Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
ALL THE DARK, BROKEN PLACES
Inside the ship’s wheelhouse, Levi clings to the handrail, staring out at the chaos beyond the window. Sea and storm collide, threaded together by a torrential downpour into a swath of endless, roiling gray. As the freighter crests another wave, Levi braces his feet. The floor slants sharply left, and a spray of ocean water barrages the glass, the sound like a hail of bullets. Saltwater and rain mix on the deck, flooding beneath the door. Within seconds, his boots are soaked, and the cramped room fills with a briny scent. The ceaseless rumbles of thunder and waves echo in his head, interrupted only by—
Click-click-click-click. Click-click-click-click.
Jaw clenched, Levi glares at Hange. The commander hunkers in a seating alcove with a stack of papers propped against their thighs. Presumably reading said papers; brows furrowed in concentration, muttering in low tones, and absent-mindedly tapping their pen against their teeth. Incessant. Irritating.
Click-click-click-click. Click-click-click-click.
Levi’s only two minutes and two steps away from knocking a few of Hange’s pearly whites out. But those promotion papers need the commander’s signature. He needs them out of his hands. And of course, fucking four eyes chooses this moment to do paperwork: water-logged aboard a ship, at the mercy of fathomless, stormy ocean waters, on the way home from enemy territory.
“Should’ve done that before we left,” Levi mutters. “If you drench them, you’re rewriting them this time.”
“Oh, can it, Levi. I already apologized for my little whoopsie with the mold experiment.” Hange shoots him a pointed look. “And while I appreciate you re-drafting them for me, I have to read them before I sign.”
Levi’s jaw twitches. “You’ve pretended to read that page for the past ten minutes, four eyes.”
Hange points to their eyepatch, gaze returning to the pages. “It’s three now. And I’m not pretending. I’m searching.”
“For what?”
“For a hidden addendum.” Hange scribbles their signature and finally flips to the next page.
“Addendum for what?”
“For a short, grumpy bastard squad of one.”
Missed opportunity. Too late now. Levi’s temples throb as he turns towards the window.
“There’s no addenda. Just sign.”
“Someone’s testy today.” The commander falls into a rhythm: skim, sign, flip page. “Not ready for the squad to fly free?”
“Was ready months ago. The first time I gave you those papers.”
Thunder rattles the walls. Softer, Hange asks, “Won’t you miss ordering them around? You’ve been their leader for—”
“No.”
He won’t miss it. He outlived his usefulness as their captain years ago, and giving orders is a rare occurrence now. They can take care of themselves. Still, promoting his entire squad spawns a festering knot in his gut. The fact they’ve lived long enough to attain captain’s ranks defies all past disasters plaguing Levi’s former squads.
He bites his tongue. Even after a week of prancing around Marley’s capital, they’re all still alive. Tucked in cramped quarters below deck for the journey home. No casualties, no major setbacks. Save for this storm.
A harbinger. The accumulation of every near-miss in Liberio. The universe is toying with Levi’s mind again, lulling him into a false sense of security. And he’s not falling for it. Something’s wrong, something’s—
“There. You’ve lost all kicking privileges of the 104th. Save Eren, of course. Can’t promote a ‘weapon of the state’, apparently.” The relief in Hange’s voice clashes with the rain lashing at the windows. They roll the papers up and tuck them into their inner jacket pocket. A knife-sharp glint in their bronze eyes.
“You have peers, Levi. For once. Command-ordered peers, but peers, nonetheless.”
“They still have to accept,” he says.
“Done and done, dear Levi. Wanted to save you the headache, so I met with each of them privately before we left for Liberio. They’ve all accepted—unofficially, of course. But I asked for their discretion while we process the paperwork. Except…”
Levi’s shoulders tense. That tone of voice is a trap. And Hange sparing him a headache precedes bigger headaches down the line.
“I had scheduling conflicts with Mikasa since she’s been so busy helping you with training, and obviously there’s been no time over the last few weeks—”
“Bullshit.” They had the dull, two-week voyage to Marley on a luxury cruiser to speak with Mikasa.
Villainous delight swims in Hange’s eyes as they prattle on, unfazed. Maniacal. “I thought it’d be an excellent start to your co-captainship if you broke the news to Mikasa yourself.”
The tension in Levi’s jaw could snap Hange’s neck. “Of course you did.”
What’s Hange’s aim with this ploy? They have plenty of opportunity, several times a day, nearly every day, to witness him and Mikasa in close-quarter combat. Probably the reason they chose the office overlooking the sparring yard. To gather data for their algorithms. No way to formally request immunity from Hange’s delusions with the higher authorities, but normally, he knows what the delusions are, at least.
Lost all their titan pets, so they’re turning to the next closest abnormals. Or worse, they’ve gone sentimental. Mistaking peers and friends as synonyms.
The storm’s fury lists the vessel left, and Levi pivots his stance. Another wave crashes overboard, spilling out onto the deck.
“Humor me, Levi.”
“No.”
“Based on my observations, you and Mikasa work well together. At least, neither of you has killed the other since you’ve started sharing training duties,” Hange points out, crossing their arms. “And quite unexpectedly—based on my prior theories—I’d say there’s even a…begrudging respect between you two. So, I’m fascinated by your major malfunction over her co-captainship. Is it her in particular?” Hange adds, “Not that it will change the orders. This is purely to satiate my own…interests.”
Interests in Hange-speak: algorithms. Data sets.
“It’s unnecessary,” he says. “She’s capable on her own managing the ODM training.”
“While you fight with…who exactly? The wind?” Hange asks, glaring like he has a screw loose. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t she start helping with hand-to-hand to demonstrate techniques without breaking the delicate bones of our greenhorns? Of which there are now hundreds. We’re leaking recruits from every orifice since eliminating all the Pure Titans from Paradis. And who better to train all those warm, eager bodies than our revered veterans? Co-captain arrangements cover the most ground. You agreed to the protocol at the restructuring hearing.”
And he regrets it nearly every second. “You failed to mention my inclusion in that restructuring.”
“Ah, yes, well…” Hange rubs the back of their neck and glances out at the storm. Then to Levi. “Telling you before the meeting slipped my mind. I was very occupied with choosing assignments, already. Specifically yours.”
“Only thing that ‘slips your mind’ is sanity.”
Lightning flickers overhead, the wind screeching along the gaps in the door. Hange asks, “Aren’t you even a little curious why I chose her as your co-captain?”
Levi smells a four-hour breakdown of Hange’s ‘scientific’ processes and says nothing. Because he does know. Mikasa’s evenly matched in hand-to-hand combat and ODM gear proficiency. She possesses a quick, strategic mind and enough drive to power a gloomy but highly effective army. He doesn’t need Hange’s rambling to confirm that.
Turns out silence is all the encouragement the commander needs.
“Considering your intense stubbornness, dour disposition, and talent for intimidation, I needed someone who matches you in ability and who would oppose you without fear when you’re being an ass. Mikasa possesses those qualities.”
Something tugs at Levi’s chest, and he stiffens. Bracing for another wave, or more words, he isn’t sure.
“You can despise my choice all you like, but it’s done. And there’s no denying it. You collaborate efficiently.” Hange’s voice lowers. Turns all business. “She’s a worthy equal, Levi. So, I suggest you suck a lemon and get over it, sour bastard.”
His resolve to argue withers. Hange’s right and that fact alone irks him. But the other truth—that Mikasa is, in fact, his equal—sends his thoughts reeling. Peers are the last thing he needs when his head still throbs thinking of his last true equal: his former commander.
Not ‘yours,’ he reminds himself. A man equal parts infuriating, tall, viciously attractive, and dead. A man Levi still owes debts to in the form of two promises.
Water sloshes beneath the door, splashing the bloodless blades holstered at Levi’s waist. Still polished from a week ago, untainted by blood. Failing his first promise to the former commander, yet again.
Give up on your dreams and die. Lead those recruits into hell, and I promise you: I will take down the Beast Titan.
The past week, Levi’s patience wore thin, knowing Zeke slept with a roof over his head; warm and breathing, while Erwin Smith lay cold in his grave. Nothing but bones, dust, and dirt. But Levi obeyed his orders. They weren’t in Liberio to hunt Zeke. But his day will come.
Levi’s second promise to Erwin Smith—the man, not the soldier—haunts him the way time deteriorates; with an inescapable, brutal forward march. Shadowing every waking moment, looming on sleepless nights.
“Not as your commander, but as…myself. I will ask one more thing of you. Maybe something I shouldn’t. But…I need your word, Levi.”
“You need my word when you have my blades?”
“Your word is one of the only true things I've known in this world.”
And Levi gave that word. Despite the grotesquely sentimental and utterly impossible nature of Erwin’s request. Levi couldn’t refuse, not with Erwin so deeply embedded beneath his skin back then. Erwin knew he was asking for the impossible. Knew it would leave Levi with ties to a dead man. Indefinitely, at this point.
Blonde fucking bastard.
Hange’s insistence on co-captaining is a horrendous reminder he’s ignored that second promise for years. Shoved it far into the dirt, beside Erwin’s casket. But forcing a co-captain on Levi won’t change the fact he’s alone, harboring an inborn talent for violence that isolates him from those he cares for, and never keeps them safe for long. And apparently, an inborn need to make promises he can’t keep.
After months of begging, he caved and told his prior squad he’d have dinner with them after the mission to capture the female titan. None of them survived. Too little, too late. Isabel and Farlan: a promise to live on the surface together. Neither attained true freedom before a titan tore them to shreds. All because he wasn’t there to protect them. To his mother: a vow to return with medicine by nightfall. He’d come home early to find her cold bed, cold body. The room stank of that broken bottle and its spilled snake oil for weeks after.
The only truth my word offers is a death sentence.
Which is why Zeke’s guaranteed to die at his hands. Violence is his place in the world, as little as that guarantees the safety of those closest to him. His charges. His equals.
Co-captaining is a looming disaster, as bloody and sure as the sun rising and setting. If he and Mikasa collaborate more closely, the chances of him running his mouth and making stupid promises, increase. And promising her anything compromises her chances of seeing another sunrise. Regardless of her capability—mistakes, sacrifices, and choices still happen, even with equals. Erwin proved that.
And Levi loved him one summer. Promised Erwin a place by his side if he ever wanted it. Dedicated his blades to the former commander far beyond the lifespan of his love or unrequited promise. Look where that landed Erwin.
Perhaps he’s overreacting to the promotions. More than likely, nothing will change. Levi’s hardened himself to closeness over the years. Eating dinner alone, and declining fireside invitations is easy now. Save that pang of guilt over his second vow. A ticking constantly in the back of his skull.
Keep Mikasa at a distance. Kill Zeke. It’s that simple. No different from what he’s doing now. That’s how this has to be. Right, Erwin?
Uncertainty flares in his chest as he gazes out at the tumultuous, sunless landscape. It holds no answers. The boat is a mere speck, caught between two shores. White-silver lightning splits the sky, parting the clouds momentarily. The storm lulls almost instantly, the boat creaking. They’ve finally hit the center of this raging monsoon. Through the clouds, a glimpse of the western horizon unfolds. The sun descends, its light bathing the low-hanging clouds in a gorget of bloody rays.
The wall behind Hange reverberates with a single crash—the door to the lower deck bursting open outside. Hange’s on their feet, at the ready, gazing out the window as a dark-haired figure emerges from below and sprints across the deck at a breakneck pace.
Mikasa. Co-captain. Equal. She vaults herself onto the freighter’s guard rail, one slip from pitching over the edge into the sea. He sees it. Her waist.
No ODM gear.
Heavy adrenaline sinks deep into Levi’s skin. He kicks the door open, sprinting into the throng of returning rain as the sunset takes its dying gasp. Red morphs back to gray, the storm yawning alive again. He fires his grapple, and it hooks the railing beneath Mikasa’s position. He squeezes the retraction triggers.
She catapults herself overboard and plummets out of sight.
The grapple pulls him towards the edge, and he slides onto his side, flattening his left flank to the deck as he’s launched towards the ship’s edge. Immediately soaked to his skin, the steel line screeches, and he tastes brine and burnt metal. His teeth gritted, the triggers tremble beneath his grip—pushing the gear too hard.
Still, not fast enough.
He slides under the railing, into the open air. The downpour batters his face in icy droplets, but he glimpses a swath of dark hair slipping beneath the water’s surface in a swell below. He twists his body towards that spot, wind roaring in his ears as he falls. The ocean undulates between convex and concave—a cradle, a spear—the color of headstones.
Her headstone. Hange signed the papers less than a minute ago, and already his potential co-captain might be lost. And few things cut deeper than an empty grave.
You can’t even fucking swim, idiot.
The frigid slice of water against his skin nearly steals his breath, but he holds it. Remembers that at least, in the seconds he has to find her before she disappears for good. But he’s alone in the riptide’s darkness.
You were wrong, Erwin.
No truth, no paths, no comrades, no guiding light. Only a starless darkness embracing him, same as the day he was born. Then, wreathed in shadows, a pale silver hand stretches towards him.
Clutching the small slip of paper, Mikasa’s hand trembles. She reads the message again. Hardly a message; just two words in Eren’s handwriting.
Leave me.
The boat lurches, and she braces herself against the wall. Only two hours since leaving Liberio’s port, yet Eren’s room is empty, his pack gone. She thought he was with Armin, but Armin’s standing in the open doorway, face pale. They’re all supposed to go home together, supposed to all eat dinner as a squad in Armin’s room, but the only trace of Eren is—
Leave me.
She presses the paper into Armin’s hand, waiting. For logic, for explanation, for something.
Anything. Please.
His mouth opens and shuts, wordless; terror-stricken eyes fixed on the note—like he’s waking from a half-dazed nightmare.
“Armin. Tell me—tell me he didn’t…” She touches her scarf, loose around her neck. Her voice is small. Pathetic. “Tell me he’s somewhere nearby.”
Armin’s throat bobs, and he shakes his head, eyes pleading. He cannot give her the answer she needs.
“Why did I…why didn’t I…” Armin clutches his head. “Mikasa—this is my faul—”
The boat groans, leaning left, pitching Armin into Mikasa’s arms. She grips his shoulders and rights him before slipping past into the hallway. Her steps echo down the corridor.
Eren is always out of reach. But never like this.
She forces herself to bear the brutal cut of reality, to taste the words: Eren’s in Liberio. Alone. Surrounded by the enemy.
She turns a corner, following the signs towards the upper deck. The hallway tilts left; the lanterns sway on their hooks. She forges ahead, unwavering. Straightens her scarf, and pulls it taut. Muffled voices trail after her, but she latches onto a single thought that drowns them out.
Get to Eren.
Another left turn, and she’s face to face with the upper deck stairs, ocean water cascading down the steps in waterfalls. A chill crawls over her skin as she ascends, recalling flashes of that morning.
Eren’s eyes were distant as the squad walked to Liberio’s port. His cargo hauler disguise painted him a stranger in her peripherals. He hardly said a word through breakfast. Through the morning meeting.
Hizuru’s freighter, in all its glory, resting at the pier. The lifeboats swayed in the breeze, hanging off the right side of the ship.
Eren walked up the loading ramp onto the freighter’s deck while Mikasa stood on the docks below. Watching for him. Waiting for danger to slip out of the hulking vessel to her right, or from the waters below. Eren stopped at the top of the ramp and turned back towards her.
“You coming?” he asked.
The hairs on her neck prickled. A threat nearby? Enemies watching? Something she missed? She glanced over her shoulder at the crystalline waters.
Nothing is wrong. They were going home. The sun shone high and bright as she boarded.
The memory hardens her, flaring in her blood as she kicks the deck door open. It crashes against the wall to her left, then quivers like a fired bowstring.
The rain soaks her instantly, crashing over her.
“You coming?”
Eren never turns to see if she’s following. He forges ahead, without her, without Armin, always just out of reach. But today, he turned. He waited.
To ensure you boarded. To weave contradicting lies. One to her: he was helping Armin with his cargo. The other to the rest of the squad: he’d be with Mikasa if anyone needed him until dinner. Then he must have slipped away.
A bright flash and a crash of thunder turn her vision red. She sprints to the ship’s edge.
Turning the freighter around isn’t fast enough. She can get a head start in one of the lifeboats. Armin will alert the commander and the captain, and the freighter will catch up to her. But every second wasted is another drop of Eren’s blood potentially spilled.
She mounts the deck railing and stares at the ocean’s foam teeth, its vicious, swirling currents. It’s mesmerizing, in its deadliness. And it’s nothing. The storm, this distance—everything separating them so minuscule compared to the raging heat in her nerves.
Get to Eren.
Leave me.
The pain of such small words propels her off the railing towards the western horizon, hand at her waistband, grasping—
Nothing.
No ODM gear, nothing to grasp, no lifeboat in sight. A mistake that reverberates in her bones as a surge of adrenaline lights up her limbs. Armin’s voice cuts through the storm’s cacophony, then vanishes behind a rush of thunder and waves as she plummets.
A flash in her mind: Armin following her, drowning beneath the surface.
Don’t, Armin. Please. I can’t lose—
She slams into the water, as hard as Wall Maria, and pain replaces the rage in her blood. Each sputtering inhale a cutting ache in her lungs. She claws at her neck; the scarf twisted and constricting, an impossible knot in her rising panic.
The undercurrent blurs up and down as she kicks, an abyss above and below. Her memory of the docks consumes her.
Her, standing on the pier, gazing at Eren on the ship.
“You coming?”
The sun blazed high. But Eren’s shadow stretched down the length of the loading ramp to touch her toes. When she glanced over her shoulder, sure she was about to feel the cold press of an enemy gun barrel against her neck, she saw something worse.
No shadow of her own. As though she was formless. Nothing.
Under the water, blood, bone, and skin melt into one another. A viscous heaviness is all she is. The ocean abyss stitches itself into her skin, two voids sinking into one another, lost.
A shape forms out of the darkness, and she reaches towards it. Even though she is nothing, and—
Shadows cannot be held. It’s a fruitless attempt to not die. But being this hurts, the depth of loneliness a pervading, bone-chilling—
A solid grip at her waist pulls her in the direction she thought was down, and muffled ocean depths give way to thunder, wind, and the metallic ringing of ODM lines retracting. The world tilts, and she slams into a body, rolling off onto something hard, wet, cold—the deck, the ship. Someone—
“Breathe, you idiot.” That voice is cutting, familiar. “I said no casualties. That includes drowning.”
The constriction around her neck disappears. When she claws at the horrible pressure in her stomach, she grasps two hands just beneath her sternum. Hands that press into her, again and again, until an acidic burning surges up her throat, and she rolls onto her side as she retches. Coughing turns to choking, and she retches again until her throat is raw, her sinuses stinging. The captain has to know.
Turn around. Turn the ship around, Eren is—Eren is—
No sound comes out. The arm around her waist stiffens as the captain heaves her to stand. Her legs immediately buckle, and the captain shouts orders—so close to her ear.
Shut up. Everything is too loud, more voices joining Levi’s. She must be sleeping or dreaming, moments passing in blurs. But the captain’s voice sounds again, low, urgent.
“Hey, brat, stay with me—”
That tone, like pleading. Like…fear? Is he…worried?
Her body trembles and everything is too cold again—breathing hurts. The captain’s arm digs sharply into her side. More thunder, Armin’s voice, Sasha’s scent, her brief warmth. Then less noise, the sound of a dozen footfalls descending a cramped stairwell. Jean and Connie, more blurs of people she doesn’t recognize. Two arms lift her, carry her.
Levi’s voice in her ear. Quiet but ferocious in a way that is unmistakably him. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
The arms fall away, replaced by a biting chill against her left side. More fire up her throat, over and over. Her mind slips back to Eren’s tree in Shiganshina, searching for him where he rests—
But Eren isn’t under his tree. A shadow eclipses her. She turns, eyes tracing the shadow’s edges to the top of Wall Maria, where Eren stands on its edge. His shadow crawls up her legs, torso, neck—squeezing the air from her lungs as she gives into clawing blackness.
-
Warmth pierces the darkness first. Then, the russet light of a lantern, casting a weak glow over the cramped space. Stacked boxes line the room’s perimeter. A single porthole window offers only a glimpse at pitch black. Her pack and scarf—neatly folded—rest on the floor to her right. The freighter bobs in easeful ebbs, her cot hard and unforgiving beneath her. As she blinks away the blurriness and attempts to sit up, her blanket resists, cocooning her like corpse bindings. She grits her teeth against her aching arms and untucks the blanket.
The pounding in her skull slowly stitches the nightmare together. Eren’s gone, hundreds of miles away, alone. And she was—
Stupid. Reckless. Powerless against the sea, the sky, the distance. And without the captain, she might’ve—
“Don’t you dare die on me.”
The words feel like they belong to some frenzied, hazy dream. Something imagined. But the shame and defeat clawing through her chest is very real.
Where was my head? She hadn’t spared a thought for her safety, for the logistical impossibility of even surviving had she secured a lifeboat. She didn’t even get that far.
What if Armin followed you? What if the captain—
“Guess the dead do wake.”
Captain Levi sits in a chair blocking the door, arms and legs crossed. The flickering light accentuates the dark circles beneath his eyes, but his blue-gray pupils are sharp, alert. He nods to a small box resting beside the lantern. Six canteens are stacked inside.
“Medic says to drink those by morning. Turns out lungs dislike inhaling seawater. They shrivel, get fussy and dehydrated.”
She glances at the canteens. Hesitates.
“Your choice. Suffer or don’t.”
She shoots him a glare and slowly uncaps the first canteen. Every muscle aches, even the small ones. When clean water touches her tongue, cold relief melts all her restraint and reservations. After guzzling the first canteen, she voraciously gulps from the next, forgetting to breathe—choking when the water hits the wrong pipe. Each sputtering cough twinges in her abdomen.
“Tch. Don’t inhale it,” Levi says, leaving his seat to crouch beside her. He pulls a folded, clean handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her, plucking the canteen from her grasp.
She turns away, coughing into the fabric, eyes watering, ribs tender. Every jab is her own fault, and she’s grateful to have an excuse to hide her shame. When her coughing fit eases off, she imagines the captain’s lips pulled back with disgust. But his expression is…calm. A little sympathetic?
She manages a ragged, “Thank you.”
He caps the canteen and sets it in the box. “One per hour is enough. It’s not a race.”
When she tries to sit up further, a sharp pain seizes her chest. She gasps, sinking back onto one elbow. Hissing at the tenderness, she lifts her shirt and examines her rib cage. A purple crescent bruise encircles the bottom of her left breast. No broken skin, but…
“Some bruised ribs—from how you hit the water. But no major injuries, according to the medic. Though, they said nothing about your brain,” Levi murmurs, back in his seat, eyes averted.
A small flicker of irritation sparks in her skull, but she holds her tongue. He shifts in his chair, gaze cast to the floor, jaw working back and forth.
She’s staring, she realizes. And he’s deliberately looking away from—
Shit.
She pulls her shirt back over her abdomen, face flaming hot. He’s seen her in less on the sparring yard—though she never has half her breast out while fighting him.
Why even bother with politeness? They’re all soldiers. The words do nothing to cool the heat on her face.
When his gaze slowly returns to her, he scrutinizes her expression. More heat rushes to her cheeks, and she wishes he would look away again. The intense awareness of her own skin—the bruises, the chill over her arms, the heat deep in her abdomen—is overwhelming. She recognizes the heat, a fluttering warmth.
But why now?
The captain searches her expression for something.
Maybe the impact crossed some connections in her head. A bizarre but normal-under-the-circumstances physiological response to nearly drowning. All her systems breathing to life again. It’s nothing more.
“Were you trying to die?” Levi asks finally, voice low, solid steel.
Her guilt flares into anger. “No. Of course not. Eren was gone. How could you think I was—”
“I’m obligated to ask for the mission report, brat. I don’t think you were. But everything has to be documented.” He sighs through his nose. “If I tell the higher-ups you pitched yourself overboard without your gear, in the middle of the ocean, during a raging storm they’ll order a suicide watch. Unless you explain why.”
She stares at the handkerchief clutched in her hand. She shouldn’t have snapped. It was a fair question, given her actions. He deserves the truth for risking his life. That’s the bare minimum she can give him.
“When I realized Eren was gone, I thought I could use a lifeboat to get to Liberio—faster than the freighter. I thought…if I went ahead…”
She swallows, her words stumbling to a humiliating halt.
Heat spreads over her face. It’s the truth. And the reasoning of a greenhorn, of someone who lacks self-control. Someone falling apart. She sits a little straighter, ignoring the jab in her ribs.
“I wasn’t thinking straight. And I screwed up. But I had no intent to end my life.” She rubs her neck, exposed without her scarf. “I swear. I was…just trying to get to Eren.”
Levi’s shoulders relax, his expression unreadable. “I’ll relay that to Hange in my report. Should clarify your recklessness with our superiors.”
The barb in his words relieves her. She deserves it, even if it stings to hear from him. After years spent fighting at his side, his respect as a soldier is important to her—as much as she hates wanting that validation. She stares at her hands, waiting for a kick to the ribs. A tirade. His expression of disappointment in her.
But he’s occupied with writing in a small journal—dictating her words for his report?—expression nonplussed. A faint crease forms between his brows as he writes. The strokes of his pen are precise, like he’s painting instead of scrawling tedious field notes. She’s fought him a hundred times and never noticed.
“Good to know your eyes still work, but you should rest,” he says without looking up.
His nonchalance pulls at her frustration. But she deserves more admonishment. Needs yelling, desk duty, probation. Needs to feel something, besides empty. Besides failure. The scratch of his pen fills the space between them. She prods.
“Were you intent on dying?”
He continues writing, ignoring her.
“You can’t swim. But you came after me anyway.”
“Didn’t anticipate needing to swim today. Didn’t expect you to go moronic on me.” He stops writing and glares back at her. “Should I expect that in the future?”
The question douses her lingering anger. Faint, but noticeable, there’s genuine concern disguised in the timbre of his voice, frustration in his cheekbones flaring. The disappointment with herself yawns wider. She let Eren, Levi, and herself down.
“No. You shouldn’t expect that from me,” she admits. “I just…thought I should be—”
“You want punishment?” He tucks his pen and pocketbook in his jacket, and walks to her side, crouching at eye-level. “You already know you made an abysmal lapse in judgment. You don’t need me to tell you when you’ve fucked up.” His voice softens. “Can see it on your face. You’re beating yourself up enough for the both of us. You’re injured, idiot. That’s your punishment. It could have been worse. Would have been, if you didn’t heal fast.”
He shifts and gently pulls the handkerchief from her hand, setting it to the side. He winces, and she notes the bruise across his right hand. A large gash bisects his left palm, already in the early stages of healing. Red stains the whites of his eyes—irritated from searching for her in the salt water, she thinks.
Fuck. You’re being selfish. He’s hurt because of her.
“I deserve a lecture. Probation. Something.”
“Technically, we’re both up for a month of desk duty,” he says. “But it’s not my call. Though, I doubt Hange can afford to neuter our forces for that long. Especially now.” His frown deepens. “Self-pity is pointless. It won’t help you with what lies ahead when we reach home.”
A chill crawls down her body.
“'Home’? We’re—we’re letting Eren go?”
“No damage or documented injuries to the official crew, and exactly zero deliveries made on the ship’s official manifest,” he points out. “If we return to Liberio, we raise suspicion. And you can guess what happens after.”
Her head pulses. Marleyan soldiers search the ship. At the first glimpse of ODM gear, enemy forces rain down hell. Armin has the Colossal but needs distance to avoid incinerating the immediate vicinity—including their squad. Then there’s the Warhammer, Beast, Cart, and Jaw Titans to contend with, on top of Marleyan forces. And that’s just stepping on land. Finding Eren is an entirely different set of potential losses.
She shivers, rubbing her arms. Eren premeditated every detail, every lie, and knew the low chance of immediate rescue if his plan worked. He cornered us into inaction. His friends. His family. Me.
A thought slithers in, uninvited. Maybe he’s not running towards the horizon. Maybe he’s…running from you.
The rising worry in her chest fizzles out, the hollowness returning. She bites her tongue to stave off the heat behind her eyes.
What’s next? What do we do now?
“Why does he always leave me behind?”
The boat tilts gently, and her world sways. Heat blossoms over her face.
Stupid. Letting her tongue slip around Levi, of all people. She waits in agonizing silence; no use smoothing it over or trying to take it back. She can’t look at him, but when he speaks, his voice is cautious.
“Because it’s Eren. He’s as capable of level-headed decisions, as he is of acting like a bull-headed moron. You know better than any of us.” His brows furrow, voice hardening. “He’s in for a prolonged kicking next time I see his scrawny ass. In the meantime, we need to regroup. This fucked any leeway we gained with the higher-ups over the last few years. Convincing them to trust Eren, to trust us, after an insubordination of this magnitude…figuring out if we can trust Eren—”
“He would never betray us,” she retorts, vicious. “He must have a plan. Everything he’s ever done has been for his home—for us.”
“Not here to fight you on that point, brat,” he says, eyes flicking to her clenched fists. “But Eren’s in Zeke’s territory now. If he worms his way into Eren’s head, we have to tread cautiously. We’re stalemated until he contacts us, or we retrieve him. This is a fuck-up of massive proportions. Whether you want to believe it or not.”
She grinds her teeth, fists trembling. He’s right. Why does he have to be right?
Her vision blurs, and she averts her eyes, taking a deep, tremulous breath. “I know. But it’s never been like this. He’s done stupid shit before, but…I don’t understand why he left us today. Why today hurts more than—” She curses, wiping her tears. Resting her hands on her lap, she takes a shaky inhale.
“Eren lied to you, Mikasa,” Levi says, not unkindly. He stares fixedly at her hands. “Betrayal cuts deeper than sheer stupidity.”
Betrayal. That word, so heavy, carrying the weight of its truth. Eren always screams his intent as loud as a battle cry. Always has. But today, he deceived her. And Levi’s right: they’ve lost so much ground because of this. They spent a week in Liberio and didn’t lose a single comrade.
She remembers breakfast at a long mahogany table. Connie and Sasha still nearly asleep, shoving food into their faces. Jean tired, but drinking a local delicacy—espresso. Hange talking Levi’s left ear off while he sipped a local tea blend. Eren and Armin, yawning, but content. They talked about the food, the people, about sleeping better than they had in years, in actual beds. Eren commented her hair was getting long again. All seemed right. Seemed familiar.
Less than ten hours later, Eren abandoned them. Scrawled a note, a directive: leave me.
Do I even…know Eren, anymore?
Immediately, her insides recoil from the thought.
No. That’s not true. It’s Eren.
Eren, who throws himself in harm’s way for the sake of what’s right or for his friend’s safety. This is another risk, another way to protect them. He refused to let any of them volunteer to take the Attack Titan, when his time ends. Which might be sooner than they all thought. He still cares, he’s still—
In enemy territory. Far away. She’s worth a hundred soldiers, and yet…. Completely useless.
“Your face is gloomy again. Told you to stop beating yourself up.”
She clutches her blanket tight. “I can’t protect him. When he’s there.”
“No. You can’t,” Levi concedes. “Especially if you’re dead at the bottom of the sea. All you have are the decisions you need to make to get back to him. If getting to him is what you want.”
Is it the dehydration, or does she sense a question there? She already knows her answer. Needs to find Eren. But a small, inescapable voice inside her wants more.
To be home. For this to all be over, and for everyone to be safe. To return to the ease she had before violence ever entered her life, back when her parents were alive.
But that time has passed. Her blade is the only chance her friends and comrades live. The only chance they might find the peace she lost so long ago. Cruel, unjust. But it’s the world she lives in. True beauty lies in the people she protects. Not in her selfish desires for rest, for peace.
You want peace? Tough shit. Shouldn’t have been a soldier. But there was no other choice. Protecting Eren is what she promised Carla. What she wanted. Still wants.
“Eren’s our best chance. I have to keep him safe. But…” She swallows her pride. “My actions shouldn’t risk the lives of my comrades.”
Levi nods. “Then you’ve made your choice.”
Her ‘choice’ doesn’t settle or motivate her. Instead, a heavier weight sinks into every bone in her body. More fighting. More friends dying. More blood. And she’ll witness every second, unable to stop any of it.
“It’s cruel. To have this strength. And be so useless,” she murmurs, more to herself.
Levi’s right brow arches. Biting her tongue, her apology to the captain hitches in her throat. She was stupid today and weakened their forces by injuring herself.
You told me to fight, Eren. But when you’re not here…I don’t want to. I’m so tired.
Levi rests his injured hand on the back of hers. The gentleness of his touch surprises her, for all the power she knows that hand wields. When he speaks, it’s sincere, scarred.
“Everyone is powerless, no matter your strength. We can’t stop the choices others make. And those are often what break us. You learn to live with breaking, or you don’t. But you’re not useless. Just human. Don’t berate yourself for that. You can’t be anything else.”
She wants to believe him. But her skin feels so transparent. So light and unaffecting.
His hand tightens around hers. The knot in her chest loosens, seeing the heaviness in his eyes. He understands this power, too. Lives with it. And how much he cares, how expertly he guards his concern, is so clearly etched in the look on his face, in this moment. Knowing him for so many years, she’s caught glimpses of this part of him. Always fleeting.
Something shifts, softens his features. Or maybe something in her softens, as she stares at him, her hand in his. This is Levi. Not the soldier, but the person. And she’s meeting him without the walls for the first time. The potential of spark or smoke—something that warms or burns—spreads heat from her abdomen to her chest. His mouth is an indecipherable line, the silence strangely electric and comfortable at once.
He looks tired but alive. Here. Bent, maybe, but not broken.
As his hand begins to slide away, she grasps it back.
Levi stares at Mikasa’s hand. It’s strange, sensing his blood responding to harmless touch the way it does to battle: a threat to defend against. They’re only hands, but his heart pounds like they’re wrought-iron jaws. Impossible to ignore.
The last hand he touched was Erwin’s—cold, slathered in blood. There’s no blood this time, but the closeness wreaks havoc on his insides.
“You hurt yourself by coming after me,” she says, examining the slash on his palm. Likely from gripping the retracting grapple line for balance as he’d pulled her from the ocean. He doesn’t remember doing that, but he recognizes a friction wound when he sees one.
“Hand’s fine, brat,” he says, slowly flexing his fingers. He suppresses a wince. “Don’t concern yourself.”
At least he sounds calm. Impossible to ignore her scrutinizing gaze, and how soft her fingers are. His stomach flips.
Why reach out in the first place? He’d meant to offer comfort—a bad habit he thought he’d broken long ago. Levi wasn’t born to console; a hand is both never enough and overwhelmingly intimate. Someone reciprocating the gesture—maybe for the first time ever—sets his nerves on high alert. It eases him in a way he doesn’t trust, even if he trusts her.
Pull away, idiot. But his arm won’t move. She traces the lines of his palm with a delicate finger. Every etching where his skin doesn’t quite line up—all the scars, bruises, and broken places.
“You can’t swim. But you came after me, regardless,” she says without looking up.
The urge to pull away fades, his heart rate slowing. The Azumabito clan mark peeks out from under Mikasa’s wrist wrapping.
“Levi.”
His gaze meets hers. Her eyelashes are long, darkly contrasted against her skin. She’s alive. Holding his hands as though she understands how fragile they are. Like she wants to keep his pieces together.
“I swear. I won’t die on you.”
Hearing his earlier words reflected momentarily short-circuits his brain. He hadn’t thought she’d hear them, whispered in pure panic; that he was too late. That his squad member was turning into a corpse in his arms. Her skin felt so cold when he said it.
Slowly, he pulls his hand away. She can’t know what a promise means to him. Can’t know that promises are traps accompanied by rage-inducing insomnia and nights spent alone.
She probably does know, though. After everything she’s been through. And he can’t honestly say it’s impossible. That she’ll live to see the end of this. He resists the urge to take her hand again, to seal her promise: one less soldier to bury. One less ghost rattling in his skull.
She’ll survive. If you keep your distance.
Accepting the promotion puts her in more danger. Not his call, though. He pulls the bundle from his pocket and holds the pages out to her.
“Here. Before you promise me anything else.”
She blinks twice and takes the papers. Her brows soften the further down she reads.
“Thought this fell through,” she says, finally. “Or that it wasn’t happening until we returned home.”
Levi stares at her, piecing it together. His temples twinge with pain. “Hange talked to you before Liberio.”
She nods. “They weren’t specific, but…said I shouldn’t mention it to anyone yet. They were waiting on your end of the paperwork.”
Levi will kill Hange. So much for ‘sparing him a headache.’ Suppose he should have expected this from a lunatic who grows mold in their desk drawers for fun.
“What specifics did Hange tell you?” he asks, jaw aching.
“It would be a co-captainship. But they didn’t say who, just that…everyone would have new assignments.”
“Armin’s with Hange in weapons development and titan research—where it’s still necessary,” he explains. “Jean and Sasha will head firearms and artillery training. Connie will act as liaison captain between us, the Alliance, and the sympathetic Marleyans. Keeping the interest of each party at the forefront of all decisions.”
She glances at Levi. “And…you and I will handle ODM and hand-to-hand.”
Candlelight makes it hard to discern if the color on her cheeks is anger or dehydration.
He nods. “Day-to-day training won’t change much. But there’s extra paperwork, meetings, and dealing with Hange. Private quarters might be the only silver lining,” he mutters. “On missions, it’ll be more akin to normal captainship: you’ll lead a squad of your own.”
Judging by her grave expression, she’s aware of all that entails. Giving orders that cost lives. Empowering or failing her charges with her decisions.
The boat creaks, the wind humming against the porthole.
Shit. But she’s likely not aware of how much time they’ll spend together. A majority of co-captain tasks require close quarters since both have to sign off on everything: combat practices, planning drills and courses, designing battle formations and strategies, deciding sub-squad arrangements, drawing up transfers, writing mission and protocol proposals, and signing mountains of paperwork.
He needs distance to focus on killing Zeke. To keep everyone safe. Including her. Because this—her hands holding his, and any co-captainship—is not how he fulfills his second vow to Erwin Smith.
“Tell me the worst part of…all of it,” she says, low enough he takes a moment to process her words. She’s asking him. Someone who’s slathered himself in many permanent failures.
A minute ticks by, but she doesn’t push for his answer while he mulls through the blurred features of his former comrades. Their names, the laughs he can’t hear anymore, the things he’s forgotten about them. So many more gaps than there used to be.
“They look to you with hope. Strive for your respect. Some want to know you. And you send them to their deaths,” he finishes, quiet. “But to lead effectively, you accept you cannot save all of them. Often, you save no one. And accepting that means losing a part of yourself.”
He clenches his fists, re-opening his wound. He hadn’t meant to say so much. Words always spill out when he talks about this kind of shit. Which is why he prefers to not talk about it.
“I lost my head today. Put you in danger,” she says, averting her eyes. She rubs one forearm with her opposite hand. “As a co-captain, how do you know that I’m capable of leading?”
Ferocity. Undeniable skill, strategic mind. Not seeking glory or chasing her own ego, but fiercely protecting her childhood friend—who happens to be Paradis’ best chance at surviving the next ten years. She possesses a resilience worth respecting. Beyond brute strength, blade-wielding, and intelligence, there’s a deeper truth.
“You pursue without holding back. And you have not lost your humanity, despite losing so much. Who you are is someone soldiers will follow with their heads held high. Even if it’s to their deaths. They will trust you to lead them well. And you will if you choose to do so.”
Her eyes search his, gaze sharp as a drawn blade. He forces himself not to look away.
“Have I earned your trust? Despite today?” she asks, voice nearly a whisper.
“Yes.”
Her eyes widen before her gaze flickers to the floor. A flush creeps over her cheeks. His ears grow hot. Not revolutionary to tell his squad member of four fucking years he trusts her.
“Do you have a pen?”
Levi’s lungs tighten as he searches her face for any signs of doubt. But she’s all focus, stoicism, poise. Everything that encompasses the quintessential essence of ‘gloomy brat.’
He hands her a pen from his pocket. She signs without hesitation and hands it back, along with the papers, her fingers brushing the scars on his thumb. They both pull away quickly, avoiding eye contact.
“Effective immediately,” she says.
“You read it closer than Hange did.”
“And now? What happens next?”
“Go home. Regroup. Take a long fucking shower and try not to get killed.” Levi thinks further ahead. “Get Eren back. Kick Eren.”
She ignores the threat and looks at her scarf, hesitating before plucking it off the floor and wrapping it around her neck, nestling into the fabric. She inhales and exhales deeply.
“You didn’t wash it.”
He stands, legs prickling from crouching for so long.
“Was tempted. It’s filthy. But also not mine to wash.” He sits in his chair.
Her eyes soften around the edges as she touches the fabric’s tattered corners. “Do you prefer ‘captain’? If we’re equal rank?”
“‘Levi’ is fine,” he mutters, sipping from his glass of water. Trying to cool his fucking ears. “‘Captain’? For you?”
She takes a swig of her second canteen, caps it, and sets it aside. “Just my name.” A pause. “Or brat. Used to that already. Your choice.”
Her nonchalance sends more heat to his temples. She must have water sloshing around in her brain.
“Tch. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you in an hour for your water.”
“I don’t take orders from you, Levi,” she murmurs, his name a test, a small ripple that becomes a wave, hot through his blood. Fucking ears.
Regardless, she lays down, buries her face in her scarf, and pulls the blanket over herself. Several minutes tick by. Without opening her eyes, she says, muffled beneath the blanket, “I meant what I said. About…”
“Not dying? Didn’t doubt you.” Speaking of promises sets his nerves on edge. “Get some rest, brat.”
The rhythm of her breathing lulls him into an unfamiliar ease. Every limb aches. Her hands linger in his thoughts. The lantern dims, shadows lengthening, his vision blurring. Drifting, ebbing, until he’s falling—bolting upright in his chair, a hand at his bladeless waist.
No threat. The boat creaks. Mikasa shifts on her cot with a small sigh of protest. Two breaths later and she’s out cold again.
Fuck. Did he just fucking fall asleep?
Of course the first night his insomnia fucks off in years, it’s while he’s on dehydration watch. The rest of the night, every time he imagines her hands, he digs his thumb into his injured palm, warding off nightmares of dead comrades and broken vows, calling from beyond the shroud of sleep.