Chapter Text
He notices her at her brother’s trial. Of course he does. Appraising games of power is an ability intrinsic and imperative to Erwin; he takes note of all the players on the board without fail, even if most represent only pawns.
Mikasa Ackerman. A name Shadis had brought up a few weeks ago, Erwin recalls. His predecessor had moved on to become an instructor, and even though Shadis knew that the majority of top graduates would eventually be lured to the Military Police, he annually singled out to Erwin a few names that held realistic potential of being recruited to the Scouting Legion.
“Haven’t seen anyone move like that since you dragged out your criminal project from the capital’s underbelly,” Shadis had said gruffly. “You should consider her at least. There’s actually a decent chance she’d be persuaded to join the Scouts since her brother’s dead-set on it.”
“Brother?”
“Eren Jaeger. Also top ten. They’ll come in a pair, a triplet in fact, if they choose the Legion.”
Her name had thus lingered in Erwin’s mind. Shadis, after all, did not dispense with praise lightly. His words were also a reminder that while Levi stood, seemingly against all probability, resistant to death, no one in the Legion was invincible, though Erwin doubted that he would find another Levi in his lifetime.
At the tribunal, his attention is initially reserved completely for the brother and the urgent necessity of saving the boy’s life. When the court brings up her name though, a murmur bubbles up among the assembly, and his gaze follows everyone else’s to land on Mikasa Ackerman, top graduate of the 104th squad, foster sister to a Titan-shifter, and as her strikingly different facial features seem to convey, the last human in possession of an essentially extinguished racial heritage. Erwin does not engage in the excited whispers that accompany the scrutiny of the girl, but he hears from somewhere behind him: “Never thought I’d see one of those still walking the Earth. An Oriental...it’s like seeing a fucking unicorn.”
The girl in question appears to not care about any of the stares directed at her. Her visage is a picture of composure for the most part, but there’s a fire in her eyes, which never leave her brother’s chained form, and every successive accusation against Eren Jaeger seems to crack her mask a little more.
After Levi does his part with the theatrics and brutality required, Erwin makes sure to take the proper amount of time thanking Zackley and smoothing Nile’s ruffled feathers. The small crowd gathering around Zackley to hassle him about his decision ignores Erwin by and large, but one richly outfitted figure claps him on the back and says jovially, “Erwin Smith, you can always be counted on to have the most interesting ideas.”
Alec Holden. A prominent magistrate who sat not only on the highest court but also orbited the capital’s most exclusive social circles -- and an occasional financial backer of the Scouting Legion when it suited his amusement.
“You should be smiling,” Alec suggests, and there’s a glint in his eyes, or perhaps just the reflection of the jeweled collar he wears. “It’s not often that the Commander of the Scouting Legion can claim a victory.”
Compared to what Erwin’s heard from the crowds after straggling back from expeditions, the magistrate’s words barely count as a jab.
“If there’s a true talent you have, Erwin,” Alec continues with his dual-edged compliments, “it’s finding diamonds in the rough. I have to say, that boy doesn’t seem remarkable at all from what I could see of him.”
His next comment is less innocuous. “The sister on the other hand...I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. You don’t stumble upon such an exquisite countenance every day.”
“Careful Alec,” another official warns. “Did you see the girl when Erwin’s dog started his demonstration? She has claws, that one.”
The magistrate merely chuckles, apparently not at all daunted. “I like them that way, spice in a girl’s sweetness.”
Deciding that this was a conversation leading to sordid paths more within the realm of the MP, Erwin politely excuses himself and resolves to forget about the whole thing. In the weeks that follow however, as Mikasa Ackerman becomes a Scout under his command, he finds himself watching the new recruits’ morning training through his office window, a tinge of pleasure rising whenever his sifting gaze lands on the girl wanted by so many.
Sasha is the first among the new recruits to notice the results of reduced funding.
After one of her peers implores her -- come on Braus, just a spare crust -- for the fifth time, she slaps her hands down on the communal dining table and hisses, “Nothing! I’ve got nothing, alright? I’ve snuck into nearly every officer’s room during cleaning sessions, and even their hoards are empty so you can all stop askin’!”
A few seats down from her, Mikasa studies the faces of the two most important people in her world and takes in how dull their usually bright eyes look. Armin, whose cheeks had retained remnants of baby fat even throughout the two years of Shadis’s training, has a gauntness to his face that was not there before. Even Eren is quiet tonight, foregoing his regular fervor-driven dialogue and instead, slowly dragging a spoon across the bottom of the bowl in front of him.
The three of them had joined the military for many reasons of course, but one of those reasons had been for the simple fulfillment of assured nutrition, which they had lacked as refugees. Mikasa doesn’t regret her choice, would never, ever, regret following Eren, but yesterday, the sharp pang of hunger had been accompanied by the fleeting, yet poisonous thought: why, why couldn’t he have chosen the Military Police?
Immediately afterwards, she had called to mind the memory of Hannes and willed that bitter wisp away.
“I’m going to bed early,” she says abruptly and pushes her bowl towards the boys across from her.
“Mikasa you don’t need to --”
“Bed, Eren. I have a headache.” She gets up to leave and is satisfied that as she turns, two hands gradually move to grasp their spoons.
Undeniably, it is a sumptuous spread. Meats, cheeses, fresh rolls of bread -- which most of the Scouts hadn’t encountered for over a week, and even fresh, ripe fruit -- which had basically become a forgotten food category. Alec Holden arrives without notice at the Legion’s headquarters and promptly orders that the baskets of food his household servants brought be laid out for the soldiers.
“I’ve heard that funding has ran a little dry as of late,” Alec explains. “And I said to my friends, even if the Legion hasn’t returned on investment recently, we shouldn’t allow good soldiers to starve. Maybe some better food will inspire your next great moment of tactical genius. Grapes, Erwin?”
“No thank you.” Erwin has practiced enough times in front of mirrors as well as bureaucrats to know just how to control the muscles of his face so that he looks blandly unoffended and relaxed. “But I must express my gratitude for this display of generosity to my men.”
“And women,” Alec adds. “Can’t forget them.”
Erwin allows his jaw to tighten, a hint of dislike evident for the first time around the magistrate. There is, at the moment, no one else in their immediate vicinity, no one else whose standards of politeness he has to satisfy. “Let’s not waste each other’s time, Alec. Is there something you came here for?”
The magistrate plucks a few grapes from their stem, pops one into his mouth, and carelessly rolls the others across the table. “This treat could be a one-time special occasion for the Legion. Or, there might be the possibility I could be persuaded to extend my generosity.”
He isn’t looking at Erwin anymore. His gaze is far off, resting on a certain ink-haired girl -- was that a smile on her face for once -- who was breaking apart a piece of bread to share with Armin Arlert.
“You know, for a good long while, I was so sure she would end up in the MP. I kept asking Nile about her and teasing him if he was keeping her for...internal privileges, but I finally found out she’s here with your company. I couldn’t stop thinking, how has a young girl like that fared amidst your rough and tumble group? She probably hasn’t even gotten enough nourishment to develop and face a Titan.”
“Oh I’m sure you’re just interested in a young soldier’s development,” drawls a sneering voice, and Erwin passes Levi a warning look.
Alec doesn’t seem phased at all. “Humanity’s strongest,” he greets the Corporal. “Your words cut as deep as your swords, though it’s a surprise that the Commander here has not instructed you on how to speak to your betters.”
“Don’t forget the gutters of where you came from.” The magistrate brushes by Levi, velvet sleeve against military uniform, as he walks away. “Especially since no one else will.”
Erwin clamps his hand on Levi’s shoulder before the Corporal can do anything that would rain down consequences on all of them, and the two men watch stonily as the magistrate makes his way across the dining hall. He stops right behind Mikasa, and her briefly relaxed countenance returns to wariness once more at being addressed by a stranger.
Levi speaks first. “You’re not seriously thinking --”
“It’s not unheard of,” Erwin cuts him off sternly. “You of all people should know that.”
Sacrifice. Everyone in the Scouting Legion knew that joining meant personal sacrifice. Erwin remembers Mikasa Ackerman standing before him when she joined, her salute perfectly executed, her dark eyes dry and steadfast unlike several of her peers’. She’s the type that will continue to endure sacrifice, but he seriously doubts that she was expecting one within such an unsavory domain when she joined.
Erwin puts it off for as long as he can, and there are plenty of other priorities with which to preoccupy himself, but when a letter arrives informing him that another budget cut was being debated for the Scouting Legion, he knows he can’t avoid it any longer. He waits in his office for her at the latest hour of the Scouts’ workday, and as he waits, it strikes him that a summons at such a time could itself be interpreted as an inappropriate gesture. Groaning softly, he rubs his right temple. Ackerman will probably be looking at him with suspicion as soon as she walks through his door and will just as likely be ready to bolt soon after.
When a knock on the door finally interrupts his thoughts, its sound is as hesitant as he expected, but the girl who enters looks as quietly assured of herself as ever.
“Sir,” she salutes. “Armin said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, that’s correct. Would you like to sit down, Ackerman?”
She moves, efficiently, like a soldier, Erwin observes, but there is a grace to her movements, a fluidity that explains why her peers and even some of the veteran Scouts turn up to watch her maneuver on the training grounds.
“Last week, when Magistrate Holden paid us a visit, did you speak with him?”
Her brow wrinkles a little, and she frowns as she replies yes.
“Did you talk about anything in particular?”
Mikasa's expression morphs into one of open confusion now, and her eyes search his for answers as she recounts, “The magistrate said he remembered me from Eren’s trial because of my hair. He told me it was a shame that I keep cutting it.” She pauses, her next words more haltingly surrendered. “Then he voiced his belief that I deserved something extra.”
“Such as?” Erwin prompts her. Had Alec already propositioned her directly?
Mikasa shrugs, clearly of the mindset that the extra something had not been that impressive. “It was some sort of sweet. Chocolate, I think he called it.”
“Did you like it?” The question escapes Erwin before he can suppress it, and his eyes drop to her mouth before flicking back up. Why, he wonders to himself, was he dragging this on? He feels suddenly, a wrench in his gut, a sense that he was baiting the girl, as much a predator as others were.
“I didn’t bother to taste,” she shoots back crisply, her eyes narrowed and ah there was that undertone of suspicion again. “I’m not very fond of sweet things.”
Erwin leans back in his chair, drums three of his fingers on his knee, and tries to not imagine how Alec would probably offer the girl many more sweet things before he was through with her. At last, he breathes out, “There is no such thing as a free meal, not for us, Miss Ackerman, and I called you here because --”
“He wants something from me in return, doesn't he?” A stormy tension is etched in her face, in her whole form actually, a slingshot ready to release, and he has assessed her in enough situations to recognize the girl's instinctive predilection to let loose violently. For a moment, he almost anticipates her fury and perhaps even a possible fist with welcome.
His lack of an immediate response seems to light a black flame in her coal-dark eyes, but her voice is unexpectedly soft as she challenges, “Well Commander, are you going to order me to provide extra services for the magistrate?”
Erwin is fully aware he could. What was ordering a girl to help gain funding relative to ordering someone to die? He could order her and tell her that she shouldn't be surprised, that if she had joined the MP, this would practically be a regular occurrence. He could tell her some of his own stories and watch her reaction to the knowledge that even the Commander of the Legion has prostituted himself for funding, for his goals, for humanity’s sake if he wants to give those murky affairs a tint of nobility.
He doesn’t. He remembers reading the reports on her, absorbing the story on how she had come to be part of Eren Jaeger’s family after losing her own. Disgust rises at the thought of delivering this girl, gift-wrapped, to the same type of greedy hands that she’d escaped years ago. He brings death to many of his soldiers, and he might lead her to a bloody end next month or next year, but forcing this violation on a girl who has already lost her innocence in many ways seems all of a sudden like a much worse crime.
“No,” he says tiredly. “I am not giving you any such order.”
Her lips part, and he knows she wants to ask him why, but he shakes his head and tells her, “No need to keep you up any longer, Ackerman. You need to be well-rested for training tomorrow. Good night.”
“But sir --”
“Good night, Ackerman.” His tone returns to that which she hears at strategy meetings, and she decides that there’s no reason to fight him over a dismissal she should be thanking him for.
As the door closes heavily behind her, Erwin sighs and uncrumples the warning letter. He scans it, reads it again, and finally decides that alcohol can be a permitted indulgence tonight as he ponders how the Legion will pull through the next month with another slash in their bleeding dry budget.
Mikasa doesn’t sleep. For one thing, there’s definitely a bed in the room that she shares with a few of the other girls that is squeaking from the pressure of more than one occupant. She doesn’t really care to identify the pair since Ymir is growling variants of “just make her come already” every minute anyway.
For another, she can’t stop thinking about her meeting with the Commander that had not turned out as she’d dreaded and expected. Could she really say his confirmation of what Alec Holden wanted was that much of a surprise? The magistrate’s hand, cold and heavy due to the metal of his many rings, placed over her clavicle and the slight trail it followed down the slope of her shoulder; both of the man's gestures had already been too suggestively familiar. Moreover, she’d lied to the Commander. She had tasted the chocolate, had taken a bite of it when the magistrate asked in a way that did not really sound like a request, and she had shivered from the rush of queasiness when she saw how he smiled as he watched her taste it.
The escalating sounds announce that the girl with the extra bedmate is finally approaching her climax, and the moan that follows makes Mikasa twist uncomfortably in her bed. At seventeen, she’s aware that most of the cadets in her age group have crossed into the territory of being fully sexually active while she hasn’t even ventured into the borderlands of foreplay, but never has her inexperience presented itself as an actual problem until now.
Because she closes her eyes and thinks of how much Eren, Armin, Sasha, even sour-faced Captain Levi had looked healthier, more alive, for a week as they finished off what the magistrate had brought. And because even if the Commander said no, the part of her that has witnessed human corruption first-hand whispers that men like the magistrate tend to get what they want in the end.
Just an interaction of the flesh. Didn’t she and her comrades sacrifice their flesh every day with the training and fighting that military life perpetually threw at them? Flesh for food. A meeting of flesh that was simply another fight for survival.
Lightly, her fingertips brush across the tip of a breast and slide down the curve to caress. It’s not particularly gratifying, and in a brief moment of inspiration, or insanity, she imagines a much larger, masculine hand in place of her own. Responding to that illicit thought, to the surprising appeal of how wrong the idea is, her body finally produces a tingle of arousal, warm beneath her chestbone, pulsing between her legs.
“Fuck,” she whispers out loud to herself.
“No!” Ymir snarls. “I swear, by the walls of Maria, Rose, and Sina, if they start up again, I’m throwing them outside.”
The couple takes her threat seriously and is resoundingly silent in the aftermath.
When his office door opens again, Erwin doesn’t bother at first to look up. Fifty-fifty, he thinks, that it’s either Levi or Hange because no one else comes to see him this late, and they’re the only ones who don’t knock.
Instead, he hears a soft clearing of the throat and then, “I’ve changed my mind.”
Mikasa is there, still holding onto the door handle as if she's not sure of being in the right room. She’s changed out of her uniform to what he can only assume she wears to bed, a white gown and a pink cardigan that makes her look even younger than she is.
His hand hovers in the air for too long, and a fat drop of ink stains the paper he will have to rewrite tomorrow. “Pardon?”
As she crosses the room towards him, the white fabric of her gown shifts and slides over the vague lines of her hips. Her final step positions her at the edge of the desk directly opposite to where he sits, and with her now closer to the candlelight, Erwin curses internally because the girl’s garments are evidently sheer.
“I want to help the Legion in whatever way I can,” she clarifies. “So you can write to the magistrate and tell him yes, I will give him what he wants with the understanding that we will have secured resources for this month as well as the next.”
“Ackerman, I told you, I am not ordering you to --”
“Right, you’re not ordering me.” Her resolute gaze flickers and connects with his, then breaks away as she stares at some spot on the wall behind him.
“You’re sharp at making deals, aren’t you sir?” she says. “Because I’m really hoping you get a good one out of this.”
It’s rare that anyone can make Erwin feel at a loss for words, but this girl is bucking that trend. He’s not even sure that she understands the gravity of what’s she putting forth. “Mikasa,” he tries out her first name awkwardly. “Entering into this sort of arrangement should not be the result of a rash, late-night decision. This may not be a one-time thing. He might ask for more.”
She lets out an abrupt, humorless laugh. “Well, you can fill me in on the details after you negotiate them.”
Hyper-conscious now of the tension between them and of the Commander’s probing blue eyes, Mikasa spills out her addendum. “There is one more thing. I’ve never done this before, never been with a man I mean, and I would rather be prepared for it with someone who is not a stranger.”
She looks at him briefly again. She looks like someone he has just sent to battle. "And with someone I trust."
"And you place such trust in me?"
"We train to follow you 'til death. What greater trust could I place in a superior?"
His grasping for words before is nothing compared to how he feels at her implication. For a long moment, he considers telling the girl to seek someone else for her need. He’s well aware of course of her devotion to Jaeger. Even if the boy views her as too firmly cemented in a sisterly light and rebuffs her, there’s a line of other candidates more suitable, closer to her in age and rank at least, starting with Kirschstein and ending, well would it even have an end?
But something tells him that those options are out of the question for her. Approaching someone else would be contaminating to her other relationships, and her actions give every indication of preferring to contain this matter to just inside this room, to the only two people who know her purpose.
He regrets draining the glass and a half of liquor now because that indulgence is drawing out another voice assuring him that Ackerman would benefit more from someone with experience than some fresh recruit. That voice cannot deny his notice of how truly pretty she is, her lips petal pink and her throat, bare for the first time in his memory, a column of untouched skin that with every breath, sinks into indents at the base. Soft, girlish features at contrast with the body she’s hardened through endless rigor. It's a contrast that interests him, a geography he's certain is worth devoted exploration.
Even more darkly insidious, a voice inside him understands why Holden asked for such a girl.
He is not a good man by many measures, and he knows it as he says, “Alright cadet, I can prepare you tonight, if that’s acceptable.”
Mikasa knows that the relief she feels at his answer is not at all appropriate, but there is to her surprise, no sudden urge to second-guess and turn back.
“Yes please, tonight.”