Chapter Text
The sea brought you many treasures. Tumbled glass, hearty fish. If you had any God, if you acknowledged any higher power, it was the sea. You made offerings when you could. Pouring out your tea to soak the sand, dropping a ribbon into the tide.
Maybe that’s why it blessed you with him.
You thought him a part of the driftwood from far away. That’s why you paid no mind, picking your way across the newly exposed silt. There had been word of a wreckage, a Marleyan ship blasted open by another nation’s fury as it made its way home. Many of the island’s people had taken their small boats out, eager to prove their love for their nation by fishing dead bodies with the nets that once carried food.
No one expected that of you, luckily. No one here expected much of you period. It’s why you managed to put down roots here.
You had thought the collection to be thorough, and only imagined yourself picking up stray pieces of metal, scraps of wood. It was really an excuse to walk in the water, feel the waves against your bare feet. Afterwards you would head into the nearby woods that edged the beach, you had passed by an apple tree there and the red fruit haunted you, s-
From a few metres out to sea, something caught your eye. A wave rose, carrying a mangled piece of plank. The sun caught something upon it, a bright flash that made you wince. A gun, one of those spear tipped ones that the soliders used. You traced it way down and realised in horror that it was speared through a thin hand. A head bobbed beside it, face upturned to the uncaring sky, brown hair you once thought was seaweed being tugged by the current.
You dropped the shoes you carried so carefully. The wicker basket clutched in your other hand as well.
You were within the water in a heartbeat. Glad you had forgone the proper skirts befitting a lady, the trousers allowed your legs to kick powerfully through the water without much hinderance. You kept your head above, eyes locked onto the bobbing figure. His head lolled uselessly against the plank, occasionally slipping downwards. He was drowning, slowly. If it wasn’t for the speared hand, he would be at the bottom right now, becoming food for next week’s catch.
Finally, you pushed your way to him. It may have been your hopeful heart, but it seemed like the current stilled as you reached him. That the waves brought him closer, urging you to grab the back of his tattered uniform and draw him against you. You angled yourself against him, wrapping an arm carefully around his chest. The position was awkward, his stuck hand now a barrier and no longer a life line. You let him go for a moment, careful to keep his head above water as you grabbed the shaft of the gun. You whispered an apology before yanking it. It slid from his flesh with a sickening weight, and you tossed the blood coated thing into the depths. A blood offering now, an entreatment to allow you back to shore safely. It seemed to work, and you were soon dragging him onto the sandy beach.
Your hands danced desperately across him. There was a pulse, a weak fluttering thing that made your heart clench. His mouth opened uselessly, sucking in air there was no space for. With steely resolve you tilted his chin back, pinching his upturned nose before placing your mouth over his. You exhaled into him, tasting the salt on his lips. The breath seemed to push back up, and you firmed the seal of your lips and blew once more. Your father’s instructions ring in your ear.
Two breathes, push until you can’t. Place head back. Interlock fingers. Middle of chest (His skin is cold, it’s so cold) push down. Consistent, deep. (You’re not going strong enough, you’re going to lose him. His face is pale. You know that pale.) Deeper. You push deeper. There’s a crack, the man’s breast plate. The bile rises in your throat as you realise you’re truly pushing on his organs now. You are beating a begging onto his heart, into his sea laden lungs. Now two more breathes. Deep. Hard. There’s more salt on his face,tears falling from your eyes. You needed him to breathe, you needed your breathe to slip down his throat and stay there, you couldn’t lose him, you couldn’t let him slip, not this time, not so soon, not-
He inhaled, deep and desperate. It rattled his chest,and his mouth tightened with effort. You pulled back, quickly rolling him onto his side as coughs wracked his body, water and bile streaming from his mouth.
“There. There you go. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay now.” Your heart beat a triumphant cry, and you quickly wiped the tears that coursed down your cheek. You wonder if this was how your father felt, tending to the dying. The desperation that took hold of you was terrifying.
He was breathing easier now, and you gripped his wrist. Heartbeat was stronger. Your eyes trailed up from his long fingers, the smooth skin of his forearm, prominent blue veins making rivers up to the yellow arm band that laid flat against his soaked uniform.
He was an Eldian.
A smarter person would have stepped back. For a Marleyan, even one with shaky call to her Marleyan heritage like you, to be so close to an Eldian…
But you were tied to him somehow. The sea had seemed to insist on it.
You smoothed his hair back, pushing it from an angular, sallow face. He was young, around your age. But pain made him look older, creasing his forehead. It also burned, angry and hot.
Do you leave him? Someone else would come surely, but what that someone do more harm than good? It wasn’t safe for an Eldian to be outside of the internment zone, even if he was a wounded soldier.
You had taken advantage of hospitality long enough. It was now on you to return the favour. And something in you refused to let you leave the man laying there, sand sticking to his smooth skin. You needed to take him back.
“Alright, well. Hello. I’m going to move you now, okay?” You murmured, softly patting the man’s cheek.
Your heart jumped as his eyes shot open. They were jewels, the intensity of them slowing your breath. Green, like the leaves of a forest darkened with threat. His gaze jumped around, hazy and unfocused before it found your face. It sharpened slightly, and his eyes widened.
“You… Thought I dreamt you… But I found you…” His voice was a raspy husk, deepened from the salt that coated his throat. He took a shaky breath, but before he could say more his eyes rolled back.
Something about his voice made you double over, leaning closer to him. What had he meant? It must have been delirium.
You rolled him carefully back into the sand and after much manipulation, swearing, and sweat, he was on your back. He was tall, and his lank frame weighed on you heavily. Where his skin touched yours it almost felt like a burn. You could almost fool yourself into thinking that steam rose from his skin.
But it also felt familiar. In a way you couldn’t place. Perhaps you had dreamt him too.
His head leaned against you as you kicked open the door to your small cabin. The stew you had set for tonight’s meal bubbled its welcome from the fire, and Pekoe’s orange tail flicked in annoyance as her emerald feline eyes regarded the noisy intrusion.
You deposited the man on your bed with a loud huff of exertion. He landed heavily, and it worried you that he didn’t let out a sound of protest.
Pekoe jumped from her perch in the chair and wove herself between your legs before leaping onto the bed. She regarded the stranger curiously and you batted her away.
“He needs rest, silly thing. No one to play with you here.”
You took a moment to look at him again. He was beautiful. In an unfair, hurt way. Long dark lashes, chestnut hair that stroked his collar bone. His lips were full, parted slightly. But you couldn’t dwell on that. You moved quickly, tying your hair up with one hand as you moved across the small cabin.
Turning to the stove you grabbed the pot of water you kept on hand. Your herbs were easy to access, in small neat rows above the stove. You began rapidly dropping dried leaves, barks, seeds, into the pot. Tulsi, ginger, elderflower, willow. You set it to boil, moving to the cabinet to pull out the medicine chest.
You were glad your father left that behind with you. You traced his initials on the lid before throwing it open. Pills for an infection, for the man’s hand. Fever, to supplement the herbs. Something to dull the pain. Alcohol to clean his wounds. Bandages. You fell into an easy pattern as you sorted your supplies on the table beside your bed. This made sense. This was a problem, and here your tools to solve it.
“I’m sorry for this.” You murmured as you wet one of the bandages with alcohol. It was an angry thing, mangling his palm to a degree that it no longer looked human. The last ditch act of a dying man, clinging to hope that he would see another day. But somehow, it didn’t look as terrible as you expected it to. Already you got see where the skin was starting to knit itself together. Like the rest of him, it was hot and feverish.
With an empathetic wince you pressed the pad into the gashed skin. He shifted in his unconscious state, brow creasing further.
“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” You murmured as you began to wrap the hand. You placed it carefully beside him and moved to unbutton his shirt.
You felt your heart still as the cloth peeled off, revealing a toned muscular chest and stomach. He reminded you of statues in the capital museum, made by people long lost. Modelled after gods.
No. That’s not a doctor brain. You cooly inspected him, ignoring how smooth his skin was under your touch. His sternum was cracked, and you resolved to make a compress for that. But other than that, he carried no wounds of war. No fresh bullet wounds, no scraps. You travelled down his body, curling the scraps of his pants up. Muscular legs were unmarked as well.
“A lucky fighter then, Driftwood. Or very skilled.” You commented. He shivered once, slightly and you winced. He was soaking into your bed, still wet with briny sea.
You turned back to the open cabinet and reached for the pile of neatly folded clothes in the corner. You hesitated for a moment. You hadn’t touched them since he left.
But your father would give the shirt off his back. What did the one he left behind matter?
You dressed the man carefully, mindful of the broken sternum and the concussion you could only guess at.
Then you fed him. You crushed pills into a bowl of broth from your stew, added some of the steeped herbs, and sat by his head. Pekoe perched upon the headboard, watching as your spoon made the way to his lips and dribbled the concoction into his mouth.
You slept in your arm chair that night. The fire roared and cast shadows on the strangers face. You only kept a few blankets over him, unsure whether to warm him from the seas touch or to be afraid of the burning fever. Would father have made him sweat it out?
The shadows caressed him, and they suited him almost as much as the light. Hollowed cheek bones, dark brow. Some would say he looked disgustingly Eldian. You cast a guilty glance to the armband on the mantle. To be honest, you could never tell the difference between your father’s people and the ones they subjected.
You stretched your leg out in front of you, the cotton skirt you had changed into riding up your calf. Your brown skin glinted gold in light of the flames. It was a marker, as the man’s armband was. That you were the “other”.
You slept fitfully, as the man in your bed did the same.
In the morning you awoke. Pekoe was perched in your lap, regarding you cooly before hopping to the bed. The stranger was sleeping, more comfortably now.
“Morning, driftwood. Did you dream sweet?” You asked, stretching till your joints popped.
You tended to him first, wiping the sweat from his forehead, replacing the compress. To your surprise his bandage hadn’t bled through, and you decided to leave the change till later.
You spoon fed more broth, listening to his laboured breathing. He looked almost peaceful at times, when his brows would unknit and his lips would part.
Other times he would thrash, sending you running from whatever corner of the cabin you’d find yourself in, attempting to pin his arms to his side so he wouldn’t hurt himself. He muttered names, speaking softly with a Min, and assuring a Mikasa. A being named Levi seemed to haunt him, and he would flinch as though being beat as his name escaped his lips.
This continued for two days. On the third night you had pulled your chair closer to the bed. A book of poetry was in your hand, and you read from it quietly, your voice mixing with the crackle of the fire.
“Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our
pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean,
at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies,
free as waves, free from all bondage of words.”
Your finger traced over the words, well loved lines. You wondered how many times you read this, how many times it would make your heart hurt.
“Is the time not come yet?
Are there works still to do?
Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore
and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.”
You looked up at the bed as the stranger shifted, and for a moment you were overcome with deja vu. You had seen him like this before, his head laying on the pillow just like that. You watched as a lock of hair fell from his forehead, long enough to reach his lips. It twitched with his breath, and you were overcome with the need to twirl it around your ring finger, to wear part of him as a vow.
You snapped the book shut, exhaling swiftly. That’s what happens when you read romantic stuff before bed. You pulled the knit blanket tightly around you as you watched him sleep. He has calm, as he always was when you spoke to him.
“Goodnight, Driftwood.”
In your dreams you were on the shore, watching as the tide pulled out. Instead of masses of seaweed and shell, the water pulled away from bodies. Multitudes of bodies. Bloodied and brackened, twisted together like corrupted reefs. In the far distance, shapes as tall as mountains waded listlessly through the water.
He stood beside you, the stranger with emeralds for eyes. He held your hand, gripping it tight enough that you knew there would be bruises. His face was blank, imperceptible as he stared out at the carnage. Somehow, you knew it was his.
“All this?” You found yourself asking. He flinched at your words. “All of it?”
When he turned to look at you, he was broken. A stoic face come undone, eyes shaky with tears and grief. “Everything.” He gasped, his voice cracking.
You awoke with a start, your head snapping from its rest against the the chair. You looked towards him, and found him looking back.
He was sat straight on the bed, hands resting on the blanket. His fingers dug into the fabric, twisting it in his grasp as he stared at you. His chest shuddered, and for a moment you thought he was choking. More water in his lungs? Was he drowning on land, was he-
No. Your eyes met his.
He was crying.
He wiped the tears away with the heel of his palm, turning away to face out the window beside your bed. Something about it made your heart clench. You unfurled from your seat, your knees cracking in protest as you stood and walked carefully to him. This was how you approached wounded animals, ones with bullet wounds in their guts but fire still in their hearts.
“Are you hurting?” You asked. He went still at your voice, and you could see the hairs on the back of his neck raise. “I have things to help that, you don’t need to be in pain.”
He remained silent, the elegant curve of his neck revealing nothing but his heartbeat. It was early, the sun’s rays a delicate pink and painting his skin rose.
“I know you’re Eldian.” You could see his jaw tighten at that. “I know you’re a soldier for Marley. That’s all I need to know. I won’t ask further. You’re safe here. I’m in no position to vilify people for their heritage. ” You chuckled, raising your arm to him. He turned to regard the skin of your wrist, the delicate shade of brown it was.
“They don’t pay us out here much mind, not anymore. I can’t attest for the other people on the island, but I’m not about to turn you in.”
“You’re Eldian too.”
It wasn’t an inquiry. It was a statement, an assertion. Said in a deep voice, raspy with disuse.
“No, my father was half Marleyan. My grandmother and my mothers parents, they were from a country south of-” he turned back to face you now, fixing you with verdant gaze. The words died in your throat, something you weren’t used to.
“Somewhere, somewhere recent.” He murmured, his eyes searching your face. They were tinged red, but no longer wavered. His words weren’t ones of a man in his senses, but looking into his eyes now… You couldn’t imagine him as anything but sane. There was a screen over his eyes, and you could have imagined them to glow brightly once upon a time. But he hid it in a manner only a man of sound mind could.
He looked around the cabin, and you became painfully aware of the meager furnishings. “How far from the capital are we?” He asked.
“It’s a days boat to the mainland, then a 2 day drive if you can charter someone. If not, can make it by boat in three days.”
“Do you have a boat?” He asked, moving his legs over the side of the bed. He made to stand but something faltered, and you could see his head spin. You clicked your tongue as you grabbed his arm, guiding him back.
“No. I don’t.”
“A neighbour’s I could borrow?” He insisted,reluctantly returning to leaning his back against the headboard.
You bit your lower lip as you thought. “I’ll look. After you rest up. You were in bad shape. You’ve been asleep for three days since I found you.” There were limited people who would lend you a hand like that. And that number dwindled when it came to the added factor of a tall Eldian stranger. He’d be lucky if they didn’t kill him where he stood, or throw him to the sea once more.
His lip twitched in annoyance. You could tell his need to move on was desperate. “Are you that eager to return to war? I heard they were bringing you back just to ship you to Libiero.” You said as you stood. You crossed the room to your stove, restarting the fire in its hearth.
“I have things to finish. Comrades I can’t let down.” Everything about him was heavy with burden. You had heard the tone before, in the Eldians you had met when you lived in the city. Their people carried a weight that would never lessen.
“You’ll be no help to them injured.” Your hands moved automatically, measuring herbs for another tincture, and set a small pan of oats to begin cooking. You felt his eyes on you while you worked, as heavy as a physical touch. It made your breath come out slower, more careful and measured. “There are a couple who owe me a favour. I can get you to the mainland, you can contact your regiment from there. At least, I hope so.”
“You’re not afraid of helping me.” he stated and you sighed. You leaned back against the counter, thrumming your fingers against the stone while you regarded him.
“Afraid for you. You’re trying to get back, but some people won’t see it like that. They’ll see a lone Eldian, with a hurt hand and broken chest. They’ll see an opportunity.”
“And they’ll see a young, pretty Marleyan,” he drawled the word, heavy with sarcasm. “- Beside him and back off?” He asked, arching a thick brown eyebrow.
“No, but at least you have a body to throw at them while you run.” You responded, turning back on the ball of your foot to stir the oats.
Pretty, hey?
The stranger remained silent as you approached him with the tray. He regarded the the steaming bowl with hungry eyes, and eagerly accepted it when you placed it in his lap.
“Eat slow. Who knows how long you’ve been hungry.” You murmured, placing the cup on the beside table. He nodded, raising the heavily laden spoon to his mouth. You noticed the tremor in his hand, how the oats slid off. His eyes darkened with frustration and you moved to touch his wrist. He started at your hand, green eyes widen as you steadied him.
“Told you you were weak.” You murmured, suddenly aware of the closeness that had been the norm for the past week.
“Not used to that.” He replied after swallowing the hot bite. He flexed his hand bandaged hand slowly, staring at his fingers with a detached curiosity. “Never been out for this long.”
“You heal fast. Weirdly fast.” You said, helping him raise another bite to his mouth. His eyes flashed, a quick expression of worry, but he shrugged.
“Military.” He replied cryptically, making you raise your eyebrow in return. He refused to meet your eye, shovelling another spoonful. “Classified.”
“Got it. Drink your tea, soldier boy. You still look like you have a fever. And take those pills too.”
His pretty mouth twisted slightly, eyes sliding over your face. But he grasped the small white pellets, dropping them into the back of his throat before gulping the hot tincture and wincing.
“So that’s the bad taste in my mouth.” He muttered, staring into the murky liquid with disdain.
“If by bad taste you mean the incredible healing properties of nature’s design, sure.” Despite his complaint he down the rest of the cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The pills do a lot, but the herbs do the rest.”
“Are you a doctor?” He asked, leaning against the headboard with a wince.
“No, but my father was. Can I feel your chest?” You knelt carefully on the side of the bed, sliding your hand into the neck of his shirt to feel along his breast bone. The movement was automatic, second nature to assess where he was hurting. But again it put you deeply into his orbit. You felt his heart pick up its pace, thrumming wildly against your palm. This time he didn’t flinch and look away. He stared at you openly, a degree of softness making his gaze gentle. He shifted slightly, and you felt his muscles flex underneath your touch.
“Mine was too.” He murmured. The inflammation was still there, but better. You withdraw your hand slowly, and he watched it move away with an unreadable expression.
“Did he give you a name?” You asked, taking the empty cup and returning to the sink to fill it with cold water. He chewed on his food slowly, watching as you sat down on the chair after returning his cup. He was quiet for a long time, eyes guarded once more, before finally opening his mouth.
“Krueger.” He said and you shook your head.
“If I’m going to call you by a fake name, might as well be something I pick myself. I’ll keep calling you Driftwood.”
He blinked in surprise, but a wry smile made his cheek twitch. It didn’t look like he smiled often. “Driftwood?”
“It’s what I mistook you for at first.” You picked at the fabric of the chair’s armrest, pulling threads loose. “You must have been out there for so long. And what you did to your hand…” You trailed off as you both regarded the injured limb. The thought of it, pinned to the plank in desperation, made your stomach turn.
“I haven’t thanked you yet. You went through a lot of trouble to get me here, and to take care of me after.” Now again his eyes were on your face, the intensity akin to a glower. But the expression was soft, wondering. “You didn’t have to, but you did. Thank you. I owe you my life.”
You inclined your head. “Of course. I couldn’t just… Let you die.” You thought of his cold lips under yours. How you moved as though you weren’t your own, mechanically breaking bones to bring him back to this world.
“Others would have. But you didn’t. You’re…” He trailed off, a sigh escaping from his lips as he pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. “Thank you.”
You stood from the chair, grabbing your coat from where you had thrown it over the back. You moved briskly, attempting to cool your body of the heat that had grown. You were shaking your hand out subconsciously, trying to rid the memory of his smooth skin from it. “Of course. Will you be okay for a little bit? I haven’t had the chance to do a run for supplies, was afraid of you waking up alone.” You grabbed your basket, checking for your coin purse. You began to place small jars inside. Some preserves that the Baker had asked for, a salve for her daughters rash. Herbs for a pregnant wife. Things people had requested the last time you went into market. “I can check for your boat too while I’m there.”
“You trust me enough to leave me alone in your home?” He asked, making you pause.
You did, for some reason. It dawned on you that you trusted him with a lot. Were you that gullible, that naive?
Or was this different?
“If anything happens, I know it’s you. And there’s not many places to hide on this island. You’re in one of the only right now.” You opened the wardrobe, tossing a change of clothes for “Krueger” onto the bed. “There’s a washroom through that door.” You started to prattle off the various amenities he could take advantage of if he found it in him to walk, but something on his face made you stop.
“What are you hiding from?” He questioned, leaning forward. His fingers were tight on the sheets again, gaze concentrated on what felt like your soul.
You paused for a moment, the wood of the door steady under your hand. You had been concealing yourself for so long. But under his eyes… You felt like you had been found.
“Dunno.”