg around her, flipping her over and away from him.

She grunted as she rolled, breath pushing out of her—but her body reacted instinctively, her boot slipping behind his ankle, tripping him. He fell back and she used his momentum to her advantage, trapping him underneath her. She used her weight against him, restraining his fierce struggles, her hands catching his bloodied fists against her palms. She straddled him tightly, holding him down when he bucked, oddly detached as she managed to cease his struggling.

How long had she wanted to surpass him? How long did she want to have the edge over him in a spar, in number of solo kills, in everything—and here he was, helpless beneath her, crackling and spitting fire and she was the only place that could hold him. He ripped his fist back and swung again—but she struck it away, grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head, her lower body pinning his down. He was sloppy and weak, and the feebleness of his strikes would have worried her if it had not been to her advantage.

“Levi.” Her tone was as dead as she felt, her face inches from his. “Get a hold of yourself.”

He twisted his head and their gazes locked, the blue of his eyes seeming to lighten as he came to his senses. He inhaled and nodded, his muscles going lax. She released his wrists, watching him as he threw his arm over his eyes. “Fuck.” He wouldn’t look at her as his throat worked, his breaths rattling.

She didn’t say a word, didn’t try to comfort him, couldn’t. She simply sat astride him as he shuddered violently beneath her, her body beginning to slump as the adrenaline left her.

She looked up, seeing Claude roll onto his front, spitting blood as he tried crawl away blindly. She stood, walking towards him but several of the people from the crowd moved forward, helping him to his feet, giving Mikasa scathing looks.

Accusing.

The way they’d looked at Eren when he’d first transformed.

She saw a young boy run over to the pile of bricks across the street, lifting it, small dark eyes narrowed and furious, fixated on Levi who was still on the ground.

He’s going to throw it.

She scrambled forward, running towards him and lifting her arm to shield Levi just as he threw the brick—she strangled her cry of pain as it slammed into her right arm and struck the side of her head, the force of it dropping her.

The brick fell onto the ground beside them, the pain throbbing within her split elbow and skull. She pressed the heel of her hand against the slice upon her forehead, glaring at the crowd threateningly as she set her teeth, scanning for any more possible brick throwing. They shifted back, dissipating instead, the boy running away quickly.

“Mikasa,” Levi sat up, forcing her to sit back on his knees as she continued to cradle her wound—and everything still sounded so far away, her head whirling. “Let me—” His fingertips urged her hand away.

“I’m fine.” She grabbed the knife she’d dropped, beginning to get onto her feet again. “We need to move.” They needed to get out of the street, perhaps to the military police. She was sure Marlo would aid them.

Levi was about to speak—when she felt him lock up, his eyes moving to something behind her, feeling a rush of movement at her back.

Levi surged forward as she felt someone grab the gun tucked into the back of her belt—she swung her knife, twisting backwards and driving the knife up instinctively.

The blade plunged deep into Claude’s chest, his grip on the gun slackening, his body folding over them both. His blue eyes locked onto her, shock and disbelief painting his features—but she only slid the blade deeper into his chest, pushing it in to the hilt and gutting his heart, his features contorting.

She felt her mind go blank, her pulse slow and calm as the blood dribbled over her fingers and wrist, her other hand shoving him away before he fell onto her. He dropped—lifeless—onto his back, staring up at the sky the same way Sophia had. He was dead and she felt no guilt or appall, only a hollow satisfaction, knowing he’d been put down the way he should have long ago, knowing no one else would suffer the same fate she had by his hands.

She’d killed him—murdered him—and everyone had seen her do it.

“Mikasa.” Levi moved, shifting onto his knees to grab the knife from her tight grip—freezing when he heard the rough, rhythmic beats of hooves coming towards them, the vibrations thrumming their weary bodies.

“Shit.” Levi cursed again, exhaling through clenched teeth. “Shit.”

“Mikasa!”

At the sound of Eren’s voice Mikasa looked up, breath snagging in her throat as she saw Eren leap off his horse, Armin, Jean, Connie and Sasha trailing behind him quickly—surrounded by a large group of Military police officers.

Why are they here?

She didn’t ask the question, didn’t quite care as she let the knife slip from her bloodstained hands, dazedly hearing Eren yell and struggle as the Military Police took both she and Levi into their custody.

“You should be out soon. Tomorrow morning, actually.” Erwin murmured as he stood outside their jail cell, blue eyes examining the letter the guard had just handed to him.

Levi sat on his small cot languidly, long fingers plucking at the frayed strings on the edges of the sheets. “What about her?” He threw a glance over at Mikasa on the opposite side of the room, eyes shut, her breathing easy. She hadn’t slept at all last night and her exhaustion had finally claimed her about an hour or so ago. He eyed her pale form curled up on her cot, eyes tracing over her bandaged right arm and the haphazard bandaging around her head—much too careless.

He’d had to adjust it for her several times, vowing to himself that as soon as they were out of this fucking rat hole he’d get her proper treatment.

Levi tried to keep his voice low. “Where’s Eren?”

Erwin looked up at that. “He’s just outside.” Erwin folded the letter. “I wasn’t sure letting him see Mikasa in a cell was a good idea. He may lose his temper when he finds that we cannot release either of you today. He’s already under a lot of strain—and scrutiny from the Military police.”

Levi kept his gaze on Mikasa. She’d been a little strained also, even if she thought she kept it hidden well. She stumbled when she rose to her feet to quickly, sometimes frowned and shook her head when he spoke too low, preferring the shadows to the light. She hadn’t been able to hear for several hours, the gunshot damaging the drum of her ear temporarily. She was in pain and he could do nothing but watch her grit her teeth through it.

Not that he was in much better shape. He was so bruised he could barely breathe without his ribs screaming in pain.

Levi exhaled, his tone low. “She’s refused to eat and she’s barely drank anything.” He’d watched every spoonful that had gotten past her lips, knew that forcing her to eat would be pointless—if the guards caught them struggling they’d only separate them. The food was shit, anyway. “Seeing Eren might help her regain her strength.”

Erwin eyed Mikasa, absorbed in his thoughts. “I’ll let him in.” Erwin turned—then paused. “Levi…” Erwin lifted the letter pointedly. “Claude—the thug she murdered—seems to have told quite a few interesting stories to the rest of his group. Stories the investigator put on paper.”

Levi looked away. He’d figured. “I’m sure the pigs are having a field day over it.”

Erwin shook his head. “I managed to keep her quiet, actually. Cost quite a bit really, but I came prepared.” Erwin tucked the letter into his jacket pocket.

Levi relaxed subtly. “You always do, Erwin.”

Erwin smiled, but Levi knew him well enough to know it wasn’t genuine. “I’ll have Eren in within a few minutes with some food.” He nodded towards Mikasa. “Make sure she’s awake—and make sure he comports himself. The Military police will be waiting for any sign of instability.”

He left, leaving Levi tired and bitter.

Mikasa woke feeling someone touch the bite wound on her neck.

She started, her hand flying up, catching his hand and preparing to twist it—but Levi grabbed her wrists instead, blue eyes hard as he looked down at her. “It’s me, Mikasa.”

She blinked rapidly, realizing they were still in their jail cell. She’d somehow fallen asleep—could only vaguely remember what she’d been dreaming—and Levi was standing over her.

She sat up and he sat onto the cot beside her, looking a little overwhelmed in the spare shirt they’d given him. He had the sleeves rolled up and he’d tucked in the shirt when he’d first put it on but it was still hopelessly long and so he’d let it hang off his broad shoulders. He’d looked different from those first years she’d known him; he’d always looked proper and starched and neat, buttoned up and constricted.

And he’d unraveled before her in a way she’d never thought he could.

“How do you feel?”

She touched her bandaged elbow reflexively, feeling if her bandages had come loose in her sleep. “Fine.” And shewas, besides being terribly bruised and cut up and slightly weak. The brick had simply split the skin over her elbow, a flare of pain that shot up whenever she stretched her arm—her head was an altogether different matter. She’d had head injuries before, however, and she knew it was simply a matter of resting, as difficult as a concept as that was to her.

Her hearing hadn’t fully returned, either and that was perhaps the most disorienting.

“Eren’s coming to visit you.” He didn’t quite look at her as he spoke.

Mikasa felt her heart thrash within her chest, breathing slow. She’d been afraid of this. She didn’t want Eren anywhere near here. She’d thought Armin would be sensible enough to keep him away—but she knew Eren was tenacious enough to make even Armin fold. She touched the bandages wrapped around her head self-consciously. “Now?”

Levi nodded curtly, fingers reaching up to smooth the rumpled folds over her temple. “We should be out by tomorrow morning, looks like.” His fingertips slid down her cheek and jaw gently—then dropped away, hands clasping between his knees tightly.

Mikasa pushed her legs over the side of the bed, mimicking his posture, hunching forward and clasping her hands together. “Rather quick.”

Levi shrugged, back tight. “Erwin is always a step ahead and pigs will always give into their gluttony.”

Mikasa recalled Marlo for a few moments, recalling the way he’d demanded they receive medical attention before they were thrown into the cell. “Not all of them are so bad.”

“Tch,” Levi leaned back against the wall, his loose shirt flattening against his hard chest and stomach. They stayed quiet for a few moments, the dim glow of the lantern stretching shadows thin. “Listen, Mikasa…” He spoke woodenly, his expression grim. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She kept her features impassive, waiting silently.

“About Claude…” He parted his lips—then set his teeth. He looked hollowed out, his blue eyes flickering over to her and pausing. He made to speak again but he didn’t, shaking his head instead.

“Were you a part of it, Levi?” She finally asked, hands clenching, and her voice cracked with the cold rage of an old wound torn back open. “Did you help them murder my family?”

She felt him watching her, couldn’t quite look at him as she remembered Claude’s pained words. If you had been there they would have been alive.He hadn’t been there, had he? But he’d avoided looking her in the eye enough to show that he still felt guilty, and her instincts had kept prickling with a sense of foreboding.

“No.” He answered, voice soft and gentle, disarming her ire. “I didn’t.”

She breathed, slow and deep. It was what had been winding her up, had had her tight lipped and strained. She nodded. It was what she’d concluded after what Claude had said and he’d answered her and so she had to believe him. As much as he grated on her nerves and treated Eren much too roughly she’d admired him, in her own reluctant away.

It had been, at first, due to his sheer physical prowess, from the strange but brutal effectiveness of his technique and the way he’d made it a point to tutor her. And as she’d learned him she’d watched the way he held himself together when those close to him fell, the way he never batted an eye at becoming a torturer, a murderer, a scapegoat—whatever was required from him. She’d learned to understand him, and the admiration had grown steadily, quietly, until she’d realized they possessed as many similarities as they possessed differences.

Until she realized they were just broken reflections of one another.

Carved hollow and moving out of sheer strength and doggedness.

“I grew up with Claude.” Levi eyed his scabbed knuckles. “But he wasn’t…” His throat worked again, hands clenching and unclenching.

Her brows pulled together. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” But the stiffness of his words betrayed him, his body hard. “I just wanted to apologize. For how I reacted. I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did and you were hurt because of it.” He moved to reach for her hand—then paused, returning his hand back to his lap. “You knocked me into my senses quick enough.” He shrugged. “You shouldn’t feel guilty.” He touched his bandaged ribs.

Mikasa stared straight ahead unseeingly. “I don’t.”

She could very well murder him again if she discovered he was, somehow, still alive. She could murder a thousand others if it meant protecting herself, or Levi, or Eren and Armin and any other. She’d bathe herself in blood if necessary, and guilt and a heart was something she’d never been able to afford.

No, she mused, they weren’t so different at all.

They’d stayed sitting beside one another without speaking much until the heavy door creaked open, brown hair and bright green eyes peering in hesitantly.

Mikasa pushed to her feet. “Eren.”

Eren stepped in, metal tray between his hands. His eyes passed over them both, a mixture of happiness and nervousness. “I brought you both food.” His gaze hardened as he looked at Mikasa, snagging over all the bandages on her body. “They told me you weren’t eating.” He put the tray on the small table, accidentally bumping the lantern.

He cursed, catching it before it fell, and Levi watched the light flicker over Mikasa as she gripped the bars of the cell tightly. Levi had always found it curious to see how flat she could be one minute and how the mere sight of Eren seemed to revive her, as if her very heart was contained within him.

Eren cleared his throat, the sound amplified by the silence in the room. His eyes strayed over Mikasa, eyeing the way she held the bars, knuckles bone white.

She spoke quietly. “You shouldn’t be here, Eren.” She kept her dark eyes downcast. “They’ll use any excuse to put you in here. They could—”

Eren scowled. “Shut up, Mikasa.” He moved forward—and then he had her in his arms, embracing her through the bars. His large hand cradled the back of her bandaged head as the other wrapped around her back, holding her as closely as he could. “We looked everywhere for you—just shut up.” He hissed, his growl shaky, and he saw them both tremble as they clung to one another. “You’re so stupid.”

She wrapped her good arm around his broad back, pressing her face into his chest, the low light of the lantern highlighting the slip of tears that dripped off her skin.

Levi only looked away.

“Stop, Levi.” Mikasa had an arm wrapped around him tightly, both cradling and restraining, fingers biting into his wrists and pulling his hands away from his throat. The cell was nearly pitch black except for the dull moonlight creeping in from the small barred window high upon the brick wall, reminding him that he was trapped underground.

The images from the nightmare still sifted before his eyes; he’d been thrown into a dungeon deep underneath the ground, chained and gagged, the body of Claude tied next to him, rotting and festering with every passing hour. The maggots and roaches kept bubbling from boils upon Claude’s dead flesh, moving over to him once they’d finished, picking and chewing at his flesh.

And as he’d tried to rip them off his skin he saw Claude’s body slowly turn into that of a woman’s, long black hair and slim form broken on the floor beside him.

“Levi.” Mikasa murmured, pressing her palm over his thrashing heart. “Wake up.” His head was cradled against her stomach, her legs on either side of his torso, her knees drawn up almost protectively. She pressed the words against his temple, her quiet voice soothing him. “You were dreaming.”

He blinked rapidly, turning to press his face against her chest, inhaling her scent deeply, struggling to gather his composure. A bad dream, a fracture in his defense, the knife slipping in beneath the silk of his sleep.

“You’re fine, Levi.” She murmured.

She was trying to comfort him. The way she had that night he’d fallen asleep by her bed, when she’d found him restless on his chair. He could recall the way her fingertips had traced over his jaw and cheekbones, the way the gentle touch had both soothed and stirred him.

And as he’d continued to have nightmares plague him he’d often found himself wishing he’d wake to her beside him, sereneness and controlled power, gentle enough to lull him, powerful enough to restrain him.

“I’m fine.” He rasped.

She shook her head and suddenly stiffened, shutting her eyes and touching her aching head.

“Idiot.” He muttered.

She didn’t release him, sitting on the bed awkwardly, half sitting up, half on her side. Maybe it was because he was terribly tired, or the dream had wrung him of his usual guard or perhaps it was because she’d been the only one who’d ever woken him from his terrible nightmares—but he couldn’t quite stomach the thought of her moving away just then.

He swallowed, shifting onto his side and twisting her to hers. He felt her watching him as he adjusted their bodies against one another, her hands gripping his shoulders for purchase. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his face still pressed to her stomach as her thigh hooked over his side. His shaking quieted after several heart pounding seconds, his eyes luring shut as she threaded her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp.

“I’ll stay.” She murmured into the dark, answering the question he hadn’t been able to bring himself to voice.

He fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her.

Mikasa woke a few hours later, finding their positions reversed, Levi sprawled on his back and her head upon his chest. She stirred, lifting her head—but his hand kept her face pressed against his hard chest.

“Go back to sleep.” He threaded his fingers into her hair lightly, fingertips pressing into her achy temples. “The sun hasn’t risen yet.”

There was a pale gray light coming from the small window above, leeching his blue eyes of color. In her half dazed state she admitted they looked eerie, painted silver and framed by black lashes. His gaze lowered to her nose and mouth, flickering over her arm as she slung it over his stomach.

She shut her eyes, letting his warmth lure her back under.

Days passed and Mikasa and Levi barely spoke even as they gravitated towards each other, finding themselves sitting across or beside one another silently, an unspoken acknowledgement underneath their silences, a shared guilt beneath their stoic facades. They’d been ordered to stay put until they healed, and while everyone else was about performing their duties and going on missions without them they often found themselves alone—yet together.

“She has no other family.” A young girl reported to Levi a little nervously, glancing at Mikasa who quietly sat in the chair across from his desk. She’d found them both sitting in his office, cups of cold tea and sheets strewn about everywhere. “She left everything to you.” She handed Levi a long, thick envelope. “She had a shop and she also had a small house in the district that she moved out of when her husband and daughter died. She refused to sell it. It hasn’t been lived in for years so it may be in pretty bad shape.”

Levi slowly opened the envelope as the girl spoke, dark blue eyes carefully blank as he read its contents.

The girl fidgeted as she waited for Levi to speak.

“Have the criminals given their statement?” Mikasa asked quietly, seeing Levi lift his head at that. It had been a quick ordeal but she had wanted to receive more information then she had—it had seemed much too easy, and the way Levi had remained tight lipped about it made her edgy.

The girl shook her head. “No. Or, I believe they have but the military police have yet to turn it in. I don’t think they’ll trouble themselves with such things in all honesty.” She wrung her hands together and Levi straightened, looking tight lipped and hollow. “They did inform me, however, that she’s set to be burned tomorrow at—”

“She didn’t want to be burned.” Levi folded the letters, neatly placing them back into their envelope. “She wanted to be buried.”

“Yes,” The girl nodded, frowning. “We know. But burying them is expensive and there is no one—”

“She will be buried.” Levi’s veneer cracked, pulsing red ebbing beneath the steel gray of his exterior. “Underneath the ground. Is it that difficult to understand?”

“But it costs—”

“I know what it costs.” Levi inhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose and grappling for control when the girl flinched. “I’ll pay for it. Her shop can be sold to cover any expenses. I have no need of it anyway.” His throat worked. “Gather the paperwork and bring it to me as soon as you get it. I want this done before the next mission.”

“But our next mission is only…” The girl nodded quickly when he gave her a glare, her eyes downcast. “Of course.”

She left as quietly as she had come.

Mikasa watched Levi silently for several moments, saw him struggle to stem his emotions. She looked away, crossing her arms and grimacing when she stretched her wounded elbow. “I would like to pay for half the costs.”

“No.”

Her hard gaze caught his. “It wasn’t a plea, Levi.”

Levi’s mouth pressed into a thin line, dark purple bruises beneath his eyes, lines of strain and fatigue aging him terribly. He’d given her a hard time, along with Eren and Armin, refusing to let her lift even a simple dish—and she wondered if anyone had looked after him, also.

“You knew her for two days. You barely spoke to her. Are you going to pretend her death meant something to you?”

Her blunt fingernails dug into the wooden handles of her chair, jaw hard—the action making her head ache sharply.

She died for my sake. She died the way my mother did. She combed my hair and she fed me and it’s the least I can do.

She didn’t speak the words, let them fester underneath her indifferent façade until it began to boil. Why did she follow him? Why did she find him beside or behind her at odd hours, why did they sit at the dinner table together when they had no appetite—why did they cling to each other even when they couldn’t bear to look one another in the eye? Was it guilt? Because they knew they’d failed to protect her or because her death had been one of the many they’d dealt with? Was it because they’d cracked before each other and with each other and it had been as mesmerizing as it had been terrifying?

There were too many questions, too much confusion and wrath swirling beneath her flushed skin, and she struggled to regain her composure.

She stood, moving towards the door.

“Mikasa.” Levi called, his voice softer, vulnerable.

She inhaled shakily, looking over her shoulder. She saw him turned away, his blue eyes latched onto the window, the sun set colored in streaks of pink and purple. He looked much younger suddenly, much more exposed and vulnerable, slightly disheveled, cravat missing. He held the envelope in his hand, fingertips crimpling the paper quietly and he looked as if he was tearing himself apart.

It was a rare thing, she knew, seeing what he felt underneath the ever impassive mask he always wore. It held her rooted to the spot helplessly.

“There’s…” He breathed, tightly, slipping the envelope into the drawer and shutting it with a snap. “Forgive me.” He closed his eyes. “There isn’t anyone else who…” His throat worked, and she found herself transfixed by the way the shadows and soft lights played over it. “Anyone else who knew her.”

Mikasa’s hand fell away from the handle.

Forgive me.

She stayed.

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writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Subtle Unraveling Chapter 5: Unspoken

Mikasa clenched her jaw tightly, gripping the edges of the wooden table beneath her with white fingers. Sophia hummed as she hovered over her, her needle threading Mikasa's torn flesh neatly. It was a strange thing, Mikasa thought; she could take punches and kicks rather well, even a broken bone or two, but this slow, constant cutting into her flesh had her sweating and trembling.

Sophia peered at Mikasa's features curiously. "Not a peep out of you." She observed, sounding almost impressed. "A strong girl." She patted her stomach sympathetically, pausing as she observed the hard, defined lines of her abdomen. "A very strong girl."

Mikasa only pressed her lips together tightly as Sophia continued sewing.

"Levi has been in there an awful long time." Sophia murmured softly, her eyes steady on her work. "Perhaps you should go check on him." She finished her stitching, placing the thread and needle aside.

Mikasa shook her head, inhaling shakily, relief making her muscles go lax. "He likes being clean…thoroughly, so." She sat up gingerly, a little weakly.

Sophia chuckled, her small blue eyes twinkling in amusement. "I know that. But he had a lot of blood on him. We should have just cleaned his wounds, wrapped him up and put him to bed. Taking a bath in that condition will only make him worse."

Mikasa pulled on her shirt. "He's fine, I'm sure." The thought of barging in on a wet and naked Levi made her face flush heatedly. She pulled on her scarf and drew it over her nose soothingly, looking down the hall worriedly. She was sure he was fine...wasn't he?

Sophia watched her with perceptive eyes. "Sure enough that you're willing to risk him bleeding to death in a tub because you were too skittish to look at a naked man?"

Mikasa's blush intensified, her fingers tightening around the red cloth, the soft material muffling her words. "I've seen a naked man before."

Sophia's brows rose skeptically. "Your father or brother doesn't quite count, now."

Mikasa looked away uncomfortably. She supposed seeing Eren and Armin naked when they were children really didn't count. But she'd also seen them without their clothing as adults, assisting the medics with bathing and dressing them when they'd been too injured to do it themselves. She'd been a little embarrassed but she hadn't really batted an eye at it—so why should it be any different now?

She pushed off the table, brushing aside her hesitation. "I'll...knock."

Sophia nodded, perching back atop her stool. "Bring me your clothes after you bathe. The bandages and ointments are in the small chest in the bath room. There are a change of clothes in the drawers, for both of you. The towels are folded atop the bed. I'll take you both something to eat before you go to bed."

Mikasa nodded and walked down the hall, ignoring her nervousness. She entered the bedroom and grabbed two towels as pretext in the case that he was fine, and held them close to her chest as she faced the door. She tried to listen for any movement through the thick wood but heard nothing. Clearing her throat, she knocked on the door twice. "Heichou?"

No response.

She called out a bit more clearly this time, alarm beginning to rise within her. "Levi Heichou?"

Not a sound.

She tugged at her scarf, took a deep breath and twisted the door open a crack, knocking once more in a last warning. "Heichou, are you…?" She trailed off as she spotted the top of his head against the edge of the tub. "Levi…?"

She stepped in and shut the door behind her. He wasn't responding, looked almost as if he was sleeping—his eyes were shut, the water blanketing over his lips, slinking dangerously close to his nose.

The water was very, very red.

She moved forward instantly, tossing the towels onto the long wooden bench across the room. He fainted. Pushing up her sleeves, she bent down and hooked her hands beneath his arms, pulling him out of the water. She struggled a little, leaning his limp body against her chest. Her entire front and side was drenched instantly, her wet boots squeaking as she widened her stance over the floor. He was surprisingly heavy, but she lifted him quickly nonetheless, dragging him towards the long wooden bench against the wall. She placed him on his back, grabbing a towel to place across his hips modestly.

She pushed his wet hair away from his face, checking his pulse, his breathing. She grabbed the other towel and began drying his beaten body as quickly as she could, her eyes darkening as she saw the long cruel slices over his bruised, muscled chest, the towel growing heavy from blood and water.

Even his arms looked in bad shape, his skin a mottled purple red color from when he'd shielded her from the fall.

She should have gotten there sooner.

She pulled her scarf off and folded it beneath his damp head, pushing back the hair that clung to his damp forehead, her fingers tangling in the wet strands. She pulled away, reaching for the large chest in the corner of the room. She yanked on it, finding it surprisingly heavy as she dragged it towards the bench, gritting her teeth when her wet soles slicked over the floor.

She heaved it open quickly, grabbing several rolls of bandages and balms, kneeling beside him, trying to calm her movements. She placed them on the floor beside her, then began smoothing her salve laced fingertips over his wounds. He stirred slightly as she worked over him quickly and gently, his lashes fluttering as a soft groan twisted in his throat.

He looked up at her dully, a frown creasing his brow. "Mikasa…?"

She breathed deeply, her shakiness slipping away, leaving her feeling more than a little weak. A warmth spread through her as she watched his eyes slit open, his pulse hammering, his chest heaving. "Yes."

His expression softened, almost looking relieved that it was indeed her tending over him.

Relief, she thought suddenly. That was what she was feeling. Relief that he was stirring, that he was conscious. Alive. Her eyes wandered back towards his, straightening herself on her knees to lean over him. She eyed the ugly split on his bottom lip and smoothed ointment over it, felt the warmth of his breath brush the tips of her fingers. "You fainted, Heichou. You've lost a lot of blood."

His hand caught her wrist as she tried to move it away, but his grip was weak, her fingertips brushing his jaw as he pulled her hand closer. "I fainted…?" He still looked a little hazed, his grip gentling, touching his forehead to her wet palm, as if seeking comfort.

She nodded, her insides tangling as his cut mouth brushed against the inside of her wrist, twisting her hand out of his grip. "In the tub."

He shut his eyes, his breath shuddering out of his chest as he threw his arm over his eyes. He seemed to gather his composure with a frown and a few tangled breaths. "I'm fine."

She almost smiled. As mulish as ever.

She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, pushing aside her hair. Yes, they could both be very mulish and distant. But they were also very breakable. She stood, ignoring the shakiness of her legs. "Can you sit up?"

He moved his arm away, the look in his stormy blue eyes grim and reluctant.

She nodded, understanding his unspoken answer. She heaved him up, gentled when he gave a muffled curse, leaning him against the wall. The towel had almost slid off his narrow hips, and she kept her gaze up as she dragged it back into place.

"Deadly but prudish," Levi muttered, amusement curling richly into his voice, his enjoyment of her squeamishness almost palpable. "Aren't you?"

She ignored him, had half a mind to leave him sitting there for the night as she kneeled before him again. "Stay still." She deftly began wrapping the bandages around his hard abdomen and ribs, slowly working up over his chest. He shut his eyes and let his head loll back weakly, exposed and helpless before her. It was strange, she mused, to see such a usually strong and distant man so weak and defenseless before her, to touch him intimately, to have such broken power beneath her pale hands. Strange but not at all unpleasant; she almost found his vulnerability enchanting.

It was just the novelty, she told herself. Like a stray dog that otherwise would never let anyone touch it; a stray dog that would very easily bite the hand that fed it. That's all it was.

He hissed a little when she wrapped the bandages over the harsh slivers on his upper chest, his strong throat working silently, swallowing any more sounds. She finished wrapping his middle, then tentatively began to wrap his bruised arms.

"My arms don't need bandaging, Mikasa." He shut his eyes. "Leave enough bandages for your own wounds."

She kept wrapping. "I could wrap you from head to foot, Heichou, and still have enough left over for myself." Yes, she could deliver her own barbs.

He opened one eye in warning.

She pressed her lips together, ignoring his glower.

He wasn't a very large man, she admitted, but neither was he a particularly slight one. His neck and chest were thick, his body well-muscled, the harsh lines of brutal physical training starkly apparent. She'd never really seen him train, but knew that he must do so daily for his body to be kept this ruthlessly fit. No, she mused. She couldn't quite deem him small. He shifted slightly as she finished.

"I haven't fainted since I was a child." He admitted quietly, his eyes still shut.

She eyed the scratches on his cheek and grabbed the ointment again, hiding her surprise at the confession. "I can't picture you as a child." She smoothed the balm over the thin scrapes carefully.

He hummed, his lashes lifting slightly as she kneeled again to wrap up the gash on his thigh. "I was a horrible one." His eyes flickered inquisitively, the look he gave her piercing and intimate. "I'd never thought you could be so gentle." His voice was rough, deeper than usual.

She felt heat bloom across her cheekbones. "You're hurt."

She kept her gaze averted, but could feel the heat of his focus on her like a flame. "He cut you."

She looked up at him, a little perplexed by the gruffness of his voice. "It's just a scratch." She looked away again, clenching her hands as she spoke through the tightness of her throat. "I've had worse." The sight of him tied and bleeding had gutted her, reminding her of a time when she'd been in the same position, of how cold and hopeless her entire world had been. But it was different, she'd thought—she wasn't a child, nor was she helpless—but for a few blank, white-hot moments it hadn't been different at all.

She'd been sucked into being that small girl again with a short knife as her only weapon, and the only thing in her mind had been to puncture it through the thug's soft, black heart. She should have, she thought in a sudden icy fury. Men like him were no great loss, were they? But she'd let him live; and that meant they'd survive to do much worse to much more helpless people.

Why had she let them live?

"Mikasa." Levi called and she looked up at him a little blankly. "Are you alright?"

She nodded numbly. "Yes, Heichou."

His hand cradled her jaw, lifting her face up gently, the tenderness of the touch momentarily disarming her. How could a person switch from being cut and dry to soft and gentle so quickly? It left her a little more than bewildered; it left her endlessly spellbound.

"What were you thinking just now?" He pressed again, his fingers clutching her jaw tightly in urging.

His face was inches from hers, and she was suddenly very aware of the state of his undress, and of how she was kneeling before him, his legs pressed against her stomach. She allowed herself to observe him and drink in his appearance, tried to memorize what he looked like when he was weak and bare. His skin was damp, gleaming against the low light, his dripping hair messily framing his eyes and temples, his lashes dusted with water drops.

She knew nothing of this man—knew nothing of his past or his ambitions or his true intentions. But there was the quietest of murmurs in the back of her mind, a voice that told her she very much wanted to learn him, too.

"I wanted to kiss you, so I did. It could mean something more if you wish or it could mean nothing at all if you'd like. I want you and I've wanted you for quite some time now."

Only he'd be so blunt, she thought, gripping the towel over his lap with hooked fingers—but while he had been open about his thoughts she still couldn't quite understand what he'd meant.

"Whether you can ignore everything and everyone, whatever everyone else might think, is up to you and you alone. As long as you're sure you won't regret your choice."

Those words could mean a multitude of things—or it could mean just one. He either wanted to have an exclusive relationship with her, publicly, or he simply wanted to have her sexually, privately, temporarily. Or, she assumed so. She didn't have much experience with these romantic endeavors but neither was she a naïve fool—she'd heard enough talk from both her male and female comrades to know that love of a romantic nature almost always meant sex, but sex didn't always mean love.

They didn't love each other, that much was true.

And she didn't know what to think.

"Oi, Mikasa." He called and she blinked, returning to the present. He looked a little irritated and a little concerned, and she breathed deeply.

"I'm fine, Heichou."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't act stupid." He shifted forward, returning to his usual arrogance despite only having a small towel to keep him decent. "Don't play coy." He pulled back and examined her critically. "Are you unwell? Did you sustain any other injuries?"

She grasped his wrist when he moved to lift her shirt, the sewn cut only half exposed to his gaze. No, she didn't know what to think—but she knew what she felt. He'd been honest with her, hadn't he? She was no coward.

She kept his wrist in her hand as she spoke, her tongue thick. "I don't know what to do about what I feel for you."

He went very still. He seemed to choose his words oddly carefully, for a man who usually could care less about what he said. "You could do what you'd like, Mikasa." She was pulled into his gaze. "Even if it's doing nothing at all." Slowly, he turned his hand in her grip, grasping both her wrists. "Up." He ordered, his voice hard.

Had she said something to displease him?

She obeyed, unsteadily clambering to her feet before him. "We'll talk about this later." He lifted her shirt, examining the large slash across her hard abdomen. She saw the corners of his eyes tighten with strain, his lips pressing into a thin line of displeasure. He touched her wound gently and she inhaled sharply—not quite from pain. "We need to treat your wounds also."

She pulled away from his touch, feeling foolish for being so sensitive to it, puzzled by the way it had made her skin thrum vibrantly. "My wounds have already been treated, Heichou."

Before he could protest she pulled his arm over her neck and helped him to his feet, flushing as he adjusted the flimsy towel around his hips, tried not to focus on the exposed lines of his narrow hips, of all the scars marring his body. They made their way down the hall and into the bedroom where she sat him on the edge of the bed. She searched the drawers for a change of clothes and handed him his clothing.

"I need to bathe myself now. Good night, Heichou." She opened the door.

"Mikasa," His words made her pause mid-step. "I said we'd talk about it." He didn't look at her. "I'm too light headed to think clearly at the moment. But we will talk about what happened." He looked at her now, his gaze like steel. "Don't take long."

Stiffly, she nodded, ignoring the knot of apprehension in her chest as she shut the door behind her.

Levi had almost drifted off by the time she stepped back into the bedroom. She was carrying a multitude of sheets and blankets, wearing a thin white night gown, her pale legs exposed prettily. He sat up, the sheet falling away—and she blushed at the sight of his bare chest, looking at the walls, the floor, anywhere but him.

"Did you need a shirt, heichou?"

He arched a brow, tried to wipe away the grogginess as he pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. "No." He pushed the blanket away, and she looked relived to see he was wearing pants. He frowned at the billow of material spilling over her arms. "Why are you carrying so many bloody blankets?"

She gathered her composure, her eyes on the floorboards. "The floor is hard."

He narrowed his eyes. "It's a good thing we're sleeping on the bed, then."

He'd hit the mark. She shifted, looking towards the window, the moonlight creeping across the floor, illuminating the hem of her nightgown, silhouetting her shape. "Heichou…"

"Ackerman," He bit out, glaring now, trying to focus. "Get into the bed. Or are you going to force a wounded man to throw you onto it?"

She snared his gaze now, and he saw that hardness return, preferred it immensely over her insecurity. "You can barely sit up in your condition, heichou." Her voice was eerily quiet, the same tone she'd used when she'd savagely beaten Claude and his men. "If you tried to fight me, I'd be the one throwing you down."

Levi held her gaze in challenge. Out of all the women he could have been attracted to it had to be the one who probably could drop him flat on his ass if he ever let his guard down. Perhaps that was why he wanted her. "Then I'll sleep on the bloody floor." He grunted a little as he tried to stand.

"Heichou—don't."

He moved forward—she dropped the blankets and moved to stand in front of him, her cold hands pushing against his bare shoulders. "Don't." She repeated again, and the shake in her voice made him pause. He looked up at her, eyeing the small pearly buttons that ran along the front of her night gown, the pretty lines of her collarbones, the elegant arch of her neck. He watched her throat work as she spoke. "You've…you've been hurt enough for my sake. The least I can do is sleep on the floor."

For my sake.

He understood now. "You're blaming yourself." He sighed, grasping her thin wrists. "You're being an idiot." He clutched both her wrists in one fist, imprisoning them tightly, hooking his leg behind her ankles, his other arm quickly shoving her backwards, twisting her.

She made a strangled sound of protest as her back hit the bed, struggling briefly until he straddled her. "Stop moving, Mikasa." He snapped, dragging her up so that her legs no longer dangled off the bed—she pushed at his elbows, at his jaw. "I said stop bloody moving." He pinned her wrists down beside her head, glaring at her as he gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through his ribs. "Stay. Still."

She obeyed.

"Good girl." He said flippantly, moving down her body, straddling her knees. Perhaps this wasn't the best position for his sake, but if it helped her relax he supposed he'd risk it. "Now, unbutton your gown."

She stiffened beneath him, her nails digging into his bandages, that all too familiar dead look glazing her eyes.

He shook his head, reaching out to grab a small jar of balm, showing her what he intended. He could almost see the unspoken 'oh' in the slight parting of her lips. "Sophia stitched you up but this will help you heal better. Now unbutton it—or do I have to do that for you, too?"

She turned away, the moonlight casting over her lovely features, her damp hair looking like black silk ribbons strewn over snow colored sheets. "I…I'm not wearing anything beneath it."

He went still. It wasn't a very good combination, Levi knew; he had her beneath him and on a bed, her lush, pale body was only covered in a very thin, very accessible night gown. He'd already kissed her, had already discovered the taste of her mouth, felt the fire that she hid so well, the one he'd stoked within her. It would be easy to taste her mouth again. It would be easy to slide the gown up and expose her to his gaze, to part her thighs. It would be easy to take her here. Just a few tugs and a murmur, a quick touch, one that'd make her mind go blank, and he could almost feel her surrounding him.

Almost.

She looked at him a little anxiously, then looked away, trying to feign her usual indifference. Her pulse thrashed at the base of her throat.

He wanted her. But she wasn't ready. Their bodies were much too battered, and taking one another would probably give them equal amounts of pain and pleasure.

And when he took her, she would be ready. It would be pure, undiluted pleasure coursing through their blood.

She'd want it as much as he did.

He forced himself to breathe in deeply, evenly. He shifted down and brought the blanket up over her hips modestly. "Lift your gown, just until I can treat your wound."

She seemed to struggle with her decision for several moments, her blush intensifying.

"You really are rather prudish, aren't you?" He taunted strategically.

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she tugged at her gown roughly—flinching when she scratched at her own wound.

He shook his head. "You can't obey a single order." He slid his hands to her hips beneath the blanket, gripping the soft white cotton tightly. He felt his pulse jump for a much different reason, his voice coarsening as he spoke. "Lift your hips."

Slowly, hesitantly, she did.

He tugged the gown up, over her thighs, past the swell of her hips, exposing her pale stomach. He marveled for a moment, enthralled with the softness of her skin brushing against his knuckles, with the small silvery veins of past wounds decorating her flesh. The hard edge of his desire dampened when he saw the large slice across her ivory skin, the wound an angry, flushed red color. He touched the skin around it, found it a bit hot to the touch. "Does it bother you?"

She shook her head, shutting her eyes, chills spreading across her flesh. "It's just a scratch."

He twisted the small jar open. "Of course it is." He dabbed his fingertip lightly. "They were filthy. They looked as if they hadn't bathed in ages—do you think they ever cleaned their knives? Gods know what kind of filth you could have had crawling within your skin."

They quieted as he gently smoothed the ointment over her cut skin, the silence punctuated by the sound of their breathing, by the small creaks of the bed when she shifted.

He didn't hurry—touched her carefully, leisurely, finding his ministrations oddly relaxing. He found smaller scratches all over her skin, perhaps from the branches, perhaps from the shattering glass, recalled how deadly and stunning she'd looked as she'd fought. He touched a small cut on her temple, crouching over her, his hair falling forward.

"They were old acquaintances of mine—Claude, and his gang." He murmured, putting the ointment aside. He saw her eyes flicker over his features, wondered what she thought. "I wasn't always a member of the scouting legion." He felt his gaze become unfocused, his hands clutched into the sheets beside her head. "Back then I was something much more distasteful." Something like the men who slaughtered your mother and father and almost sold you to men who'd do unspeakable things. "I suppose I had that coming. You shouldn't have been dragged into it, but you did perhaps give them what they had coming." He became silent again, some unspoken emotion deepening his frown, bitterness, disappointment perhaps, he could care less.

"You can't…expect to be surrounded by filth and stay clean." She looked away, her breath tickling his knuckles against the pillow. "It's the way this world works. Sometimes you have to spill blood before they spill yours. We're alive because of it." She shut her eyes.

He recalled the reports, the words thrown in the court room. They'd been children, hadn't they? Murdering—three? four?—men to live, to escape. He could understand that very, very well.

There was a lack of regret within him, an emotion that perhaps belonged to those who had kept their souls intact, who had souls at all. No, he didn't regret murdering the people they had—if he hadn't, he wouldn't be here now, would he? It was small, the number of lives he'd saved, insignificant against the ones lost daily, against the ones he'd taken himself. There had been many nights when his comrades had thanked him, groveled at his feet in gratefulness because his blades had cut before their teeth could, and weeks later they'd be dead anyway.

He'd begun to wonder if saving them mattered. What did it really, if they'd only die on the next mission? What did cutting the back of titans necks matter if the bodies were chewed and broken within their throats?

But he'd saved her, hadn't he? And as he held her beneath him, felt her warmth, her softness, felt her breath, he felt the unspoken answer in the stutter of his pulse, in the way his hands ached to touch her, the way his eyes traced her constantly; saving her had mattered. The thought of not having her, alive, seemed so very unspeakable.

"Eren saved me." She suddenly murmured, shifting beneath him, her lashes lowered. "If he hadn't murdered those men to save me… I wouldn't have been alive to save him back." She looked up now, and there was something in her gaze that stung him, that felt like ice. Perhaps it was an admiration, a look akin to the ones his comrades had given him when they'd thanked him, a gratefulness that almost seemed to horrify him. "If you hadn't murdered the men who tried to kill you…if you hadn't survived…then you wouldn't have been alive to save Eren." She looked down again. "To save me."

If it had been another man, perhaps these words would stroke his ego. But to him they were only snakes curling between them, a curse, the last warning, a last thank you before they were ripped away. Where did your thanks get you? It was a question that always bubbled up after every disastrous mission, watching them gather whatever was left of their bodies, shredded pieces of someone's scalp, a large lump of pink and red that was perhaps a chewed torso, a thigh and knee dangling from a cable. I just postponed your death. It was just for a little while.

"Don't thank me for saving anyone. For saving you." He felt himself shutting away, locks turning, cogs rolling backwards, his lungs tight. "What does it matter in the long run if I only give you a few more weeks of life?"

He moved away—and this time she held onto him, her palm pressing against his cheek, making him still at the tenderness of the touch. "The world is a cruel one, Levi…"

Levi?

"But it can give us moments of beauty, also." Her fingernails scratched the hard line of his jaw lightly, scraped down his throat, touched the beating pulse at the bottom.

Moments of beauty, he thought, the moonlight encasing them both, leeching everything of color. When was the last time he'd had a moment of beauty? When was the last time he'd been shown any mercy?

"Moments of beauty…" He spoke softly, almost tauntingly. "Where do you find them, Mikasa? Perhaps because you still have family with you—you still have a bit of warmth to keep the ice out of your heart." He traced her cheekbones. "You see I find that rather difficult when I've never really had one. It's rather impossible when almost everyone I've ever known…" He touched her throat. "Anyone I've ever touched…is dead. I've been ice from the start." He pulled away now, the almost pity swirling in her gaze sickening him.

"Wait." She breathed, her fingers knotting in the back of his hair. "Levi…"

Levi, he mused again, his name sounding odd on her tongue.

"You're not sleeping on the bloody floor—"

She lifted her head, touching her lips to his, her breath pushing between his lips. She moved her soft mouth gently, taking care not to further split the wound on his bottom lip, the tip of her tongue tracing around it lightly. He shuddered a little, sliding his palm beneath her head, tangling his callused fingers in her wet hair, deepening the kiss slowly. He let her kiss him, held back his own wants and let her learn, the movements of her mouth tentative, curious. Her breaths were shaky, her fingers sliding over his bandaged chest, her nails scratching at his scalp in supplication, begging him to kiss her back.

His restraint broke a little, his body tightening as he pushed away the cumbersome blanket, letting her wrap her thighs around his waist. He inhaled sharply—she swallowed the sound, her fingers wound tightly in his hair, her knees gripping his hips, pressing herself against him. She arched beneath him, ripping away the chains he'd slaked over himself, making their kiss quicken, the taste of her mouth making him shake. He let his hands rove over her, snake beneath her body, tugging up the gown, his hands grasping at the sides of her ribs, sliding higher. She nicked the cut on his bottom lip, and he hissed, his heart pounding when she drew it into her mouth, sucking at it, the iron taste of blood lingering on her tongue.

He slid his hand between their bodies, smoothing it over her belly, taking care not to hurt her, slid it lower still.

"For my sake."

"To save me."

He didn't really understand why she was kissing him, why she was wrapped around him, her hesitation gone—perhaps it was guilt, or gratitude or a poisonous mixture of the two. If he'd been a good man he'd make sure it wasn't. He'd make sure it wasn't that at all.

But he was far, far from being a good man. He was the worst kind.

She made a soft sound in her throat as his hand crept closer still—his name, he realized, and she whispered it again. He breathed in, hushing her, finally touching her, rasping her with his callused fingertips lightly, his name strangling in her throat, surprise, a plea—

There was a sharp knock on the door—Levi broke the kiss, ripping the blanket up and shielding Mikasa as the door was shoved open. Sophia was at the doorway, her silver brows rising to her hairline when she spotted their flushed faces, their breathlessness, the way Levi straddled her.

"My, my," She muttered, shakily carrying a small tray with two steaming bowls atop, entering the room without a shred of remorse. "I never thought being robbed and beaten would get your passion all worked up, Levi."

Levi scowled at her—cursed and flinched when Mikasa shoved him off of her, his ribs screaming in protest as he was flipped onto his back. She sat at the edge of the bed, tugging her gown down, a fierce blush blooming across her cheeks. "We were—"

Sophia smiled at her. "I know, dear. An old woman must have her fun when she can. Here, I brought you some food."

Levi sat up, accepting his bowl irritably, glaring at Sophia darkly, trying to clear his head, trying to untangle his hazy thoughts.

Sophia handed Mikasa her bowl. "Face the wall, dear. Eat before it gets cold."

Mikasa obeyed quietly, holding the bowl in her lap, shutting her eyes, her hands trembling slightly. She refused to look at him. Sophia grabbed a small comb, running it through the tangles in Mikasa's still damp hair. "You have lovely hair." Sophia's smile was tender, her gaze almost wistful. "Black as night. You're a pretty girl. You remind me of my daughter. She was the spitting image of her father. You have their mannerisms. Silent and distant—but kind."

Mikasa put down her spoon, looking down at her hands modestly. She inhaled slowly, her composure gathered, the color slowly leeching away from her cheeks. "Thank you."

Sophia tugged a small ribbon out of her dress pocket. "Here you go." She tied her hair up deftly as Mikasa ate, and Levi was momentarily riveted by the way it exposed the arch of her neck, her ears, displayed her jawline.

It made her look much more womanly.

He pushed the thought away, watching the way Sophia patted Mikasa's head in a motherly fashion. "Get some rest. Don't let Levi take advantage of the fright you've gone through today."

When the devil did Sophia become so concerned and caring? Levi put down his bowl, turning over and lying on his side with a grimace.

The fright you've gone through today.

He wondered if she'd say the same thing if she knew Mikasa had taken them all down without batting an eye. They were the ones who'd gone through the fright.

He didn't bother pulling the blanket over himself, feeling uncomfortably warm, muttering a curse when another stab of pain shot up his side as he rolled onto his stomach.

"What's the matter, Levi?" Sophia teased, her usual bite returning. "Want Sophia to comb your hair, too?"

Levi didn't bother turning around. "Keep your filthy comb away, old coot."

She chuckled her abrasive laugh. "Really, girl, how do you stand him?"

Levi's patience for the day—for the entire bloody month—sapped away, and he rolled over, giving Sophia the blackest glare he could. "Are you done, Sophia?" He cut out, all temper. "We need to rest. As you've seen we've had quite an eventful day. Get the hell out. Doesn't seem like much to ask you to stay out of the room we paid for."

Sophia grinned as she pulled away from Mikasa. "Someone didn't get their sweets today." Sophia hobbled over to the door. "You might want to hold off on getting them tonight for the sake of your bodies."

Mikasa blushed again, pushing a pillow onto the ground. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Like hell." Levi bit out, glaring at Sophia's back as she left them. "You're sleeping on the bed. Stop acting so prudish. You weren't so reserved a few moments ago, were you?"

The words seemed to strike the wrong chord, her back stiffening. Very quietly, Mikasa spoke, looking at him over her shoulder, ice in her gaze and words. "I'd rather sleep outside, heichou, than sleep in the same bed with you."

"Too damn bad. Go to sleep."

She pushed off the bed—he grabbed her wrists, pulling her forward—she pressed her palm flat against his bandaged chest, struggled to keep her body off the bed, her knees pressed against the mattress. "I don't care if you're wounded, Heichou."

It was Heichou now, he noted, smirking slightly.

"Release me."

He arched a brow, spoke the word slowly, in challenge. "No."

That dead look crept over her again. "I won't hold back."

"Good." Levi lips curled up, not quite a smile. "Neither will I."

It was minutes later that they were both laying on the bed beside one another, breathless from their brief but vicious struggle, Mikasa facing the window mulishly, Levi facing her rigid back.

"Are you uncomfortable, Ackerman?"

She stiffened, her words venom. "Very, Heichou."

"Perhaps next time you'll be a bit more obedient."

He heard the strangled frustration in her feather soft whisper. "Goodnight, Heichou."

He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, too tired to stir up any lingering passion. He watched her ribs expand and compress, the sound of her breathing lulling him. She was a curious girl, he mused, one second capable of cold blooded murder and the next flustered from a touch and a kiss.

"Goodnight, Mikasa." His voice was a murmur, a whisper, his eyes shutting.

It wasn't that Eren deliberately sought trouble. He never went out of his way to cause it—and he hadn't meant to drag Armin or the others into it (especially not Jean) but it had happened anyway.

"Eren—I don't think we should be doing this." Sasha whispered anxiously, fumbling as she saddled her horse, her body quivering as hard as her voice.

"Tch," Eren pulled himself up, straddling his horse with ease. "You heard what Erwin told Hanji." Eren adjusted his crooked cloak. "They were supposed to be here late afternoon." Eren looked up at the night sky worriedly. "Something must have happened."

"I've read a few reports stating that a few of the military police have been attacked by thugs. Their gear goes for a lot of money on the underground market. Mikasa and Levi were still hurt, weren't they?" Armin mused, his brow furrowed. "If they spotted them and saw the way they moved, saw that they were weak and alone, they might have deduced that they'd be easy targets."

"Yeah, well, poor bastards if they did." Jean snorted, a hint of worry in his gaze nonetheless. "Mikasa is terrifying as it is. Levi is worse. But combined?" Jean shook his head as he mounted his horse. "I'd almost feel bad for the bastards."

"But they were hurt." Connie murmured, tugging up his hood. "And thugs don't fight fair."

"And Mikasa really was injured." Sasha twisted her hands together. "She couldn't even get into bed without Levi's help."

Eren felt his neck crack as he twisted to face Sasha. "What?"

Sasha blushed furiously, shaking her head, the silky brown stands of her ponytail slipping over her shoulder. "N-nothing. She just moved very slowly. I feel guilty because she was hurt trying to help get me—"

"Levi helped her into bed?" Jean interrupted, his back straight. "What do you mean he helped her into bed?"

"I—…didn't mean anything." Sasha visibly flailed. "I didn't—"

"I think she means when Levi carried her to the medics." Connie murmured, earning a grateful look from Sasha

"Yes. I did—that's what I meant. Thank you, Connie."

He grinned at her. "Welcome, Sasha."

Eren frowned at Sasha, something unpleasant occurring to him but it was so ridiculous, so farfetched—he dismissed it. "Never mind. We need to get out of here as quick as we can."

"Jean—Eren, did you bring your civilian clothing with you?" Armin checked, his blue eyes calm and clear.

"Ah, yeah."

"Why are Eren and Jean the only ones going to dress as thugs?" Connie whined.

"Because they have the mean faces." Sasha answered with aplomb. "Everyone will believe they're criminals. You look like a nice guy, Connie."

The slightest tint of pink colored Connie's cheeks. "You look like a nice girl, too, Sasha."

She giggled a little nervously. "Thank you, Connie."

"Welcome, Sasha."

Jean grimaced. "Morons." He peered around the corner, glanced back towards the castle.

Christa poked her small head out, silently and excitedly gesturing for them to go.

"Alright." Eren pushed his horse forward, feeling oddly tight lipped, his insides twisted. Armin looked at him, a mixture of worry and determination within his eyes, an unspoken emotion passing between them. He felt as if he'd slipped back into his childhood, that strange urge of knowing she was in danger, of not knowing where she was, of needing to find her. He'd managed to save her, just by a breath, but what if this time he was too late?

What if they'd already sold her? What if...what if they'd killed her? Mikasa was strong and it would be in her to push them hard enough that they had no choice but to kill her. But he didn't want to think of those things. He couldn't. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't die, not Mikasa.

"We need to hurry." He furrowed his brow, shooting his horse forward, the beating of hooves drowning out any other thoughts.

"Where is she?" Levi snapped, tugging on his entered the kitchen. He'd woken rather late, his dreams filled with her scent and taste—only to find himself alone, his body stiff as bones, her side of the bed cool to the touch.

Sophia smiled as she sewed. "She just got back from the shop across the street—bought some knives, big ones. She gave one to me as a gift." Sophia nodded toward the large glinting knife on the small table. "The girl is a bit frightening. Explained how and where to cut the body very precisely. As if anyone is going to hurt a little old lady like me." Sophia chuckled a little. "She's getting the horses ready. She doesn't seem too comfortable around them." Sophia looked out the large window, narrowing her eyes. "If she isn't comfortable around them, you should be the one attending to them, don't you think?"

Levi observed Mikasa grimly. She threw the saddle onto it—the horse shifted, raising its back hoof—and she stepped away instantly. "No," Levi murmured, more to himself. "She's still a bit wary." The horse stepped towards her, trying to nuzzle her chest. She looked startled, holding still in surprise. Slowly, she raised her hands, threading her fingers through its mane. "She's still unsure. But she'll get there."

Sophia hummed suggestively. "I'm sure you'll help her along just fine." Sophia gave Levi a stern look. "Make sure not to hurt her."

Levi clenched his jaw. "When did you grow a heart?"

Sophia cackled, continuing her sewing a bit more energetically. "I just like ruffling your feathers, is all." She looked out the window towards Mikasa again. "That girl needs a mother."

Levi quieted.

She couldn't know what happened to Mikasa's mother, had no way of knowing. But she'd perhaps sensed that missing void in her life nonetheless.

"You should be careful on your way back." Sophia stood. "Those thugs don't like being bested. They could very well be hunting for you two now, intent on retaliation. There were two boys with ugly mugs asking around for you two this morning."

He frowned. "Boys?"

Sophia nodded, snapping a thread with her worn teeth. "Thugs. It didn't look like they got along much. They were trying to ask a few of the people in the shop across the street but mostly ended up arguing with one another. It seems like they're sniffing you two out." She was silent for several moments. "The boy with the large eyes looked very determined. I'm not sure if you roughed up some family of his but he looked very, very angry. Eerie eyes, really."

There was something that bothered him immensely about that description. "What did they look—" He paused, seeing Mikasa walk by the window, her expression numb and deadly, the one she'd worn as she'd mindlessly broke men twice her size. Something was wrong. His skin prickled, his palms tingling as his instincts made his body coil tightly. Yes, they'd found them. "Sophia…" He stepped towards her. "Go into your bedroom."

She grinned. "Finally giving into my charms, are you?"

He scowled, his eyes pulling away from the window to grab the knife on the table. "Sophia—"

They heard a shrill scream, and Levi barely managed to hurl them both onto the ground before a large brick was smashed through the window.

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writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Subtle Unraveling Chapter 4: Uniforms and Unicorns

Summary:

In which humanity's strongest soldiers kick some ass

Chapter Text

"You sure you don't need help?" Hanji asked him as she wiped her glasses with her shirt, her small frown a little humorous.

Levi scowled, stiffly pushing his arms into his jacket. His soreness hadn't been so bad yesterday—but this morning he'd barely rolled over in bed and his entire body had gone into spasms. "I'm perfectly fine."

Hanji smirked as she pushed her glasses back on. "Aren't you in a chipper mood this morning, Levi? Here, have some tea. It ought to help relax your muscles a bit."

Levi pressed his lips together prissily. The last time she'd given him a tea to 'relax' him he'd woken up on the floor, open-mouthed with a pool of drool beneath his cheek. Disgusting.

Her train of thought seemed to follow his and she giggled to herself. "I'll half the dosage."

Levi shook his head. "Don't bother." He looked out the window with narrowed eyes. The sunlight was just starting to bleed into the sky. "I need to get going."

Hanji nodded, leaping up when he went for the door. "Here." She stuffed something—bread?—into his hands. "You should eat something before you leave."

He nodded grudgingly and opened the door.

"It has meat!" She shouted in a sing-song voice and he sighed, shutting the door with a shake of his head.

The woman was as strange as they made them.

He was walking down the hall when he saw Jean muttering to himself in front of Mikasa's room door. He looked filthy as hell—he could smell the horse shit stench from here. He'd almost forgotten he'd placed him on stable duty.

Jean knocked on her door uncertainly.

He heard Mikasa call out, sounding strained. "Come in."

Jean entered, leaving the door open a crack.

The bloody brat obviously wasn't busy enough if he had time to be knocking on her door. He was persistent—had been for…years, if what he'd heard was true. While his infatuation irritated him there was a certain look on Jean's face whenever Mikasa appeared that unsettled him deeply. There was a softness to it, a tenderness and warmth that left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

If he didn't know better he would say Jean was in love with her.

He wondered if Mikasa knew.

He wondered if she felt anything in return. It would be logical, wouldn't it? They were both around the same age; they'd both trained together and Jean had also risked his life for her. Yes, it would be rational if Mikasa returned his feelings. Expected, even.

And he shouldn't give a damn.

There was a strange heat and unease that bloomed within his chest and stomach, and he felt his fists clench. He slid towards her door, feeling pulled forward unwillingly, invisible strings snapping his muscles taut as he gripped the door handle and watched through the open crack.

Mikasa's body was much, much worse. She leaned forward onto the desk, pressing her damp palms flat against the scarred, polished surface. This was ridiculous. She'd woken with a skull splitting head ache and barely been able to shower and dress herself this morning—and it left her feeling sapped of her usual strength. She glared at her jacket, only one of her arms through the sleeve. It dangled off her shoulder haphazardly.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in." She muttered.

Jean stepped in, looking flushed and hesitant and…filthy. "Hey, Mikasa." He fidgeted slightly. "I've noticed you…ah, the horse…your nervousness."

She frowned a little. It took her only a moment to understand. "My nervousness?"

He scratched the back of his head and swallowed thickly. He spotted the way her jacket hung off her shoulder awkwardly. "Do you need help?"

She looked away. She'd been hoping it would be Armin or Eren. "If you don't mind."

He came towards her. "Hold still." He shifted behind her, adjusting her jacket gently. "Put your arm in." She slid it in with a grimace, her entire back cramping. "There you go." Jean murmured, stepping away with a fierce blush. "Ah, your hair is under the jacket…" He stepped forward before she could protest, his dirt smeared hands reaching up to loosen her hair.

"Thank you."

His hands lingered on her jaw, his eyes on her mouth.

Levi had looked at her like this, with heat and want. He'd shown a rare tenderness in those brief moments, a darkness that had threatened to consume her—a look that made her wonder what kind of sensations he could tug out of her. She'd felt anxious, almost anticipating his promising touch.

Jean's thumb slid over her jaw tenderly.

Why didn't it feel the same? There was no hitch in her breathing, no nervousness or desire burning within her as she observed the way Jean was looking at her. She was only calm. Still and in control as always.

She pulled away. "Thank you, Jean."

He stepped back. "Y-you're welcome." He blinked rapidly. "I saddled my horse for you. She's much calmer than your horse. I thought it would be better for you since you aren't at your best health right now."

Surprised, she nodded. "Thank you. You didn't have to."

He shook his head. "I should have helped you when you were trying to get Sasha down. I should have gone for my gear or gotten someone who already had their gear but instead I just watched. And you were hurt. I'm sorry."

She frowned. "Jean, you didn't—"

The door opened abruptly, and they both turned to see Levi enter. He looked at them icily, his brows raised haughtily. "Forgive me for interrupting your little tête-à-tête but we need to leave. Out, Ackerman. Kirschtein, get back to the stables. The horses can't shovel their own shit."

His words were stiff and cruel—Jean fumbled as he nodded, looking a little disgruntled.

"Yes, Heichou." He left the room with his head bowed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. It was one thing to enter her bedroom without knocking and another to tell people to leave it as if he owned her space.

She pulled her torn scarf off the chair, bundling it into a ball. "I'll be out in a minute."

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "We need to leave. Now."

She clenched her jaw. Just moments ago she'd put labels on him like 'tender' and 'heated' but now he was all ice and steel, and she wanted to throttle him. She was a fool for thinking anything else of him. "Is it a custom of yours, Heichou, to enter a soldier's room without knocking?"

He looked at her drolly. "Angry that I interrupted your moment with Kirschtein?"

She felt herself flush. "He was helping me with my jacket."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Was he? It rather looked as if he'd much prefer help remove your clothing. I thought I was doing you a favor. He smelled like shit anyway."

She bit back her ire and stuffed her shredded scarf into her jacket pocket, ignoring the way her muscles tightened as she walked towards him. "Is it also a custom of yours to ask your soldiers about their personal relationships?" She was inches from him now, tempted to shove him out the door and lock it for good measure.

His eyes narrowed, his tone dropping several notches. "It is when it involves you." He cocked his head, looking almost mystified. "I want to learn you." His gaze dropped to her mouth again, his words sounding almost unwilling. "I don't really understand it myself."

She felt the air leave her lungs again. Before she could speak—or remember to inhale—he straightened and opened the door. "Come on. We're already late."

She followed behind him, outwardly collected, and inwardly reeling.

They swung off their horses and entered through the tall gates, a young dark-haired male walking towards them quickly.

When he reached them he bowed respectfully, rigidly, his bowl cut black hair shimmering in the weakening sunlight. "We've been expecting you. I'm Marlo Freudenberg."

"We ran a little late." Levi murmured. The pace they'd set had been a bit brutal but slow nonetheless, their bodies still much too achy for anything more. They'd also been silent the entire time and he'd almost smirked at the way she blushed whenever he caught her looking at him. "This is Mikasa Ackerman."

Marlo said something but Levi's attention was momentarily diverted by the appearance of a group of men behind him.

There were about five of them huddled under the archway, their military police uniforms sloppily worn. Their gazes were none too discreetly eyeing him and Mikasa—lingering more so on her then him.

Levi narrowed his eyes.

Mikasa hesitated for a moment then stepped forward grudgingly.

Marlo looked at her—and blushed vividly. "Mikasa…Ah, Ackerman." He held out his hand and clutched hers, shaking it clumsily. "We've heard plenty about you. They mentioned your skill and bravery but they never mentioned how beautiful you were."

Levi grimaced again hearing their conversation as a young woman brought him a small canteen of water and a horse—he fully intended to prowl about the small town for a few hours, knew he'd be restless if he stayed to wait about here with these corrupt pigs. He drank deeply as he watched her. Did the woman attract men everywhere she went? He watched Mikasa out of the corner of his gaze as he pulled himself onto his horse but she looked as unruffled and composed as always.

She nodded at Marlo curtly. "Thank you."

Marlo gave her a small loopy smile. "Come with me. The king isn't quite ready yet but I can show you around until he is." He offered nervously.

The group of men still stood there, looking almost eager, waiting for Mikasa to walk towards them.

Mikasa, infuriatingly oblivious to Marlo's admiration and the other's lascivious looks, nodded and stepped forward.

The pigs were all relatively young, most of them an impressive size. Yes, she looked ignorant of all of the attention but how long would that last until one of them peaked her interest? Any one of these men could offer her a very comfortable, luxurious life here—safety.

And he shouldn't bloody care.

Snapping, Levi caught her sleeve and tugged her towards him, gripping the sides of her jacket tightly. She struggled but he only pulled her in closer, forcing her on her toes as he yanked her against the side of the horse.

"Heichou, what—?"

Levi ignored her and looked at Marlo. "A moment."

Marlo nodded dumbly. "Of course."

Mikasa was about to protest when he clamped his palm over her soft mouth. "Don't speak." He growled, sending the group of men a pointed glance, relishing the way they looked away. "You will behave. You will hear out all of the king's offers. You will keep your violent tendencies leashed because any wrong move you make reflects on the scouting legion." Releasing her mouth, he let his other hand slide under her jacket, grasping her ribs. He was doing this—publicly—to stake his claim, he knew, as petulant as it was, but he could feel the harsh wave of desire brutally tighten his body, too. "But you will remember your brats, Armin and Eren. You will remember that they need you. You will remember the reason you joined us at all." He reached into her pocket discreetly. "And you will make your choice free of what anyone else needs or wants and pray that you do not regret your choice." He touched her chin, his mouth hovering over hers. "Do you understand?"

Her pulse was thrashing at the base of her pale throat, her jaw clenched. Her gaze screamed a mixture of desire and bloody murder, her fingers painfully tight around his wrist. "Yes, Heichou."

His hands lingered on her briefly. "Good." He murmured in satisfaction, promptly releasing her.

She gave a little huff as she landed on her heels, her blush lovely and tempting. She straightened her jacket self-consciously—looked as if she wanted to say something snarky but bit back her tongue and walked towards Marlo.

He smirked, discreetly stuffing her scarf into his jacket pocket.

He knew she'd make him pay for this later.

"Here we keep all of our gear." Marlo murmured, his eyes alight with a child-like excitement. He clicked open a heavy case, displaying the gear within it. "Brand new." He beamed, when his gaze suddenly fell. "We rarely get to use it, really."

Mikasa silently agreed. Her gear was a little banged up, scrapes and scuffs marring it, betraying how often she'd used it. She ran her fingertips over the polished surface wonderingly. It looked more like a trophy of sorts, some grand display more than an actual weapon.

Marlo sighed and shut the case, leading her out into the hall again. He'd done this a few times, already; one minute he was excitededly showing her something, bragging about the military police when he suddenly seemed to realize something, and like waking from a dream he'd purse his lips and become momentarily silent. He'd shake it off after a minute, attempting to hide his dismay and Mikasa followed him as he babbled airily.

They rounded a corner when an older man with thinning gray hair appeared, eyeing her appreciatively. "Bringing in fresh meat, eh, Marlo?" He cackled, his pale green gaze locked onto Mikasa as he stepped forward.

Marlo stepped between them protectively, and Mikasa only arched her brow. She really didn't need defending. But Levi had warned her to keep her violent tendencies restrained. The scouting legion didn't need any more scrutiny or criticism than it had already received.

Marlo puffed out his chest as he spoke. "This is Mikasa Ackerman of the scouting legion. Her skill is deadly enough to have garnered the attention of our king. She has been brought here to speak with the king as he wishes to offer her a position within his guard. A position that would most likely outrank yours."

The elderly man lifted his hands in surrender, grinning at Marlo wryly. "No need to get all huffy, Marlo. I simply wished to introduce myself."

Marlo shook his head. "I'm giving her a tour. You can introduce yourself afterwards."

The elderly man looked at Mikasa again. "I can show you around. Plenty of spare bedrooms around." He winked.

Marlo clenched his jaw then turned to face Mikasa. "Come on. This way."

He led her down another hall, silent and fuming. He was genuinely upset, she noted, frowning at his back. She wondered why he'd be so angry on her behalf. She'd understand if it had been Eren or perhaps even Armin but Marlo? She'd met him all of a few minutes ago. He seemed to gather his composure as they reached another door.

"And this, well, this is where we have our meetings." Marlo opened the door with a flourish—and stiffened when he saw what was happening within it. Mikasa peeked curiously.

Several men and women were gathered around a large round table. Their military jackets were strewn about the room recklessly, every inch of the tables surface littered with ashes, coins, alcohol and cigars—some still lit others smoked and hollowed. The acrid, suffocating stench of smoke struck them offensively, and Marlo shut the door hastily, clearing his throat and blinking his watery eyes.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, his voice raspy. He pressed his fingers to the backs of his eyelids. "Your impression of us must seem awful. This isn't…this isn't the only thing the Military police is." His dark head was bent in defeat. "I'm sure if someone as brave and skilled as you joined us you could help change things. You could help me make things better."

Surprised, she questioned him. "You wish to change things?"

His frown deepened. "Yes. I want to rid it of corruption—I want being in the military police to be something to be proud of and not something shameful." He touched the emblem of the unicorn on the door wistfully. "Our uniforms might as well be decorated with pigs."

"Pigs spread filth where they can, whether they're decorated as unicorns or not."

A young woman appeared around the corner, spotting them and rushing over. "Marlo! The king is ready for her."

Marlo straightened, smiling at Mikasa self-consciously. "Are you ready?"

She inhaled deeply. She felt inexplicably nervous. "I am."

There was a vast assortment of shops—but Levi was only looking for one in particular. He spotted a grimy window and a shoddy wooden door, a wooden sign atop carved with the symbol of a winding thread and needle.

He pushed the door—knobless—open and eyed the elderly, wrinkled woman who sat perched on a small stool, her thin worn dress rucked up a little scandalously.

She peered at him with squinted eyes. "Need more tailoring, Levi?" She murmured with familiarity, continuing to thread into a paper yellow dress neatly.

He shook his head, eyeing the bareness of her shop and recalling how it had once been full of people and overflowing in a sea of clothing. It seemed she hadn't had much business of late. "Just this, Sophia." He pulled out Mikasa's scarf and handed it to her.

Slowly, moving as if every bone in her body ached, she put down her dress and thread and needle, holding out her wrinkly, veined hands. She grasped the scarf and eyed the frayed edges in dismay. "I have plenty of scarves, Levi; ones much fancier than this."

He shook his head. "It isn't for me. It's for a comrade. This dingy thing…means the world to her."

She arched a thick silver brow at him, grinning her toothless grin. "Giving gifts out now, are we? It's about time you've gotten around to wooing someone. I was beginning to think you were holding out for me."

Levi's brows rose. "You're much too expensive."

She cackled to herself, thumbing through a small tray of spools. "I saw you pass by earlier with a young woman—all self-righteous on your horses. Pretty, that one—exotic, too. Had several of the street rats eyeing her speculatively, muttering about how much they could get for her." She looped a string through the needle deftly. "I knew there wasn't anything to worry about. She had that look about her—the same one you have. The one that says she can very well take care of herself."

Levi sat down on a chair, trying to peer out of the filthy window. "She can."

Sophia chuckled a little to herself. "If you really want to impress her you could just buy her a fancier scarf. There's this one here—look, it matches your eyes. It's what she'll think every time she looks at it."

Levi ignored her goading. "How long will this take you?"

"Repairing the damage should be easy. If you'd like I could give it a good wash and I have some dye out in the back that should make it look new. But that'll cost extra." She held out her hand expectantly.

Muttering beneath his breath, Levi tugged out his coin pouch and handed her the money. She peered at the amount then shook her head. "This only covers the repair and the wash. Not the dye."

"You really are bloody expensive." He doubled the amount.

She looked satisfied. "Give me two hours."

He nodded. "I'll give you one and a half." He left the shop and stepped out into the street.

"It doesn't only have to be you." He murmured quietly, stopping her midway through the door.

Mikasa paused, her fingers curling around the door handle. She'd heard everything he'd had to say with only half an ear, her mind elsewhere. The money and luxury had held no real appeal to her, had only made her recall the cozy and worn surfaces within the scouting legion, well used and well-loved.

"I've heard about your adopted brother and his friend. I knew asking you to join me also included them. We could overlook the fact that Eren Yeager is a titan shifter—he's proven to be well controlled. He could share in your comfort. He could be safe."

She shut her eyes. His other words had bounced off her easily but these struck her deeply. How desperately had she tried to keep Eren safe? How many times had she almost lost him? Being in the scouting legion she knew it was inevitable—she could lose him at any moment. Could she really keep living wondering, fearing, and dreading that the next time may be the last time?

"But you will remember your brats, Armin and Eren. You will remember that they need you. You will remember the reason you joined us at all…and you will make your choice free of what anyone else needs or wants and pray that you do not regret your choice."

She could try to force Eren to join the military police. He'd be safe—or safer here than in the survey corps. But he wouldn't come. He'd fight her tooth and nail. He had purpose burning within him, an ambition that seemed so farfetched and hopeless that it either made people laugh at him or believe in him. And somehow it had infected her, warped her one and only goal to protect Eren into also helping him, helping them all achieve that goal. She was good at it, a natural, dropping titan after titan easily. She was strong, they'd told her plenty of times, even compared her to Levi.

She wondered briefly why he hadn't chosen the military police. He was rather close mouthed about his personal ambitions, about his wants and it was a puzzle she didn't quite understand. Why did he keep fighting? He seemed like the kind of man that could easily spend the rest of his days secluded and alone, without a care in the world. But he kept fighting, his prowess unmatched, a rare rage gripping him madly in those brief moments when he was cutting down titans.

Perhaps he had had someone to protect once. An Eren that he'd done everything to protect but had failed regardless.

This was all speculation of course but she couldn't help but think it because he reminded her of herself.

Could she even try to stay here? Perhaps try to ignore everything, the entire world, in exchange for her soul? No. She refused.

Staying here, wrapped in safety and ignorance—she'd only rot away, body and spirit.

She could never leave Eren to his fate. She couldn't ever forget Armin. She had formed slight, thin bonds with their squad mates. Slight and thin, but precious to her nonetheless.

She'd fought with Levi plenty of times, had struggled long and hard to match him, had been viciously pleased when he'd begun to lean on her, teach her what he could because he'd deemed her capable.

They were skilled. They were deadly. Their roles were to protect as many of their comrades as they could. It was the responsibility of the strong.

Pray that you do not regret your choice.

"Thank you." She murmured softly. "But I made my choice long ago."

He sighed and before he could say anything else she left.

He walked about a little aimlessly, searching for nothing in particular.

When was the last time he'd been so idle?

He kept wandering down a few streets, finding himself treading familiar territory. Unpleasant memories began to flicker through him and he pressed his lips together.

He should be heading back now. Sophia should be done with the scarf. Mikasa should have been done with her stupid meeting.

He frowned at nothing in particular, recalling how the men had looked at Mikasa lecherously. She was beautiful, he knew, drawing attention even as she tried to be invisible. It had made his jaw clench, a distaste fill him bitterly. Mikasa had plenty of options for romance—Jean, Marlo, any one of those pigs that had eyed her, perhaps even Eren—

And he shouldn't bloody care.

"It can't be…"

He turned to his left, narrowing his eyes into the dark, grimy alley, searching for the source of the voice. There was a small group of men huddled between the walls—seven, nine, no about twelve of them—and one man stepped towards him curiously.

"I remember you." The man murmured, his dirty face coming into view as he stepped into the fading sunlight. "They call you the strongest soldier, don't they….Levi is it now?"

His smirk was as filthy and haggard as his body and clothing. The rest of the men shifted forward, eyeing his pristine uniform covetously, enviously. Levi grimaced. He recognized this man from his past, a bitterness on his tongue.

Claude.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew their intentions were nothing but trouble and he wasn't at his best physical condition at the moment and he was without his gear. He could take down maybe a handful but not all of them—and if his memory served him correctly Claude had been one of the crueler thugs he'd known, his sadistic streak becoming well-known even when they'd been young men.

Levi had never liked Claude and Claude had known it. They'd gotten into a scuffle once with Levi as the victor—and Levi had joined the scouting legion before Claude had been able to enact his revenge.

It's funny how second chances were given to the undeserving.

Levi nodded carelessly. "Do they?" He murmured flippantly, leaning against the wall strategically. The buildings about them looked very dilapidated and abandoned. He looked to his left quickly. The townspeople were quite a ways down. Even if they did see a scuffle he doubted they'd come to his aid. "I never really paid much attention, between ripping the titans to shreds and helping run the recon corps, I've been kept quite busy."

Claude smiled, his mostly broken teeth presenting a gruesome sight. "Too busy to help out old friends?"

Levi couldn't help but focus on his black gummed smile. He shuddered a little in revulsion. "Much too busy."

Claude smirked. "I'll forgive you, if you cooperate." Claude looked over his shoulder at his comrades, nodding towards Levi. "Take everything he's got."

Levi gave one last hopeful look down the street and sighed.

He supposed he really didn't have much of a choice.

Before the black mouthed fiend could move away Levi kneed his abdomen viciously, grabbing Claude's oily hair in his fist and slamming his knee into his face. He dropped like a puppet cut from its strings—and it was like a reenactment of their younger days. Claude hadn't leaned much, it seemed.

"Why don't you try to take it yourself?" He muttered, wiping his palms on his jacket reflexively.

The rest of the men surged on him and he punched and kicked swiftly, almost relishing the sounds of bones snapping, their cries of pain—but his body was stiff, protesting every movement. He delivered another rapid kick to man he'd dropped when he felt someone grab the back of his jacket and throw him backwards.

He grunted as he hit the ground, sliding into the middle of street. He felt a kick explode across his jaw, sending him rolling and he coughed on his own blood. They pounced on him before he could stand, gripping his wrists and pulling his arms up over his head. He struggled briefly but they restrained him quickly, forcing him up on his knees before them.

He swallowed a mouthful of blood, his stomach turning as he glowered up at the men. There were only four of them standing, holding him down. The rest were either unconscious or slowly, painfully getting to their feet.

One of the thugs gripped his hair in his grubby fist and arched his neck back. "Small son of a bitch." His rank breath wafted over his face, his eerie yellow-brown eyes scrutinizing him. "But you're pretty fast."

Not fast enough.

"On your feet."

They pulled him up—he hooked his boot behind his ankle and head butted his face, flipping the man onto his back.

They tackled him again, his cheek scraping against the dirt until he felt his skin tear.

"Really fast." The man muttered, pulling out a knife and pressing the dull blade against Levi's damp throat. His breath dusted against the ground. "Might want not want to make any sudden movements." He looked at the rest of the men. "Get his boots. Check his pockets. The jacket—we can get a good amount for it. Try not to tear anything."

He felt them tug his boots and jacket off, heard them murmur giddily when they found his pouch of coins.

"What about the shirt?"

The man flipped Levi onto his back. "It's a little torn and he got blood on it but it'll do."

They grabbed his wrist and pulled his arms out tightly, his grimy fingers working at the buttons clumsily. His face hovered over his, his nauseating breath suffocating him.

Levi scowled, flinching when they yanked the shirt off of him and pulled him onto his knees. He was left in his undershirt and pants, barefoot and beltless.

He never was one to display his vulnerability however. "You all smell like shit."

They kicked his ribs, and he grunted, hunching forward.

The thug wielding the knife laughed at him raucously, eyeing Levi's kneeling form appreciatively. "Do we kill you?" He tilted his head to the side. "Or do we send you back black and blue with your tail tucked between your legs?"

Levi spit blood. "Just bloody kill me. Spend my money on a few bars of soap. You'll do us all a favor by bathing. Your appearance alone is nauseating but your stench is eye watering."

The man flushed a mottled red color, his hygiene clearly a sore spot. "You've got quite a mouth on you, don't you?"

Levi was about to retort when the man suddenly dug his knife into the front of his under shirt, tearing it away violently. They all stared at his bare, bruised chest for several moments.

Levi arched a brow. "Impressed?"

They punched him, pain exploding across the left side of his face.

He hung his head, felt the warmth of blood fall from his split bottom lip. He saw the tip of the blade lightly trace the hard lines of his chest and stomach.

"We'll send you back." The man concluded, a darker note in his tone. "With a nice message carved into your chest."

Levi gritted his teeth and braced himself.

The elderly woman grasped the scarf with deft, scarred fingers, checking its dryness. She tugged it off the small wire out in the sunlight, stretching out the scarf to examine it critically. Repairing it had been relatively easy—it was the softness and color of the fabric that had made her charge Levi twice the usual price. Having sewed it up, washed it and refreshed its color it looked almost new. Still, anyone with a good enough eye could tell it was well-worn.

It was an old thing, but pretty and well-loved.

She recalled the way Levi had looked at it, with a mixture of regret and dismay. It's for a comrade. This dingy thing…means the world to her.

She knew that look.

She glanced down the street again. It was past two hours now. Levi was usually very prompt—but she'd seen him walk down a street everyone here knew no one should.

She spotted the woman who'd accompanied Levi earlier, high on her horse, another horse tied to hers. But Levi wasn't with her. "Girl," She called and the woman's dark, bottomless eyes locked onto her with an eerie sereneness. "Levi paid for this."

She held out the folded scarf.

The dark-haired woman leapt off her horse and walked towards her, frowning. "Paid…?"

Sophia nodded. "To have it repaired. He muttered something about it being for a comrade. I assume that was you."

She took the scarf almost reverently. She splayed it between her hands, her pale fingers gripping it tightly, possessively.

"You may want to look for him." She sat back in her chair, searching for her needle to begin her next job. "He went down that way." She gestured down the street with a wrinkly, papery hand. "That isn't a good place for anyone to wander alone." She felt her hands tremble a little. "I've lost a few people to these streets."

The girl's eyes darkened dangerously. She stepped back, wrapping the scarf around her neck snugly. "Do you mind if I tie my horses here for a few minutes?"

"Not at all." Sophia murmured, watching her expression curiously. The girl was rather trusting. She could sell the horses for a small fortune.

"Thank you." Her tone was flat and empty as she handed her a generous amount of coins.

Sophia watched her walk away, her steps sure, her eyes scanning their surroundings swiftly, thoroughly. Something about her walk was predatory, clearing the crowds the instant she began walking.

Levi had been right to assume that the scarf had meant something to the girl; but he had failed to mention what he'd meant to her.

She'd seen that look before, too.

She thumbed the coins in her hand. She'd made quite a pretty amount today. She saw two shadowy figures walk towards her from the alleyway, holding a very familiar uniform in their hands, the stiching done by her own hand. One of the men held it out towards her.

"How much for this?" He asked her, his black eyes small and narrow.

Sophia sighed. She might as well make good use of her coin.

Levi was used to pain.

He'd been through much, much worse, physically and mentally. The blade scored down his chest a second time, and he gritted his teeth so hard he felt his jaw would snap.

"You've gotten awful quiet." Claude murmured smugly, examining the blood tipped blade idly. The attempt at intimidation was ruined, however, by the large bandage over his broken nose. "You still have your tongue, don't you?" He gripped Levi's jaw and lifted his face, pressing the tip of the blade against his mouth.

"Boss?"

Claude scowled, pulling away from Levi.

Levi slumped forward, the ropes still holding him off the ground. They'd done a number on him. He wasn't sure if he could stay conscious for much longer. Claude had only begun taunting Levi after he'd been tied up of course. Apparently, Claude had learned a few things. Like how to have others fight his battles for him.

"What?"

"There's a girl coming down the street towards us." The other thug mumbled, gesturing to Levi. "She's got the same uniform as him." The look in his eye changed, and it made Levi's stomach twist in alarm. "She looks…different. I haven't seen people that look like her. I already sent the rest of them after her."

Mikasa.

Claude pocketed his knife and stood. He walked over to the small, half open window, shifting carefully to peer outside. He hummed in approval. "Is she your subordinate, Levi?" Claude grinned. "You lucky son of a bitch."

He needed to keep their focus on him. They'd sliced at him and given him a few punches and kicks but they'd do much, much worse to her.

But, Levi thought, he could recall how spectacularly Mikasa had flopped the rest of the soldiers around as if they'd been rag dolls. Most of them were still unconscious and hurt; she could probably take the rest if they didn't get the knife on her.

But there was a knife.

And Mikasa was weaponless.

The men murmured quietly between themselves, and Levi grimaced. He knew it wasn't likely to work but he had to try something.

"You don't want to try anything with her." Levi spoke through the blood in his mouth. "She's a beast of a woman. She may be worse than me."

They looked at him skeptically, their backs facing the window when a shadow passed over it.

"I am."

Her voice.

They barely had enough time to see a limp male body flying towards the window pane. The body struck it and the window shattered, the men falling back and shielding their faces against the glittering shards.

She swung through the window like a storm, her boot connecting with Claude's face, snapping his head back violently. The other thug tried to kick her but she caught his boot in her hands, striking his ankle with her elbow and snapping it cleanly. Screaming in pain, he fell to the ground beneath her where she punched his throat swiftly.

Claude was still alive—miraculously—and surged up, brandishing his knife.

Levi pulled against the ropes. "Mikasa—"

She leapt back as he swung, the blade slicing her shirt, blood seeping through the white, spreading over her abdomen.

He swung again but she bared her teeth and caught his wrist, twisting him and kicking his legs out from under him. He hit the ground, groaning. Mikasa held his bloody knife in her hand, twirling it as she looked down at him like he was a roach she was contemplating stepping on. She placed her boot on his chest, pinning him to the ground like a worm.

She looked up at him now and Levi tried for nonchalance, a little impressed. Well, perhaps a little more than impressed. The bloody woman was a monster. "A little late, aren't you, Ackerman?"

Her eyes darkened as she scanned his bloody, tied body, her lips pressing together. There was something in her gaze he couldn't quite place, a dull pain of past memories. "Forgive me, Heichou."

"Fucking bitch." Claude gurgled idiotically, squirming beneath her futilely.

She straddled his chest, raising the knife.

He tried to punch her but she swatted his hand away easily, pinning his elbow with her knee, her other hand pressing the bloody knife to his mouth. "Quiet." She murmured, her voice deceivingly, hair-raisingly soft. "Or I'll make you swallow your own blade."

Claude went statue still. "Please."

"You can make him swallow the blade after you use it to cut me free, Ackerman. I rather enjoy the thought of him trying to shit that out." Levi watched the frighteningly blank expression masking her emotions, knew she'd almost be capable of coldly murdering him without batting an eye.

Somehow this made her all the more thrilling to him—the sense of danger that clung to her, the darkness that she hid so well. But he didn't want her to regret this for the rest of her life. He didn't want her to be any more like him than she already was.

"Ackerman." He called again and she only gripped the knife tighter.

"Mikasa." He tried, more gently. She looked at him, her dark and deeply troubled gaze tugging at him. "Cut me down."

Hesitantly, she nodded, looking a little dazed, as if waking from a dream. She stood, grabbing a coiled rope beside them. He was about to ask what the devil she was doing when she suddenly began deftly hog tying Claude.

Levi smirked at Claude's squawks, downright almost grinned when Mikasa flipped him over none too gently, tying the rope over his mouth. She searched his pockets, retrieving his coin pouch. She walked over to him now, reaching up to cut down his ropes. "You've lost a lot of blood, Heichou." She tip toed before him, neatly cutting the rope away from his chafed wrists. He slumped forward onto her heavily, his face burrowing into her shoulder. He inhaled her scent, all heat and female, blood, a lingering trace of soap and cigar smoke—from the military police, perhaps.

She stilled for a moment—then pulled his arm over her neck.

"You got the scarf." He murmured, the loss of blood making him feel a little light headed. He felt oddly disappointed. He'd wanted to see her expression when she first saw it.

She nodded. "Where are your clothes?"

He looked down at himself. Ah, yes, clothing. He was almost completely naked except for a pair of shorts. "I think they've sold them already."

He couldn't quite tell in the falling twilight, but it looked as if she was blushing. She leaned him against the wall and removed her jacket.

"Here" She pulled it over his shoulders. He slid his arms through the sleeves with a grimace, eyeing the men sprawled across the street randomly.

He was about to ask if she'd done this alone when two men suddenly lurched out from the shadows, slamming Mikasa and him against the wall. Mikasa was quick enough—and strong enough—to twist to face her assailant, head butting him viciously. He fell back and she was on him lightning quick, every punch swift, every movement lethal. But the man was a large, burly one, the size of Erwin, and muscled like him, too.

His fists were slow however, and Mikasa spun around him easily. Infuriated the man grasped the front of her shirt and lifted her off her feet with one hand, slamming her onto the ground harshly. Mikasa twisted beneath him, not in the least deterred, managing to wrap her leg around the man's face and prying him off of her with sheer strength.

The man pinning him tried to help his friend—but Levi took advantage of his turned back, wrapping his arm around the thug's throat and choking him out.

The man struggled against his hold vainly. Levi arched a brow, pressing into his windpipe more tightly. "Where the hell are my clothes you filthy rats?"

Not that he expected an answer—nor would he let him speak. He only tightened his hold until the man slid down, unconscious and boneless.

Levi leaned against the wall heavily—Mikasa was sprawled on the ground, breathing rapidly, her fight won.

"Oi, Mikasa." Levi called, making his way towards her. "Are you hurt?"

The beast of a man she'd been fighting looked rather worse for the wear, awkwardly slumped against the wall, his arm bent at an awkward angle—most definitely broken. Levi wasn't quite sure the man was alive.

He fell to his knees beside Mikasa, eyeing her. She looked a little winded, and there was still the large scratch across her abdomen but she looked relatively well.

"Are you alright?" He asked again.

She nodded breathlessly. "I'm fine."

He arched his brows, surveying the downed men again. He remembered his question. "Did you take them all down alone?"

She looked a little smug now. "They didn't suspect someone like me. I took them by surprise."

Levi eyed her beneath him, sweat glistening across her pale flushed skin prettily. Her scarf was draped away from her neck and across the dirt like a line of blood, the top buttons of her shirt torn off, exposing her throat, collarbones and top of her full chest. She was as beautiful as she was deadly.

He crouched over her. Of course they wouldn't have expected her; she'd taken him by surprise, also, hooking her claws into him before he'd even known she had any. No, Levi thought darkly, skimming his hand over her hip and up her waist, grasping the side of her ribs—he'd known how dangerous she was. He'd wanted her nonetheless. He wanted to sink his own claws within her, make her grit her teeth with desire like she did to him.

Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the relief of being saved, or perhaps the relief that she had returned and hadn't accepted any offers, that she hadn't allowed herself to be corrupted—or perhaps it was simply his own selfish need to take, to have her, to claim her after watching Jean, Marlo and every other man who'd laid eyes on her want her.

She looked up at him through half closed lids, her lips parted, her breathing slowing, deepening. He lowered his head slowly, letting his mouth hover over hers.

She shifted beneath him, her hands skimming restlessly over the ground. She shut her eyes expectantly, tilting her face up sweetly. He smirked a little, holding out, brushing his mouth over her lashes, her nose, the corners of her mouth. Just a little longer, he told himself, anticipation grinding hard on his bones. He kissed her upper lip, nudging, encouraging her to open her mouth a little more for him.

She parted her lips obediently, her fingers reaching up to grasp his bare, hard waist.

He clenched his hand into her hair, angled her head beneath his before finally locking his mouth over hers, drinking from her parted lips deeply. She inhaled sharply beneath him but he only held her still, hungrily tasting her, unmindful of her hesitance. He swept his tongue into her mouth over and over, searching her, savoring the feel of her open mouth, of her soft lips, of her tiny gasps.

Her fingers splayed over the muscles in his back, clutching at him as she finally, unsurely, moved her mouth against his. He hummed encouragingly, grasping both sides of her head firmly as he grinded his mouth lusciously over hers.

She was learning his kiss quickly, her tongue meeting the sweeps of his own tentatively at first, then more surely. She tasted of clean skin, of water and something else, something that drove him a little mad. He was both furious and relieved that he hadn't kissed her before; as it was he wasn't sure if he could stop. She kept moving beneath him, arching, making little soft sounds that he swallowed greedily. His teeth caught at her bottom lip impatiently as his fingers flicked the buttons of her shirt open deftly. He slid his hand beneath her shirt, placing his damp palm over her racing heart, sliding lower, murmuring soothingly when she stiffened. He slowed the kiss by sheer will, pulling his baser urges back ruthlessly. "Relax," He murmured against her mouth, parting her shirt slowly.

She raked her nails down his back lightly and he felt his breath catch in his throat—when he dully realized they were both still bleeding and in the middle of the street, surrounded by beaten thugs who could wake at any moment. He could take her here, wanted to, badly—but he knew better.

He tore his mouth away reluctantly, his harsh breaths mingling with hers. "Not here." He bit out, clenching his jaw, his fingers curling in her shirt tightly, keeping her tempting flesh out of his sight. "Not like this." He pressed his lips to her throat, tried to cool his blood.

Couldn't.

He kissed her again, hard, briefly.

She broke away. "Like this?"

He smiled at her darkly, brushing her hair away from her face, his fingers slipping into her silky black hair. "I told you, didn't I?" He rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. "I want to learn you." Her lips parted and he pressed in a little deeper. "Slowly." He brushed his fingertips over the seam of her lips. "Thoroughly." He looked about them pointedly, grudgingly. "And privately." He peeled himself off of her. The things he wanted to do to her needed to wait until they were behind locked doors. And perhaps after they'd bathed.

She gathered her wits a little more slowly, sitting up and grimacing, her hand touching her cut stomach tentatively.

She rose to her feet and helped him up onto his, her gaze latching everywhere but onto him, her bush fierce. She buttoned her shirt up—or whatever buttons she had left, the blouse exposing most of her chest and stomach. "The horses…I left them just around here." Awkwardly, she pulled his arm back around her neck.

He smirked a little—then paused when he heard a quiet groan emit from the beast of a man Mikasa had fought with only moments ago. He was alive afterall.

They both glanced about them as they saw a few of the men begin to shift wearily.

Shit.

"I'll knock them all—" Mikasa moved forward purposefully but Levi snatched her wrist, yanking her back.

"I appreciate and admire your bloodlust, Ackerman but no. We're leaving. There is someone I think we may be able to stay with for tonight."

He pulled them forward as quickly as he could. He was sure Sophia would sell her soul if it was for the right price—a room shouldn't be asking much.

"Move, Ackerman."

She clenched her jaw and obeyed stiffly, helping him along the street and scurrying around the corner. There were several gasps and yelps from the townspeople, gawking at his state of undress, most leaping away and making way for them. He sent a pointed glare at anyone who kept looking at Mikasa's mostly open shirt, almost felt like giving her back her jacket to cover her up.

They reached Sophia's door and he paused. "We're going to stay here for the night."

Mikasa looked hesitant. "You can stay here while I go to the military police to report—"

He cupped her jaw, silencing her. "No. By this time they're all probably shot in the neck drunk, anyway. We'll stay here. Understand?"

She jerked away from his hand. "Yes, Heichou." She was all ire now and he couldn't help but sigh.

Just moments ago she'd been all liquid heat beneath him. He moved to push the door open when she snatched his wrist.

"Heichou…" She seemed to struggle with herself. "We can't both stay here tonight."

He arched a brow. "Why is that?"

"What just happened now…"

Levi pondered for several moments. He sometimes seemed to forget how much more innocent and naïve Mikasa was, how something like this might confuse her. She'd never had a romantic relationship, had she? She was a reserved woman and emotions like desire might unnerve her. She was accustomed to pushing her body ruthlessly, brutally, putting it through pain—but had she ever sought pleasure?

"Mikasa," He murmured, gently, catching her gaze. "I wanted to kiss you, so I did. It could mean something more if you wish or it could mean nothing at all if you'd like. I want you and I've wanted you for quite some time now. Whether you want to take it further is entirely up to you." He traced his fingertips down her exposed throat. "I can make you feel good." He felt her soften beneath his touch. "I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to feel me." Her lips were already parting for him but he bit back, clenching his jaw. "Whether you can ignore everything and everyone, whatever everyone else might think, is up to you and you alone. As long as you're sure you won't regret your choice."

He pulled away.

"But for tonight we're staying here."

He shoved the door open without knocking and pulled Mikasa in behind him. It'd been a while since he'd had a woman in his bed—at least not without the full intention of having her.

They stumbled in and Sophia looked unperturbed as ever, sewing a white shirt as she sat perched on her stool. She glanced at them briefly.

"I gave the horse's food and water." She mumbled. "That'll cost you." She kept sewing as she spoke. "I bought back your uniform, Levi, from those thugs that I presume did…" She waved at their bloody bodies. "That to you. They were filthy and torn in some places so I washed them and I'm sewing them as I speak. The jacket and pants are still damp so you'll have to wait until morning."

Levi narrowed his eyes, saw that she was sewing buttons into his white shirt.

"That will also cost you." She finished sewing up the last button and tied the string, cutting it neatly. "I've put bandages and a few ointments in the bathroom because I am assuming you both will be taking baths—and that will also be added to your bill."

Levi pulled his coin pouch out of Mikasa's pocket and handed her a handful of coins with a grimace. "I'm not quite sure you didn't plan all of this, hag."

Sophia only giggled happily as she smoothed her old fingers over the shiny metal pieces. "I've prepared a room for you—I've only one to spare and I'm going to assume you two won't mind sleeping in the same bed together, unless of course one of you wishes to sleep with me, eh, Levi?—so you two are welcome to stay the night here." Her small grin was conniving. "And that will cost you quite a bit more."

Levi gave up, tossing the entire bag onto the table. "Is that enough?" He pulled away from Mikasa to hobble down the small hall. He pulled off her jacket and tossed it at Sophia. "Wash that while you're at it and I expect a damn good meal in the morning."

It was minutes later that Levi sunk into the steaming water with a muffled groan, leaning his head back against the copper rim of the tub. It stung like hell, his entire body screaming in protest—but it was also a relief. He refused to get into bed bloody and grimy, especially if Mikasa was going to be beside him.

He felt terribly exhausted and weak.

He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. He just needed to gather his strength for a few moments.

He never noticed when he fell asleep.

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writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Subtle Unraveling Chapter 3: Unsure and Unwell

Summary:

Levi visits Mikasa while she is bedridden and finds that he can't quite keep his hands (and thoughts) in check.

Chapter Text

She wasn't quite awake, but the muffled male voices lured her away from her slumber.

"And their condition?"

Mikasa, even half asleep, knew that voice. Levi? She was slow to wake; her lids heavy, her lashes fluttering as she heard the two men speak quietly.

"They're both fine, Heichou. They should be able to be released tomorrow. Well, at least Braus."

"Will she be able to shovel horse shit?"

"Wh-what?"

She heard him make a soft ticking sound of annoyance. "Shoveling horse shit. Will she be able to do it?"

She could hear the medic fumble for a response. "Ah, perhaps, not until the end of the week, Heichou."

Levi sighed. His next question was a bit hesitant but nonetheless wrapped in his usual cool tone. "And Ackerman?"

"Ah, I'm afraid she won't be able to shovel horse—ah, manure for—"

"Not that. I meant how is her condition? Does she have a concussion?"

Mikasa felt herself frown, her fingertips twitching over the stifling sheet over her. She forced her heavy lids open and looked about her. There was a bed beside her and Sasha was quietly asleep on it, her soft brown hair spread out across the pillow. She shifted her head to the right, squinting at the bright moonlight streaming through the window.

Had she really slept all day? And why was Levi here at this time, asking about her health?

"She doesn't have a concussion. Head wounds tend to be a little dramatic. However, her body is badly bruised. She shouldn't use her 3D maneuver gear or do anything strenuous for the next two weeks, to be safe."

Two weeks? With a pained grimace, she pulled herself up into a sitting position.

They both looked at her a little blankly.

She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. "I'm fine." She swung her legs off the bed and paused when a wave of dizziness struck her.

"Mikasa, please—you are not well enough to—" The medic fluttered over her nervously.

"Thank you but I feel fine–"

"Ackerman," Levi bit out quietly. "Get back into bed."

Their gazes clashed briefly, and she jutted out her chin slightly. "I'm fine."

"Did I ask if you were?" He crossed his arms—his bandaged arms—and gave her a dark look. "Get back into bed, Ackerman. Or are you going to defy that order, too?"

She gritted her teeth together. "I need to go to the bathroom."

He grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside her bed, sitting in it and staring her down. "Go ahead. Make it quick."

She huffed a little. Was he really going to wait her out? She stood shakily. The medic stepped towards her but she held out a hand to ward him off. "I don't need help."

He nodded and she shuffled forward ungracefully, every muscle in her body throbbing and tightening against her will. She entered the small bathroom and shut the door, locking it for good measure. After relieving herself and splashing her hot face with cold water, she looked at her reflection grimly.

She was filthy. Her hair was limp and stiffened with dried blood, her skin looking bloodless and paper pale. She had deep purple shadows beneath her eyes, her lips roughly chapped.

She'd never really concerned herself with her looks, had never really put a conscious effort towards her appearance. It wasn't that she was adverse to it; it was simply that she had never given it thought. Really, how could she when she always ended up covered in sweat, dirt and blood?

She eyed the shower behind her and decided that crawling back into bed in her grimy state was something she couldn't tolerate. She tugged off the flimsy white gown and turned the water on, stepping in. Her breath caught as the water streamed over her overheated skin, her fingers rubbing the back of her eyelids soothingly.

Was it only because she felt dirty?

Or was it because she had felt unbearably self-conscious in her filthy state before Levi?

She drank a mouthful of water as her thoughts ventured into precarious territory. When the medics had tended over her Sasha had spoken rapidly, asking her if she was okay, asking for her forgiveness, thanking her profusely.

It had made Mikasa feel uncomfortable. Not only because it made her seem saint-like, but because she was far from it. She had saved Sasha—incompetently—for selfish reasons. If it had been anyone else up there she would have aided them anyway but seeing the way she'd dangled treacherously had made her stomach clench uneasily. She kept remembering her quirky little laugh and smiles, the way she'd hover over her when she ate, the way she wasn't intimidated or fazed by her aloofness at all.

And that was when she'd realized it.

She'd grown attached to Sasha.

She'd been determined to have only Eren and Armin preoccupy whatever was left of her mangled heart but this girl, with her innocence and childishness, with her terror and her bravery, with her unorthodox humor and methods, had wormed herself a place beneath her walls.

They'd become friends. And she didn't have many.

And then there was Levi.

When he'd caught her and his gear had jerked and sputtered she'd felt another wave of panic grip her. Hadn't he gotten hurt for her once before? Was she really going to let it happen again? She'd been overcome with a fierce need to shield him, to do something, and so she'd used her weight against him, forced her body beneath his to break his fall. They'd hit the ground, and she hadn't really been able to breathe or think, but when he'd lifted himself off her and called her name she'd felt so stupidly relieved that she'd succeeded in keeping him unharmed.

And that was when she realized something else.

Levi had wormed himself a place within her as well. Perhaps it was only her petty need to repay the favor, or her desire to show him that she was a worthy soldier because she'd fumbled in front of him one too many times to be acceptable, but she realized she wanted his recognition.

She shut the water off and reached for the bundle of towels stacked outside the door.

"Did you really puke on the Heichou's boots?" Sasha had whispered mischievously.

Mikasa tried to recall if she had. "I don't know."

Sasha giggled. "Connie said he took a whole hour in the shower."

Mikasa smirked as she dried her bruised body. First she'd gotten horse saliva all over his hands. Now she'd retched onto his boots. While she may crave his recognition he must loathe her. He must associate her name with uncleanliness.

Reluctantly, she pulled her papery gown back on.

Why did she want to look clean and presentable to him now? What did she care if she was filthy and haggard before him? She'd never felt so painfully self-aware with anyone else.

She ran her fingers through her wet hair in a pathetic attempt to comb it.

This really was ridiculous. Opening the door determinedly, she stepped back into her room—and faltered.

He was asleep.

He was leaning limply onto the back of the chair, his arms loosely hanging on each side of him. His head was slanting back at an awkward angle, his lips parted, his breath slow and deep and steady.

She stood over him for a moment, her dark eyes absorbing the rare display of vulnerability curiously.

Here, in the dark, with the silver moonlight painted over his sharp, angular features, with his harshness softened, she had the unsurprising realization that he was quite attractive.

She'd admitted he was handsome, reluctantly, with his standoffish ways, his arrogance and his barbed tongue. But it had held the appeal of pretty but bitter food. While she may have let her gaze linger a little too long on his sharp eyes and aristocratic mouth and cheekbones, felt her breath quicken at the deepness of his voice or been much too enthralled with his long elegant fingers, it was simply that; a shallow sort of appeal.

And then he'd displayed his depth.

And his appeal had tugged at her ruthlessly.

A man she'd so neatly placed in a box of ice had thawed. A man she'd loathed and vowed to hurt had saved her, saved Eren, had held her hand while they'd fed the horse, had caught her mid-air and scraped his arms bloody and raw to shield her. A man she'd detested had come to ask for her health in the middle of the night—and seemed worried.

Each act had sifted up a flicker of heat until he was no longer ice but flesh and warmth and every time she found his gaze on her she'd felt uncharacteristically clumsy.

He shifted restlessly.

Unsurely, she touched his forehead, pushing away a stray lock of black hair.

His brow was furrowed. His breathing was a little too quick, the corners of his mouth tightening unpleasantly. Was he having a bad dream?

Frowning, she let her fingertips trace the creases in his forehead—stiffened a little when he made a soft sound deep in his throat. He stilled again, still deep in his troubled slumber. She traced her nail down over his temple and the side of his face, lingering at the hard angle of his jaw. She smoothed her finger over the bridge of his nose, pausing at the bow of his upper lip.

He stopped frowning. His breathing slowed. She felt her own breathing quicken as she eyed his parted lips. She wondered idly what a kiss would feel like.

What his kisses would feel like.

But she really shouldn't be thinking such things about him. She'd just wanted to soothe him from whatever shadows had been gripping him. And from the serenity softening his face she had succeeded.

She smirked a little to herself, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment.

She turned and struggled to pull herself on the bed, but her legs were shaky and stiff. She scowled a little, leaning forward and bending her knee up—and then she buckled.

He caught her a second before her knees hit the ground, his stiffly bandaged arms tight around her waist, her back pressed to his chest. His breath puffed warmly against her ear and neck, making chills rake across her skin.

He'd been awake?

The deepness of his voice made her shiver unwillingly. "Oi, Mikasa…" She felt him inhale slowly, her heart racing at the sound of her name on his lips. "Are you going to keep making me catch you?"

She swallowed, refusing to be flustered. "You could let me fall, Heichou."

To her complete and utter surprise, he gave a small dark chuckle, the sound oddly thrilling. "You're just as bratty as Eren."

Still he held her up beside the bed, her knees half folded, his arms around her.

Very slowly, he pulled her up and sat her on the bed. She felt a little irritated with her weakened body, the feeling amplified by the fact that Levi was the one who had to lift up her slack. She sat on the edge of the bed, her bare legs dangling over it's side.

His fingers flicked her wet hair away from her face carelessly. "You showered."

She nodded and crossed her arms. "You fell asleep."

He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs in that prissy way of his. "I haven't slept very well."

She frowned. "Because you have nightmares?"

He cocked his head, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. "How would you know if I had nightmares?"

"You were frowning in your sleep."

He watched her carefully. "Is that why you were touching me just now?"

She felt herself flush a little and out of pure habit she reached to tug her scarf up—and found only her bare neck. She scanned the room quickly, felt her breath quicken. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"My scarf."

He shrugged. "Hell if I know." He paused for a moment. "You didn't have it on when I carried you."

She clenched her hands into white fists. "It's in the tree then."

He nodded. "Probably."

She breathed in slowly. She knew he wouldn't let her get it, at least not now. She was going to have to wait until they released her tomorrow, and then she'd have to retrieve it when he wasn't watching.

"Don't try to climb up that stupid tree, Ackerman. It's just a scarf."

She shut her eyes, remembering how cold and icy she'd felt after seeing her parents brutally murdered. The sense of hopelessness and confusion tearing at her despair threatening to engulf her—and she remembered the warmth and security that had returned when Eren had wrapped it around her and pulled her with him.

Home.

"Or, maybe it isn't just a stupid scarf." Levi sighed in exasperation, having read her expression. "We'll deal with it tomorrow. Get some rest for now."

She looked at him. "Tomorrow?"

His look was grim as he stood. "We'll get your dirty scarf tomorrow." He pushed back on her shoulders, her head hitting her pillow. He flattened his hands beside each side of her head as he gave her an authoritive look. "Now sleep."

She smiled a little and turned over to her side. "Yes, Heichou."

His long pale fingers were dangerously close to her mouth, splayed out over her pillow. She inhaled shakily and shut her eyes. "Good night, Heichou."

He lingered over her for a few more moments, simply examining her. She felt her pulse deepen in response, felt a little more than breathless. She'd never had such an intense, thorough focus on her, the energy between them crackling. She peeked at him from the corner of her lashes, her curiosity getting the best of her.

His expression knocked the wind out of her.

His brow was furrowed once again, his usually cold gaze softened with a lazy heat. His lips were parted, and his breath was quick and light. His eyes traced her features, almost possessively, tracing down her exposed throat and even lower.

She couldn't quite describe the feeling that bloomed within her chest, an almost intoxication, a very feminine hunger making her throat bone dry. It was heady, the sense of power she felt, of being able to stir such fire within such an icy man. How many times had she been looked at with want? It had never made her feel like this, made her feel triumphant and powerful. The animal-like looks she'd received from others had made her grimace, made her only feel disgust and discomfort.

But Levi was looking at her with a very mature, very intelligent and very dark desire, and it gave her the same sense of elation she had whenever she'd accomplished the nigh physically impossible; it made her want to push harder to see just how far she could stretch herself, and him, thin.

Slowly, he lowered his head, her entire body locking into place. Reflexively she shifted onto her back, boldly catching his gaze with hers. She'd never been touched this way before, and at the thought of her inexperience she felt a sudden flicker of unease. Levi was older than her, more skillful, perhaps in more ways than one, and she felt a very unusual sense of insecurity freeze her up. He paused for a moment, seeming to sense her hesitation. "Relax." His mouth traced over her cheekbone and slid lower. "I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of you in your current state." She felt his warm breath brush her ear, ruffling her hair and making chills spread across her skin. "You'll have to be at your full strength for me." His words were murmured against her jaw. "Good night, Mikasa." He pulled away.

She didn't know if he left or if he stayed but when the thrashing of her heart finally subsided, her exhaustion tugged her under almost instantly.

"You're hurt." Erwin's eyes watched him astutely.

Levi shrugged as he sat, his chair across Erwin's massive desk. "Scratches, mostly."

Erwin didn't look convinced. "You were refusing medical treatment."

Levi glanced at his bandaged arms and hands pointedly. "I accepted it after I showered."

Erwin sighed deeply. "And Mikasa Ackerman?"

He crossed his arms. "Bump to her head and some bruises. She's thickheaded enough that she should be fine with some bed rest."

Erwin raised a heavy brow. "Good. In that case you will be escorting Ackerman to the Military Police base tomorrow morning."

Levi stiffened. "Military Police?"

Erwin nodded. "Their numbers were decimated and the King is looking to restock his supply."

Levi scowled. "Mikasa made her choice to join the scouting legion long ago. Our numbers dwindle on a daily basis. The number of losses they've suffered is nothing in comparison to ours. We're suffering a massive shortage as it is."

"He's set his eyes on Mikasa, the way he once set his eyes on you. In fact he may try to convince you again. The rumors of yours and Mikasa's prowess have stretched quite far. He tried to lure you with the promise of money and safety, didn't he?"

Levi clenched his jaw and looked away. He rather found the thought of the man trying to woo Mikasa to stay with him a bit more than infuriating. Once he saw how beautiful she was wouldn't he try to take her in more ways than one? Not that Mikasa was one to let anyone take advantage of her. "She won't go." His words were forceful, and he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Irvin.

Erwin leaned back in his chair. "And since when did you become so familiar with Mikasa Ackerman that you are able to predict her decisions?"

"Tch," Levi kept his gaze averted. "I'm not familiar with her at all. Everyone knows that she has an unhealthy devotion to Eren. She wouldn't leave him if her life depended on it."

"I know you well enough to know that you saved Mikasa from that fall like you would have saved anyone from that fall. However, it did not escape my attention that you visited her while she was bedridden and that you…fell asleep there."

It was a rare occurrence when someone could make Levi feel uncomfortable and scrutinized, but if anyone could wield that power over him it was Erwin Smith.

"I haven't been sleeping very well. I sat by her bed to make sure she obeyed the medics orders and I fell asleep. There isn't anything more to it."

Was there?

He felt the heat stir in his veins when he remembered how she'd shifted onto her back so readily, not backing down an inch despite the confusion that had clouded her dark gaze. Her inexperience was obvious but her determination had thrilled him. She was a quick learner, wasn't she? He knew she'd be capable of reducing him to shreds in the bedroom. But he was much more interested in making her fall apart for him instead. Yet he couldn't help but want to speak to her and understand her, also. Levi was used to physical desire—every human was—but what he wasn't used to was wanting to get to know someone so very thoroughly. What he didn't understand was wanting her to understand him.

Yes, there was much more to it.

Erwin, however, seemed to understand his need for privacy and dismissed it with a sigh. "Will you escort her or will I have to do it?"

Levi stood briskly, nodding respectfully. "Of course I'll take her." He walked away. "I trust you." He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest as he left.

Sasha was wriggling a little impatiently as the doctors examined her.

"Stay still." The elderly man chided.

She nodded, eyeing Mikasa over his shoulder. Was she awake yet?

"When are we going to have breakfast?" She asked the doctor as he scribbled something down.

The doctor looked exasperated. "They'll bring food once I've deemed you well enough."

She felt a little iciness grip her. "And if you don't deem me well enough?"

He put the pen down and looked at her a little smugly. "You won't eat."

She felt herself pale a little, and tried to be much more obedient as he finished up his examination. As he finished a medic walked in with two trays of food.

She eyed the trays out of the corner of her eye as her stomach grumbled. "I can…can I eat now?"

The doctor waved at her dismissively as he left the room.

She bounced up onto her feet and began tucking food into her mouth with a wave of relief. They hadn't let her or Mikasa eat last night. She eyed Mikasa as she chewed thoughtfully. Should she wake her? She mulled. She'd woken earlier—much earlier—and had found a sleeping Levi on a chair beside Mikasa's bed. He'd looked rather uncomfortable so she'd prodded his shoulder nervously.

He'd shot up and left the room rather quickly, mumbling something about horse shit. He must have some very strange dreams.

It had been odd finding him there beside Mikasa's bed. It looked as if he'd fallen asleep watching her. She wondered if she should mention it to her.

But she'd remembered waking in the night to hear them murmuring quietly. She'd peered at them in curiosity to find Levi's arms wrapped around Mikasa, his mouth against her ear as he whispered something. It had sounded—and looked—rather intimate, and she'd only burrowed herself deeper into her sheets to try and make herself more invisible.

She was comfortable with Mikasa and knew many saw their friendship as a bit odd. But she liked the girl. And, as she'd gotten to know her, she'd seen that Mikasa was a bit more than lonely. She had Eren and Armin and was admired—and intimidated—by many of their peers but even surrounded by them all she always seemed…apart. And without even really trying, she'd become her friend. Friends could ask personal questions, couldn't they?

She remembered the way Mikasa had looked over her should at Levi, the flush of color in her cheeks, the heat in her gaze matched with his.

She probably shouldn't mention it. Yet.

She grabbed a hunk of bread and sat beside her on the bed, curling her legs beneath her. Mikasa stirred heavily, her dark eyes fluttering prettily in the sunlight.

She pushed the bread into her mouth tentatively. "Morning, Mikasa."

Mikasa rubbed her eyes groggily as she chewed. "Sasha?"

Sasha pushed the bread against her lips again. "How do you feel?"

Mikasa sat up and pushed the bread away. "Fine."

Sasha grinned at her impishly. "I'm glad." She toyed with her half eaten bread. "I'm sorry."

Mikasa shook her head and swung her pretty, pale legs over the edge of the bed. She seemed to hesitate before she spoke, a little frown knitting her brows together. "We're friends. You would have helped me if I'd been tangled, wouldn't you?"

Sasha paused. "Yeah." She swallowed a bite then giggled. "I doubt you'd be trying to make spider webs, though." It was a rather funny image, though. She wondered if Mikasa ever acted silly—besides feeding her the way she did sometimes, of course.

Mikasa smiled softly. "I might later on."

"Later on?"

Mikasa nodded. "My scarf…" Her hands touched her exposed collar bones self-consciously. "I lost it. I'm sure it's in the branches of the trees."

Oh. The scarf Mikasa was very attached to. She felt guilt wrack her again. Sasha took another bite. "I'm sure we'll get it in no time." She'd climb back up the tree if she had to.

Mikasa's nearly invisible smile returned as she pulled the bread out of Sasha's hands. "Thank you."

Sasha blinked. She'd offered her some of the bread, not all of it. "Hey, Mikasa, do you think you could—?"

But Mikasa had already stuffed the rest of the bread into her mouth.

He eyed his surroundings once more, his lips pressed together in irritation. He was alone. With a quick deep breath, he shot up, swinging himself neatly onto the branch Mikasa's scarf was entangled on.

The branch bowed heavily beneath his weight, and for once he was rather thankful he wasn't a heavy man. He hunched down and stretched his arm, managing to snag the soft cloth by the edges of his fingertips.

He shouldn't even be doing this. Or, at least, he should have gotten one of the other brats to do it. It was a shitty scarf.

But he remembered the lines of strain at the corners of her dark, alluring eyes, the way her breath had quickened and her fingers had clenched. She wasn't a very expressive woman but he'd seen her pained reaction nonetheless.

He tugged it and cursed when it wouldn't give, and he was about to pull out his blade to chop the damn tip of the branch off when it suddenly tore free with a sharp ripping sound.

He scowled. He held one half of the scarf while the other was still wrapped around the thin tip of the branch. He reached forward and untangled the torn off half, standing. He examined the shredded crimson cloth in dismay. It was torn and filthy and ruined. She'd be disappointed.

How the hell was he going to give it to her now?

"Heichou?"

He looked down.

Mikasa stood on the ground beneath him, a small frown creasing her pale brow. "Is that my scarf?"

He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and swung down, landing before her easily. He didn't take out the scarf right away—only eyed her critically. She was wearing her uniform, and to his surprise—though he supposed he really shouldn't be given her tenacity—she had her gear on.

He watched her expression carefully as he spoke. "You were going to climb up the tree, weren't you?"

She clenched her jaw, hesitated for only a moment, before she nodded. "I didn't want to lose my scarf, Heichou." She frowned again, her dark eyes confused. "Were you…were you retrieving my scarf for me?"

He looked away and tugged the torn scraps out of his pocket. "I tore it when I tried to untangle it." He eyed her reaction from the corner of his eye.

She looked as devastated as he imagined she would be. She took them from him carefully, her pale fingers curling into the soft scarlet material tightly. Her pained expression was gone in an instant and replaced by that familiar unflappable expression she always wore. "Thank you, Heichou." Her voice was low and raspy.

He could quite stem his bitterness at having disappointed her. He sighed wearily. "How do you feel?"

She stuffed the scarf into her own jacket pocket. "I feel fine, Heichou."

He felt a little more than exasperated. She could probably be limbless and bleeding to death and she'd always be 'fine.'

"I'll be escorting you to Military Police base tomorrow. Make sure you eat and rest as much as you can today."

A tiny frown creased her brow. "Why am I being escorted to the Military Police?"

Levi shrugged with deceptive nonchalance. "The pigs want you to join them."

Her gaze hardened to that familiar steel. "Do I have a choice?"

He watched her carefully. "Of course you do."

"Then I won't go."

He couldn't quite prevent his own dark smile. "Oh, you'll go. When the King summons you, you really don't have a choice."

She clenched her jaw. "I'm expected to travel all that way to simply reject his offer in person?" She stepped closer to him, her voice lowered. "I'm not an idiot, Heichou. Do I really have a choice in this matter?"

If he were a lesser man he may have been frightened by her eerily restrained fury. Instead he only felt fascination and an almost pride that she so easily rejected the prospect of honorably being summoned by the king himself. She was loyal down to her very bones.

Why was that so very thrilling?

Perhaps it had something to do with her sudden proximity.

"You are expected to do just that." He leaned against the tree and crossed his arms, tried to clear his head. "The only thing you should be worried about is your resoluteness. The only thing you should be worried about is whether you may be swayed by money and safety and corruptness. Pigs spread filth where they can, whether they're decorated as unicorns or not."

Her elegant fingers clenched into fists and she nodded curtly. She turned swiftly and began to walk away. "Of course, Heichou."

"Ackerman," He called but she ignored him. He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Mikasa." He called quietly.

She stopped.

"You don't have a choice on whether you go see him." She held her shoulders stiffly. "But you do have a choice on whether you stay with him."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, and the memory of how she'd felt gathered in his arms from the night before suddenly flickered through him. He should have bloody kissed her. Wondering how she tasted was driving him crazy. "How do I know I can trust you?" She asked him and it cooled him considerably.

He raised a brow at her haughtiness. "Oi, I've only saved yours and the brat's life more than a few times."

Her small smile undid him. She nodded. "I'll trust you…for now."

He watched her as she walked away from him, when a sudden thought occurred to him. "Oi, Ackerman."

She gave him a questioning look.

"Your gear is off limits. Take it off. Keep it off."

"I'll try, Heichou."

"Tch." She damn well better though knowing her penchant for disobeying orders he doubted she really would. He watched as she disappeared around the corner.

He really wasn't sure if he could make it another day without kissing the damn woman.

Their little trip tomorrow should be interesting, to say the very least.

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writingshiz · 5 years

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Subtle Unraveling Chapter 2: Untangling Spider Webs

Subtle Unraveling

StormyInk

Chapter 2

: Untangling Spider WebsSummary:

In which Mikasa attempts to untangle Sasha from her web and gets tangled herself instead.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He'd been having a very long, tiresome day.

He felt grimy and sweaty, the weather a bit warmer than usual for this time of year. His cloak hung about his shoulders raggedly, shredded from when he'd sliced it free of a titan's grubby grip, his left arm feeling achy and rattled from the hard stroke of his blade. His side felt more than a little bruised and to top it all off he hadn't slept very well last night.

It'd been a mixture of things that had wracked his skull and kept him stirring. Nightmares, mostly; the gruesome sound of bodies being crushed and chewed, the bloody smears they were reduced to after they'd been clenched between titan fingers, their screams of pure terror and agony as they were eaten alive.

And yet as he'd tried to distract himself from these images there had been a sudden shift from the soup of skin, blood and bones to just pale, clean skin. The softness of it still clinging to his fingertips. The cries and screams had been replaced by the quiet, thrilling sound of her sharp intake of breath. The small curve of her parted pink lips making his pulse quicken for a much different reason.

And as he dangerously wondered what it might have felt like to have her lips part for him in his bed the pale sunlight had begun to bleed into the inky blue of the sky, and he'd felt the exhaustion grind on his bones.

He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly as he walked back to his quarters, breaking himself away from his irritating thoughts as the sun beat down on the nape of his neck.

And then he heard it.

Cackles and chokes of annoying, hyena-like laughter. The snaps and cracks of 3D maneuver gear and a few cries of dismay.

He was very tempted to ignore it. He could, really. He could take a hot shower and eat and perhaps be left alone long enough to catch up on his sleep. He could avoid all forms of human interaction and the thought seemed like bliss.

But then he heard a feminine voice call out.

"Mikasa, please—I can't get down!"

He debated only for a few more seconds before he moved.

Wearily, he began to walk around the corner towards the commotion.

He spotted Jean and Connie first, huddled together beneath a small cluster of tall trees. They were whispering quietly to one another, looking up at the branches with a sickening fascination, as if glitter was falling from them.

They continued to murmur. They hadn't noticed him standing behind them.

Yet.

"Look at where her hand is." Jean murmured to Connie in fascination.

Connie giggled a little dumbly. "Yeah, I see."

He looked up at the two women grimly.

Mikasa was balancing on a flimsy branch steadily, methodically undoing the buckles and straps on Sasha's legs. Sasha was gripping Mikasa's thighs, dangling upside down and looking a little frightened and woozy. She buried her face against Mikasa's hip and groaned.

Jean shifted forward. "Sasha is…very lucky."

Connie hummed.

"I'd do anything to be in Sasha's position right now."

He'd known of Jean's little infatuation on Mikasa—who didn't really—and it bothered him to no end that it was a similarity he also seemed to possess. He wasn't infatuated with the girl, but since they'd fed the horses she had never really strayed far from his thoughts. He kept recalling the feel and smell of her and his irritating, helpless reaction to it—and yet what had stunned him more than anything was that she had responded to him, also.

When was the last time someone had been so receptive of his touch?

When was the last time he'd wanted to touch anyone at all?

"If Sasha just turned a little to the left she could…" Jean murmured, a little breathlessly.

Irked—with Jean's words and his own thoughts—Levi finally spoke. "What are you brats doing?"

Jean and Connie whirled in place, their eyes comically wide. "H-Heichou!"

He waited.

Connie sputtered. "Sasha got tangled in the tree."

He felt a little more than exasperated. "I can see that, Springer. What I'm asking is how."

Jean scratched the back of his head, his words awkward and stilted. "She was trying to make a spider web with the 3D maneuver gear."

Connie desperately tried to choke down his laughter.

He almost sighed. "Why aren't you helping Ackerman?"

Connie was still laughing too hard to speak.

Jean cleared his throat, gesturing to Levi's gear. "We don't have our 3D maneuver gear, Heichou."

Levi looked up at Mikasa. "Neither does Ackerman."

"She…was the only one able to climb up the tree." Jean admitted, a slight blush on his cheeks.

He examined the tree again. It did look rather impossible to get up the tree without their gear. But if anyone could manage a seemingly impossible physical feat of strength and prowess it was Mikasa Ackerman.

He supposed he had better shoot up there but he wasn't quite sure his gear was in working order. As they'd returned it had begun to sputter and jerk.

Sasha gave a sudden sharp cry and they all looked back up.

Mikasa had finally freed Sasha from her entanglement and Sasha had slid down. She landed on the branch beneath Mikasa's feet and with the sudden added weight it snapped beneath them.

Shit.

He ran forward—skidding to a stop when Mikasa grabbed a hold of Sasha's jacket collar and grabbed onto the branch above her head. She'd reacted quickly enough to save them both from the fall, carrying both their weight with one arm—but she was straining, and the branch she clung to looked about ready to crack any second, too.

"Hold still, Ackerman." He barked and she nodded grimly.

She was dangling in a rather nasty cluster of thin branches, and he scanned for a sturdy one about them quickly. He angled himself and shot up swiftly, landing lightly on a thick branch beneath them.

"Let her go."

Mikasa gave him a grim look and then released her grip on Sasha's jacket. Sasha gave a little screech as she fell through the air, landing on him heavily. He held steady, grunting and heaving her onto her feet beside him. She swayed and he had to grab her to keep her from toppling over.

"Heichou, I…I was upside down for a while."

He looked at her critically. She wasn't really able to stand on her own. He looked up to see Mikasa gripping the branch with two hands.

"Don't try to pull yourself up, Ackerman. That branch doesn't look too sturdy. Stay there until I can get Braus on the ground."

"I can get down on my own, Heichou."

He gave her a hard look. "Stay put." He shifted Sasha over his shoulder and swung them down, landing on the ground with a curse when she nearly fell. He barely managed to hold them both up. He glared at Jean and Connie. "Take her, Springer."

Connie scurried forward and lifted Sasha in his arms. "Hey Sasha."

She gave him a loopy grin. "I was a spider."

Connie gave her a tender smile. "Spiders don't get caught in their own webs."

She frowned in confusion. "They don't, do they?" She curled up a little. "Do spiders vomit?"

"What?"

"I'm going to vomit."

"Shit." Connie shifted from left to right frantically. "Heichou, I—"

"Take her to the medics." He looked back up at Mikasa. The damn spoiled brat was pulling herself up, the branch bowing beneath her weight dangerously. He angled himself to shoot up again. "I told you not to move, Ackerman."

He couldn't really tell from this distance but it looked like she was glaring at him again. He also thought he heard her muffle a few curses, though all he was able to decipher were two words that sounded like 'short' and 'ass'.

He had half a mind to leave her up there for a few hours when the branch suddenly broke.

And she was falling, cutting through the leaves and branches.

He shot up instantly, catching her in mid-air, her weight crashing onto him and throwing him off balance. His gear gave a thick sputter and it jerked, flipping them. Damn it. The cables snapped taught as they hurled down and as he tried to shield her he felt Mikasa pull him forward.

They hit the ground hard, his knees and arms dragging across the ground as they skidded to a stop. She'd somehow managed to get beneath him but he'd cradled her head in his arms, feeling the blood sinking through his clothing and onto the rocks and grass beneath them. He was winded, his lungs aching, but he forced himself up on his arms.

She'd landed on her side, her head cradled in his hand.

"Ackerman."

Her eyes were shut, her inky lashes fluttering against her flushed pale skin.

"Ackerman?" He bit out, a bit worried when she didn't respond.

And then he saw the blood trickle down her temple.

"Shit," He slid his arms beneath her and heaved her up against his chest, ignoring the pain that shot through his arms.

Jean scrambled towards him. "I've got her, Heichou."

Levi glared at him. "What you can do is get your moronic friend Springer and tell whoever is on stable duty that you two will be shoveling horse shit for the rest of this damn year."

Jean fumbled and Levi continued to limp away.

Her head was dangling back over his arm. He shifted her up so that her head lolled into the crook of his shoulder, her soft, jagged pants brushing against his damp throat. The blood was trickling down the side of her face and he felt his stomach twist. Either she'd hit her head on a branch on her way down or he hadn't been able to shield her properly.

He hadn't expected her to pull him onto her.

Why had she tried to protect him too?

"You're a bloody idiot, Ackerman."

She looked up at him with soft black eyes. "I'm fine, Heichou."

He almost scowled. Of course she'd try to pretend she was fine. He felt the limpness of her body in his arms, however and knew she wouldn't be able to stand for the life of her.

"Shut up, Ackerman. I told you not to move. It was an order and you disobeyed it."

You never bloody listen.

"I fell…" Mikasa's eyes were open and glazed, her little bewildered frown tugging at him. It was a little odd—and endearing—seeing such a powerful woman look like a child.

He nodded grimly. "I caught you."

She shut her eyes, looked a little dismayed. "Again?"

He smirked a little, remembering the time he'd saved her from the female titan. "Again."

Levi ignored the protests of the medics as he walked towards his bedroom. He'd just gotten some bloody scrapes, after all, nothing as severe as a possible concussion, anyway. He yanked off his jacket and shirt quickly, stepping into his shower. He let the hot water run over him for a few moments, wincing as all the slices and cuts throbbed over his body.

As much as he loathed admitting it he was worried. It seemed incredibly moronic that a soldier as skilled as Ackerman could have died from a stupid tumble down a tree. He was angry—almost enraged, really—that those idiots had taken it so lightly. He'd seen enough of his comrades die fruitlessly to know how fleeting life could be. He hadn't been able to save any of them—had let enough of them die for a cause to feel less than human.

To feel more than dead.

He'd seen her fall and felt that familiar, vicious twist in his gut—and he'd caught her, barely been able to prevent her skull from getting smashed when she had somehow managed to put herself beneath him the split second before they'd hit the ground.

And for what? Because some idiots were making spider webs? She'd almost died for their sheer stupidity.

But she hadn't. And he'd saved her.

But for the few he had saved there were hundreds he hadn't. And he drowned in their blood every night. He raked his wet hair back with raw fingers.

The water was tinged red as it swirled down the drain.

Notes:

I know this is a short chapter & it was all from Levi's perspective. I hope you didn't mind. I sort of like (more than like, really) writing from his point of view. I hope I'm not screwing it up.

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writingshiz · 5 years

Text

Subtle Unraveling: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

: Understanding SubtletyChapter Text

It had been very subtle.

The way she crossed her arms and turned away whenever he spoke. The black glares he felt burning into his skull when she spotted him from a distance. The way she shifted her body protectively between himself and Eren or Armin. The way she left the table whenever he sat down.

Like she had this morning.

But he was anything if a keen observer. He'd noticed Mikasa's antagonism towards him since the first day.

Well, there was someone else who had the thoroughness he possessed, despite her deceivingly erratic behavior. "Don't think Ackerman likes you very much." Hanji observed astutely, her grin a little teasing as she sat across the table.

He drank his tea. "Does anyone?"

Hanji laughed a little, wiping the corner of her mouth of crumbs. "There's a difference, Levi. She looks at you the way you all look at titans. Hate-filled, enraged, a little blood lust." She shrugged as she swallowed another mouthful of her food. "Or, well, sometimes."

He took another sip of tea and looked out the window disinterestedly. "Sometimes?"

Hanji nodded, enthused by his slight encouragement. "Sometimes she looks at you as if she doesn't understand. Which, she obviously doesn't—I mean, who does really get you?—but she is like you. Sometimes I think that her dislike of you stems from that." She chewed thoughtfully. "You're both a bit aloof and protective. Intense and a bit intimidating. Ruthless fighters. You wrap up your emotions and hide them. She sees herself in you and it unsettles her the way people who don't like their looks hate looking in the mirror."

Levi thought for a moment. Were they really similar? He looked out the window to see Mikasa petting her horse stiffly. The horse shifted away and Mikasa scowled a little.

"You aren't intimidated by me."

She grinned at him. "That's because I know you're a softy."

Levi finished his tea and stood.

"Don't you want to hear the rest of what I have to say?"

Levi gave her head a sympathetic pat as he left the room.

"You aren't very comfortable around the horses."

Mikasa stiffened at the sound of his voice. So he'd noticed her uneasiness with the horses, she thought in irritation. She could ride and ride well, but she was always a bit nervous of the large beasts, afraid of a sudden kick or bite. They seemed to sense that about her, backing away when she reached for them.

Eren and Armin could hug them without qualm.

Levi leaned against the trunk of the tree and observed her for a few moments before he spoke again. "You aren't very comfortable around me, either."

She inhaled deeply. "No, I'm not."

"Are you petty enough to still be angry over that?" He lifted a brow at her superciliously. "Even the brat's forgiven me."

She lifted her head and looked at him head on. "You did what you had to to save him, and a part of me is grateful." She scanned his impassive features, the hardness of his jaw, his straight nose and narrow eyes. "You've even saved me. But it doesn't change the fact that I had to watch you beat Eren while he was helplessly chained." It was one of the worst moments of my life and…and I've had plenty.

He sighed drearily. "You really are like me."

She frowned and before she could ask he bent and grabbed a small sack, reaching into it. He walked over to her and grabbed her wrist, ignoring the way she stepped away. He turned her palm up and unclenched his other fist, pouring a handful of oats into her hand.

Startled, she held still.

The horse inhaled sharply and stepped forward, nuzzling their hands. Levi's pale long fingers remained firm around her wrist, holding it steady as the horse began to eat the oats off her palm. Mikasa watched the horse with a bit of trepidation, her pulse thrumming.

But it was gentle as it ate and after a few silent moments she relaxed and reached up with her other hand, stroking his mane soothingly.

"They feed off your energy. If you are calm and comfortable around them they'll be so around you. In order for you to establish a comfortable and calm aura with them you need to touch them more often, spend more time around them." The horse finished the oats and backed away, swishing its tail happily. "Try to make an effort to not see them as simple beasts. They'll be grateful for you effort. You'll work together much better if you attempt to understand each other a little more."

Still, he didn't release her hand.

She hadn't really realized how close they were standing.

She saw his gaze latch briefly onto her mouth.

"Thank you." Her voice felt a little raspy.

His grip tightened briefly but he nodded curtly.

She pulled away and he released her hand. He grimaced at the saliva coating his fingers. "This is disgusting."

She smirked a little, walking towards the retreating horse a little more confidently.

"Take it back before it shits everywhere, Ackerman."

Her smirk deepened as she tugged up her scarf. "Yes, Heichou."

As Levi scrubbed his hand, he let his mind wander.

Mikasa had her charm, he supposed. Her skin had felt soft, the slight impression of his fingers blushed red on her pale wrist. He recalled thinking he'd never seen eyes so large and dark, curiously mystifying.

He'd never really noticed her mouth much before either.

He sighed and dried his hands.

He hadn't thought he'd have such a strong impulse to pull her nearer.

But he'd seen her reaction to him. He'd felt her pulse quicken beneath his fingers, saw the way her soft pink lips parted as she inhaled. He saw the way she'd looked at him, heat wrapped in confusion.

Yes, her reaction had been subtle.

But he was most definitely a keen observer.

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writingshiz · 5 years

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Strawberries CHAP 4