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Chapter Text

January 1st 1837, 22:38 PM

As ambassador for the Marleyan Government, I, Willy Tybur wish for world peace, and so I proclaim on this day, that we are to come to this kingdom under written orders, to the enemy forces on Paradis Island, this is a declaration of war. 

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January 1st, 1837, 23:56 PM

I, Keith Shadis, Commander in chief of his majesty’s forces of Paradis Island, do hereby declare to make war against the nation of Marley and any of its followers in response to Lord Tybur’s proclamation. 

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The continents had aspired into a massive war on New Year’s Day. Recruitment of forces had begun almost immediately after, the king demanding proper order of his armies and appointing strong leaders for his assemblages. 

The world had gone to chaos since. The citizens of both nations had shared the spite of their leaders, but the hatred of the powerful politicians had come first. The first attack of the troops of Marley came on the sixteenth day of January, the 36 ships that were sent ten days earlier had never arrived to Paradis Island, sending the Marleyan government into a frenzy. They were determined to be the first blow, and they could not afford a home attack, despite their technological advancements. 

They achieved their first attack, but a battle that was set to be lost. Paradis had prepared in the time that it took Marley to arrive. 

Despite the promise of treaties and surrenders, the ire of many political leaders did not subside. It is quite an amazing spectacle what the fury of humanity can cause, the everlasting destruction of their own downfall. 

The year was 1856 now. New Year’s Day was only two months away.

Many soldiers had been trained and prepared since the start of the war. Platoon leaders had perished, leaving others to take their posts, while some gave up their authorities. One of those notorious officers was Keith Shadis, the 12th General of the military, before he had resigned his position from guilt due to the major losses of soldiers under his command. He had appointed Erwin Smith to take his place, trusting the wits of the man, as well as embracing his respect for the soldier. Eventually, he began to train and work the younger generations of soldiers, The 104th South Division Cadet Corps, amongst them. This class of talented candidates had graduated in the year of 1853. A promising class with many formidable soldiers, each with a look far different then any training soldiers prior, as said by Shadis. 

As a result of this, Shadis took careful consideration and attention to his new trainees, taking into account their flaws and their strengths, working them to their fullest potential. He even tested the strong determination of Cadet Eren Yeager, by tampering with his gear, but to his surprise, the boy’s fury proved to be strong in its power. 

When the graduation date of these young soldiers approached, he had written an independent analysis of each newly trained soldier, with brutal honesty. 

Krista Lenz, a blonde girl with big bug blue eyes, was placed in the tenth spot of the top ten of the corps. Her ability as a soldier barely made her tenth in training, but Keith felt some sort of pity for the girl. Placing her in tenth made him hope that she would take the rear with Commander Nile of the Military Police Regiment.

“To be honest, I myself wonder if Krista deserved to graduate tenth in her group. It’s true that she was tenth in paper, but there should have been others in the Training Corps that could have gotten better results. Still, she took tenth, and what’s done is done. I hope she keeps working hard. 

B- is given to this soldier.”

In ninth place, Sasha Braus. 

“Her offbeat nature affects her overall group performance. The moment you take your eyes off Sasha, you never know what she’ll do next. You quickly notice this dangerous trait, and it makes her unsuited for group strategic operations. She does have an impressive mastery of her quick body, an acute sharpness to her senses, but I just fail to understand her.

B+ is awarded to this soldier. Her mastery of maneuvering all sorts of weaponry has earned her this position.”

In eighth place, Connie Springer.

“Physically quick, but lacks comprehension. Connie takes advantage of his small frame to move quickly, and I sense natural genius in his combat skills. If only he could fix his poor comprehension and his habit of misunderstanding strategies, he could one day become a first-rate soldier. That might take some time, though.

I award this soldier a B+, I hope he manages to overcome those minor issues.”

In seventh, Marco Bodt.

“An incredible ability to act while considering actual combat. Marco’s marks in the Training Corps never stood out because he acted in a strategic way that one would utilize in real combat. Some things can’t be measured with grades. I wish I could have seen these strengths bloom as a commanding officer.

A is given to this soldier.”

In seventh place, Jean Kirstein. 

“Talented at reading situations, cut out to be a commander. He has a tendency to think he should be the center of attention. Though at first, he had a tendency to cause trouble with other trainees, he has now overcome those flaws. He also tries to understand his comrades feelings and continues to develop as a potential commander. 

I award this soldier an A, perhaps he will lead us to victory one day.”

In sixth, Eren Yeager. A young boy turned man, demonstrated what the raw sentiment of fury could bring to battle. But just as this was a strength, it was also a deadly weakness. Eren would lose control of himself when he was mad, a fatal flaw as noted by the instructor. 

“While his skill at man-to-man combat and gun control was impressive, he’s got a personality problem. He has a textbook impulsive personality. When he gets mad, he can’t see anything around him, potentially placing his comrades into fatal dangers. Until he gets his emotions under control, he’ll never succeed as a soldier! 

Regardless, I give him an A for his potential, despite my doubts.”

In fifth place, Ymir.

“Impressive physical strength, but her personality causes friction among many soldiers. Ymir is extremely talented in her abilities, with a drive akin to a mouthy police dog that desires nothing but to work its jaws. However, her snarky attitude and slackness does not appease her comrades, myself included.

A+ for her talents.”

In fourth, Armin Arlet. 

“A potential future tactical officer, or even a commander once his combative skills are sharpened. Not noteworthy in combat and endurance. However, we soldiers are not only about physical strength. The superior intelligence that Armin showed in the classroom will surely lead to future victories for Paradis. Paired with a group of physically capable soldiers, Armin will surely pave a path for our nation. 

A+ is given to this soldier, with time, his physical attributes may be conditioned to the max potential.”

In third, Hitch Dreyse. 

“A very cocky individual, but a formidable one nonetheless. Hitch’s physical capacity was dull when she entered the Training Corps, but has been refined into a sharp blade since. Her capabilities are astounding, but she can be unwilling at times, and painfully annoying. 

A+ is awarded to this soldier, I do hope she does not bore her comrades to death out in the trenches.”

In second, Marlowe Freudenberg.

“His skills are impressive, but he lacks drive. While some soldiers demonstrated a drive as strong as a working dog, others lack the confidence to maneuver their abilities to a full force. Marlowe is very capable, but his confidence and lack of aggressiveness is not favorable. 

I give him an A+ despite it, his strong desire to appease his country can be fortified into the raw drive he needs.”

And lastly, in first place, Mikasa Ackerman. 

Keith Shadis had a marvelous amount of respect for this young soldier. She had certain physical features that allowed the basic assumption of her origins, but her strong composure had drawn Keith. He worked with her in particular, enhancing her strengths as much as he could. In the end, he didn’t work her to her full potential, as Mikasa unknowingly maxed Keith off of his.

“I do not have the words to express my sincere thoughts that Mikasa Ackerman has impressed upon me. She’s completely proficient in every area. It’s apt to say she’s an unmatched, unprecedented genius. Her strength has no limits, her technique is fortified for success, and her drive is as powerful as a tiger. Mikasa is skilled at understanding what she needs to do in order to accomplish her goals. Her judgement belies her age, surely the result of many hellish experiences she had as a child. She is an exceptional talent that is unmistakably bound to lead the Survey Corps in the future, a weapon to Marley’s forces. Dare I say, she may even lead us all to the end of this wretched war with a victory. 

Rightfully so, I granted this soldier an A+. Her exceptional abilities and mastery of every skill is astounding, as is her raw power. 

I couldn’t even work her to her fullest potential. I don’t believe there even is a limit to her strengths.” 

Keith had stood in front of these new soldiers, saluting them, but when he locked eyes with Mikasa, an unspoken coldness in her eyes that somehow scalded like a burning flame, made him realize that not even Eren’s strength of will could compete.

Marley was now up against a force he would have been afraid to face. 

As per the rule, only the top ten of each class is allowed to choose between three regiments, the Scout, the Garrison, and the Military Police. Unlike the rest of the graduating division, the top ten of the cadet corps have the privilege to choose to reside in the safety of the rear, farthest from the enemy.

The Garrison was a regiment sandwiched between the Military Police and the Survey Corps, engaged in battle upon the loss of soldiers in the frontlines. 

And lastly, the Scout regiment, also known as the Survey Corps or the scouts. An arduous force of the military due to the constant frontline work that these brave soldiers engaged into. They led the troops into battles, and were always recognized for their bravery and sacrifice. These soldiers were also trusted to take onto missions and expeditions such as recovery of land or pass messages to other squadrons. 

With these divisions, many graduates chose the Scout regiment, Mikasa Ackerman amongst them.

The nearer a war comes to a stop, the harder it is fought. 

Chapter Text

October 31st, 1856.

—

A sheet of rain had blanketed the muddled earth.

A group of young soldiers, no older than 18, were huddled deep in the trenches with a gleeful look on their faces upon the dusty drops. They weren’t fat droplets, hardly even a drop in itself, but rather a drizzle of needle-like mist that coated their muddy composures.

Their smiles were wide, teeth exposed as they stuck their tongues out with joy, wrinkles forming in the corner of their eyes from their smiles. 

This particular group was new to warfare. They had just completed training and joined the regiment with a particular vision that is drilled into the youth nowadays. Of course, if the wings of liberty sigil on their crisp uniforms was not enough of an indication into which division they chose. A badge that was glorified, a symbol that was responsible for the advancements and victories. Regardless, they were still new to the ordeal of war, of the bloodshed and all its consequences. They had no clue what was awaiting them.

Mikasa Ackerman watched them with an analytical stare. Her expression was void of any emotion, but her jaw was tense from the biting cold that was now beginning to rise this late in the fall. The boys exchanged breathy laughs, still oblivious to the critical look that a superior was shooting them not even eight feet away. 

“Stop that.” 

The young soldiers jump in place, looking at her with puzzled expressions upon her sudden interjection. One of them, which Mikasa could assume is the eldest, speaks with a shaky voice. “We’re only trying to enjoy ourselves.”

He looks at his comrades for reassurance, all of them nodding in agreement before meeting Mikasa’s disapproving gaze. 

“You’ll get sick.” She says, “The rain is nothing special here.”

The boys are taken aback, looking around at the rest of the soldiers that have the same reproachful look in their own sullen eyes. They seem to take the hint then, but one of the younger ones speaks, “Why is that?” 

Mikasa’s scowl deepens, her lips pressed into a line indicating her refusal to answer. The silence was loud as a result, the young soldier earning a slap on the shoulder for the stupid question by another rookie. “You have a nerve saying that to a superior.” 

“She’s an officer you idiot, how long do you think she’s been here to have that rank?”

The soldiers whisper amongst themselves now, occasionally shooting glances at Mikasa who ignores them. This was the part that she disliked greatly aside from the active war and trench life, the inevitable discovery of her long involvement. She was named officer for her refined abilities and strong leadership, even told that if the need for a commander had risen, she would surely be appointed for the position. She believed Jean was better suited for such, and Eren would surely be infuriated if she was crowned such a rank before him once again. 

His strange imposing need to be superior had always been a flaw of his.

That was the reason she joined the scouts to begin with, as Eren’s quest for revenge had dragged her and sweet Armin into the frontlines. He would have gotten himself killed in multiple occasions in their seven excruciating years in the Survey Corps if it wasn’t for her efforts. They had joined since they were freshly fifteen. Mikasa’s twenty-third birthday was two months away. 

With the years, Paradis had mandated that all drafted soldiers had to complete their training by the time they turned eighteen, which meant that all current younger soldiers were being enlisted at that age and they began training at the age of sixteen. 

She believes that that is why they’re so incapable despite the expected maturity they are supposed to attain by now.

“You don’t think you were a little unkind?” A familiar voice questions next to her now. Armin stands with an evident tremble, his teeth chattering from the cold.

“How long have you been observing?”

Mikasa uses a somewhat dirty thumb to wipe the rainwater from her eyelids before looking up at Armin with a skeptical expression. The ladder tilts his head in a minorly amused way, before shrugging and crouching beside the officer. Mikasa looks down to her muddied boots then, “They have to learn.” 

The blond gives a shaky laugh, but it doesn’t really contain humor. “I expected much. Still, they have fairly high spirits. It’d be a shame crushing them.”

They look at the group who are chattering and huddled to attain the most warmth through the chill. Armin had never coped well with the cold, so it does not surprise her when he presses his shoulder against Mikasa’s own to soak in whatever heat she has to offer through their thick layers of clothing. They used to do this throughout the years, huddled like the kittens that Mikasa used to see in the streets back in Shiganshina. 

“Where’s Eren?”

It also wouldn’t surprise her if Eren was out tormenting Jean or feeding into the delusions of the new recruits. He had become grave over the years, but his fighting spirit had never weakened despite the dullness of his personality. Armin rubs his sooted hands together. “If I had to assume, he would be in the northern post.” 

Mikasa hums, but says nothing more. Armin blows into his hands before running one through his damp hair, another appeal of his. Eren had grown his brown hair out, pulling it up into a loose manbun whenever the battles began. Armin trimmed his to keep it out of the way, and halfway through their years, Mikasa had also cut her originally long locks right above her ears. They were beginning to grow out a little now, the length of her hair glued to the nape of her neck due to the sweat or rain. 

She closes her eyes, a piercing pain crumbling in her temples and spreading like miniscule needles into her cranium. The daily occurrence of sickness and random sharp pains like these were common in trench life. Months ago, a ravaging case of trench fever had spread through like wildfire. She was one of the fortunate few to not be ill, but most of her comrades were not lucky. 

Despite her sharp pains, and muscle jolts, she was grateful that she has managed to push through these years, even if at times she wishes the constant edge of her life was put to rest. 

“Mikasa, do you have cocoa powder?” Sasha suddenly chimes in, approaching them with a little jump to her walk. “I wish they would give us something sweet for a change. I’m sick of this bitter coffee.”

“I do not.” 

Sasha frowns, a sharp growl pierces the atmosphere and the brunette gives them a sheepish grin. “I ran out of rations.” 

“What! Already?” Armin quips, and Mikasa sighs, “I’m not giving you anything.” 

“Please? You practically still have the rations from the one before the recent pass.” Sasha begs, her hands clasped together. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mikasa mutters, standing up and rolling her shoulders. “And you said that to me last time.” 

Sasha practically pouts and Armin smiles. The brunette was a remarkable joy to the group, despite the tense atmosphere, Sasha always seemed to brighten the mood. Of course, a long arduous war has caused major changes to many, Sasha wasn’t spared of the inevitable shift in personality, but she wasn’t completely shut down.

“Attention soldiers! Everyone, prepare for a march!”

The atmosphere diverts into a full nerve-wracking pressure, with soldiers scuffling around through to stand on a bench and face the battlefield. Mikasa exchanged a look with Armin, one of many they have shared, before the man picked his rifle and made his way to the northern post. She stands up on the bench, the wet dirt of the trench’s wall squelching underneath her weight, eyes strictly forward. 

Mikasa’s stomach tightens at the sunken reminder that this was not a trench shootout, where both sides remained in their respective dugouts and simply aimed to dispatch as many opposing soldiers as possible through gun fire. A march sent soldiers to actively meet against the enemy halfway, with the goal to reach the opposing trench and wipe out the forces. 

Sasha takes the empty spot next to the dark-haired woman, snapping her out of the dreadful conviction. Mike Zacharias, the section commander for their wing, quickly made his presence.

“Everyone, await the orders to fully march along with the rest of the first wave. Be prepared, rifles up!” 

His voice is loud, but carries a calm decibel despite the circumstances. Mike was similar to the military’s General, calm and serious. Mikasa points her rifle forward, ignoring the similar adrenaline already taking root in her body. 

She hated not being in the same section wing with Armin and Eren. 

But she prioritizes the task in hand, for what use would it be if she was proclaimed deceased in this battle due to a fleeble distraction? 

There’s silence, aside from the chatter of teeth and the sniffling of noses. The wind whistles sharply in their ears, the needle-like rain prickling their skin. Mikasa’s jaw is tense, an action to avoid her teeth from clattering, and takes deep inhales to ease the bubbly sensations in her veins.

“Soldiers, advance!” 

Everyone breaks out into a full sprint, the slimy soil splattering onto their bodies. Almost immediately, the familiar ricocheting of gunfire rips through the field, Mikasa ducking in time to avoid a bullet. From the corner of her eyes, she sees some of her comrades collapsing from the hits, never to stand again. 

Men are shouting, some are weeping as they run, and there’s moans and cries of agony all throughout the murky land. Mikasa quickly lays down when she reaches a designated shooting spot, and fires a shot, seeing that her bullet pierces the chest of a Marleyan who falls into a deep ditch. 

She fires plenty more, all of her shots meeting the body of soldiers that collapse and stay fallen, clearing a path for the second wave to follow through. She fires another shot, the bullet whizzing away, when she spots Sasha struggling in a close combat with a Marleyan soldier. 

She points her weapon at them, moving along with the pair, and decides that firing will be risky with all the other soldiers that are running around. So she shoulders her gun and sprints towards the brunette. 

Halfway through the distance, she retrieves a dagger from her belt, tackling the man with full force and both falling into a deep crater in the ground, Sasha crying out. 

Mikasa’s ears ring as she sits on her knees and eventually stands, but a sudden chokehold causes her to grip onto the white uniformed arm of the earlier soldier. She gasps for air that does not come, so she kicks the man on the knee, causing a cry before she plants her feet firmly on the squishy mud and throws him over her shoulder, slamming him against the ground.

The soldier, a young blonde man by the looks of it, enters a frenzy of pained begging when Mikasa hovers over him, his whole body shakes with fear. He struggles against Mikasa’s overpowering grip, straddled underneath her weight as she presses the blade further down towards the center of his chest. A piercing squelch sounds as the dagger fully sinks into the man’s body, his eyes bulging from the invading pain. 

Mikasa does it again, pulls the blade and slams it down one more time, the soldier spluttering blood against her face from his mouth from the liquid flooding his lungs. His green eyes are wide, blinking repeatedly as his hands grasp onto her uniform’s collar. 

Mikasa repeats the motion again, stabbing the man with more force, twisting the dagger in hopes that it would sink deeper and fully kill him. The grip on her coat loosens and the eyes of the soldier glaze, but he’s choking from the blood in his throat, and she lets go. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, her voice level despite the adrenaline that pumps through her. The soldier blinks, staring above at the cloudy sky, and a bloodied hand weakly pats the pocket of his coat.  

“Mikasa!” Sasha screams above the hole, shooting a soldier down. Mikasa blinks, suddenly aware of her doings, but she has done this countless times that she can’t grieve her actions. 

“Eyes forward!” She shouts in return, Sasha cannot be distracted. Mikasa was safe in this deep hole as long as no other opposing soldier made their way to the edge. 

The dying blond pats his breast pocket once more, and Mikasa leans forward, carefully unbuttoning the stained uniform to retrieve a photograph. There’s a stern man, a serious woman, and a young boy that looks exactly like the soldier.

“ Take .” The man coughs, releasing a broken breath before his eyes glaze away completely, and he no longer releases gurgles or spasms. Mikasa stares at the body with shock, but a loud bomb awakens her senses and she frantically reaches forward. 

“Mikasa! Let me help you!” Sasha crouches down, stretching an arm and Mikasa quickly grabs the offered hand. 

Someone up in the front screams a retreat, and Mikasa watches as soldiers run back to the safety of the trench. Sasha gives her a tug, and the two rush back smelling of decay, smoke, and blood. 

The headache that was brewing before the attack was pulsing maddeningly inside her skull, so she cradles her head with her bloody hands, pressing her temples with her fingertips. Sasha is gasping for air beside her, other soldiers quickly pouring in while the last round of gunfire spouts in the distance. She sees the group from earlier, sobbing. 

A metallic coppery taste invades Mikasa’s mouth, her lip has attained a minor cut from the fight, and she swallows thickly. 

Suddenly, panic floods in her.

There was no news of Eren or Armin. 

She doesn’t think things through, standing up despite the massive pain in her head, skillfully pushing through panting soldiers in her way as she travels to the north wing where Eren and Armin were assigned. She comes across Jean, Connie, Ymir and Krista, all heaving from the fight.

“Where’s Eren?”

“We just came back.” Jean coughs, “Try your luck further down. He led a squad.”

“What?” Mikasa hisses, “He’s the least capable for that.” 

“Take it out with the superiors, Ackerman.” Ymir retorts, “He’s either here with the rest of us, or dead in a ditch.” 

“Ymir!” Krista hisses beside her, “That’s so insensitive!”

Mikasa doesn’t have the time for their insults, and instead, travels further down the trench. She sees a familiar lick of blond hair amidst the congestion of soldiers, and she calls out to the blond.

“Armin!” 

Armin turns around, meeting her eyes, “Mikasa! Thank god you’re okay!”

She hugs him, quick and precise. Armin was always a reluctant soldier when it came to killing, who knows what things he had to do to be here standing. 

Eventually, she breaks away from the embrace and looks behind him, “Where’s Eren?”

“Over there.” Armin points, and Mikasa is already heading there before the blond grips her arm. “He’s not okay. He led a squad.”

“So I heard.” 

“Mikasa…I-“

Armin stops himself, tears welling in his blue eyes. “They were killed. Thomas, Nack, Milieus and Mina.” Armin murmurs, his blue eyes wide and his uniform caked in mud. Mikasa stands in place, looking deeply in his disturbed expression, and places a hand on his shoulder. She gives a curt nod of acknowledgement, before passing through another crowd of soldiers, some of whom are heavily wounded. She spots the familiar man bun and broad form.

“Eren!”

The brunette raises his green gaze, meeting her eyes with relief. Mikasa hugs him just as well as she hugged Armin, allowing herself to sink into Eren’s arms. 

“You’re safe.” 

Eren mutters something incoherent, prompting Mikasa to break away. She’s surprised to see tears falling from his eyes, and she frowns but says nothing. She knows why they’re being shed. 

“Those bastards killed them!” 

“Eren.” 

“They blew Mina to pieces and shot Wagner right through the skull. I should’ve called the retreat but instead I kept advancing, and then Tierce and Zeremski were impaled right in the chest!” 

“You did what you could.” Mikasa attempts to sponge his pain, but Eren’s devastation becomes fury. “I’m going to kill them! Every single one of them!”

“Stop that.” Mikasa says firmly, gripping the man’s shoulders tightly. “They’re at peace now.”

Eren bites back a cry, “They’re dead now because of me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mikasa does not reply. 

Eren scoffs, wiping away the tears and stands. “I have to report to Commander Flagon.” 

“He’s dead.” 

Mikasa and Eren turn to look at the owner of the voice. Levi Ackerman, the tactical squad captain, stood in front of them with a grave look. Mikasa had known of her relation to him, as he has to her, but they never treated each other with that friendly approach. That, and Levi’s crude personality with his peers advocated a strong dislike. 

“Shot to pieces. You’re to report to me now.” 

Mikasa’s eyes widen, and internally bristles, but she sees Eren’s fury burn even brighter upon that statement. 

Her eyes flick from his expression to his fists, which are now curled in anguish and rage. Levi’s cold eyes raise deliberately.

When another fat droplet falls from Eren’s eyes, Levi’s scowl deepens. 

“Quit your weeping, you little shit. This is the consequence of war.” 

——————

The night sky is pitch dark blue, with stars scattered throughout the massive darkness. Soldiers are either snoozing away, or awake with shivers. The cold always got worse in the later hours of the day. 

Mikasa has the previous photograph of the deceased soldier, studying it carefully. It’s been years since she had felt pity, possibly even guilt, for a soldier that she killed, so the emotion surfaces a certain peculiar sense in her body. She flips the picture, seeing neat words in the back. 

“Mom, Dad, Falco. I promise I’ll make it back.”

Mikasa quickly flips the photograph back, and takes a deep inhale. 

“What’s that?”

She looks up at Eren, who sits next to her. His hair is loose, but the grime and unwashed periods of time have it pressed onto his scalp. 

“A photograph.”

“Of who?”

“Colt Grice, a Marleyan soldier. I killed him.” 

There’s silence, and Eren sighs. “What have I told you about collecting these things? It’s not in your place to.” 

“Fallen soldiers never get their belongings returned to their families.” Mikasa points out, meeting Eren’s eyes. The brunette frowns, “What, you’re planning to mail these things to the family? Mikasa, how would you feel if the soldier that killed one of us mails you our bloodied belongings?”

Mikasa exhales sharply, but stays calm regardless. “I retrieved the dog tag.” 

“What is wrong with you?” 

Eren’s tone is accusing, with the familiar sharpness of disapproval and even disgust. Mikasa glares at him, “This man has a family, he died on the battlefield. His death will not be recorded because of that.”

Eren scoffs,“That is the least of our problems. They’re the enemy, we worry for our own.”

“He told me to take it.” 

“So what?”

Mikasa stands, anger bubbling in her body. That was the thing about Eren, always stubborn and inconsiderate. “Have some decency.” 

She leaves the stunned man behind, walking further down the line and away from him. She shoves the picture into her own breast pocket, where the dog tag of Colt was kept. She doesn’t know how she’ll do it, but this young man had his life robbed for a war with seemingly no ending. She took it with her hands. His family deserves to visit a memoir with his name engraved on it, acknowledging his sacrifice. 

As she passes through, she sees soldiers whimpering from their injuries. One of them had his legs blown off from a blast, another has shrapnel impaled into his left arm, surely will get amputated as a result. She doesn’t react, years of fighting in the frontlines have exposed her to a variety of gruesome sights. 

The commanders are discussing something in their small dugout, possibly the rearrangement of their wings due to the losses. 

Mikasa might be moved to a much weaker post to make up for it. 

“Ackerman.”

“Not right now, Ymir. I am not in the mood.” Mikasa deadpans, glaring threats at the freckled woman who only grins in amusement. “You’re never in the mood.” 

There’s two underlying messages that that comment carries. One, the obvious sour temperament that she always has, or two, the much sexual prospect of her lack of interest. Mikasa resists the need to curl her lip in disgust, even if she knows that Ymir was fooling around, it still sickens her all the same. 

Ymir knows that her comment had hit a nerve, so that shit-eating grin widens more. 

Jean clears his throat, hoping to snap them out of their sudden hostility. “We’re taking the night watch.”

“Good. Have Ymir take the east point.”

“Wait what?” Ymir frowns, “I’m taking the west wing with Krista!” 

“Not anymore.” Mikasa looks past Ymir to see Marco and Connie. “Springer, take the west wing with Krista, Bott, you’re with Kirstein.” 

Ymir’s scowl is very satisfying, and Mikasa tilts her head slightly. “What? Taking the east point is an honor in itself.”

“Which is better suited for you? You’re an officer, you should be with the higher ups.” Ymir retorts, but Mikasa shrugs. “I suggest you get going. Nanaba and Mike will not be amused if you’re late.” 

Ymir growls, and snatches her rifle from where it’s sitting before marching away. Jean snorts, but shuts up when Mikasa gives him a stare. 

“Right. Marco! Come on.” 

Marco gave Mikasa a nod when he passed her, flanking Jean as they both made their way to the post. She watched them for a moment, before turning her way again and walking further. 

Although not necessarily in command, the superiors had granted Mikasa the right to exercise specific tasks to that of a commander, although in a much less authoritative manner, due to her position as officer. Most of her comrades didn’t question her orders, she was most often then not a squad leader, so the respect was automatic. 

That, and the natural fear they seem to have ingrained into themselves whenever they were around her. Unlike the rest of her comrades, she had mastered every skill when they were in the training corps. Mikasa aimed for high proficiency, with the full intention to protect Eren under Carla’s orders, and eventually Armin was thrown into the mix of individuals that she had desired to shield under her wings. She recalls the look of pure bewilderment on Keith Shadis’ stern face upon her capabilities. 

The urgency of his to get her here at the frontlines. 

Her friends felt safe when they were near her, newer recruits admired her, and enemy soldiers feared her.

Alas, she reaches the point of destination. Sasha awaits her, brow deep in concentration as she fidgets with the ammunition of her rifle. 

This was surely going to be a long night. 

Chapter Text

November 1st, 1856.

—

Sasha’s snores disrupt Mikasa’s concentration. It was something she never had gotten accustomed to, despite the two years of sharing a dormitory with the brunette during their training days. She was used to the silence, the bleak internal noises in her mind that ran loose during late hours, the only sound that disrupted any form of tranquility. 

And right now, Mikasa’s eyes desperately beg to be given a break as well. 

The uncomfortable position did aid with keeping her awake, with her stomach pressed against the curve of the trench. When she closes her eyes, the familiar sting of fatigue prompts her to open them. With a hand, she gently massages her eyelids with a heavy sigh before giving another scan into the distance. 

 She squints slightly when she sees a gleaming shine.  

“Sasha.”

Her hand shakes the other woman, her eyes still trained to the odd light.

“A minute more.”

“Sasha. Wake up.”

“What?” Sasha groans, rubbing her eyes and wiping drool from her lips. Mikasa gestures forwards, “Look.”

Sasha follows, a minor squint in her eyes as she spots the strange flare. She uses the sight of her rifle as well, preparing to get a clean shot if needed.

“It’s a light.”

“It’s not a scope reflector.” Mikasa hums in agreement. Sasha places a finger on the trigger, adjusting her position. “Should we shoot it?”

“No. The spark fire will alarm them.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Observe. I don’t want you falling asleep, you’re a much more accurate shot than me.” Mikasa murmurs, taking the chance to turn around and lean against the cavity. Her spine pops and cracks as a result, and she exhales in relief from the change of position. 

Sasha scoffs beside her, “As if, you excelled in everything.”

Mikasa looks at the brunette, “You’re expertise with weaponry does not compete with my proficiency.” 

“Mikasa, they don’t call you the war goddess for nothing, you know.” Sasha muses, releasing her hold on her gun. Her brown eyes meet Mikasa’s own, a small smile on her lips. Mikasa turns her gaze away, thinking, “Hm.”

“You should take pride in that.” Sasha continues, a hand on the taller one’s shoulder. Mikasa flinches from the touch, and she turns around to face no man’s land with a frown, “In what? Killing efficiently?”

Sasha winces, “When you put it that way-“

“There’s nothing to be proud about, Sasha.” Mikasa deadpans, “I’ve killed. You’ve killed. Killing is easy now. Taking a human life should not be as easy as breathing and blinking.” 

Sasha’s face is twisted in thought, but Mikasa can see the gears of question turning in her mind. “Mikasa-”

“The light is getting larger.” Mikasa interrupts, her expression grave. 

Sasha blinks, seemingly remembering, “The light?”

They both look at the growing reflection until eventually it grows into a flare. It’s small, a little speckle of orange, and Mikasa’s stomach drops. 

“It’s an artillery attack.”

“What?” Sasha shouts, but Mikasa turns around, “Everyone take cover!” 

The sleeping soldiers awake with alarmed expressions on their sleep-addled faces, but an explosive sound that sends dirt and debris flying into the trenches awakes them fully. They all shout quickly as they make their way to the nearest dugouts, with some soldiers exploding from direct contact with the bombs. 

Mikasa abandons her post, Sasha following her shortly behind as they shove themselves into a dugout. Rats frantically scurry between their feet, squeaking as they hide in crevices. Neither she nor Sasha grimaces from the rodents. Amidst the terrified soldiers, Jean is squished between two older soldiers. He covers his ears with a twisted look, wincing whenever a loud explosion accompanied by screams of the unlucky pierce his covered eardrums. Sasha quickly makes her way to the man, pulling him out of the sandwhich he is in to comfort him, and mostly herself. 

Mikasa observes the entrance, hoping that Armin or Eren will pave their way inside and reunite with her, but neither of the two reaches this specific dugout. Marley’s army would more than likely spend the whole night dragging this artillery attack out, in hopes of taking out as many of Paradis’ men as possible. 

Another soot-covered soldier seeps into the dugout, tears weeping from his eyes. Mikasa closes her own, leaning against a post, and prays. 

——————

Morning comes in the shape of a pale white sky, with a thick coating of black smoke. 

The attack had ceased, but the deaths had only risen. Mikasa steps over a fallen soldier almost immediately after she leaves the dugout. 

“Mikasa!” 

She turns to see Armin and Eren both, and her heart leaps in relief. Armin encloses her figure with his arms, giving a subtle squeeze to make sure she isn’t a trick in his mind. When he lets go, he places a hand on her shoulder with a tight smile, a pained one.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a little shaken up.” Armin reassures, “What about you? The attacks were aimed in this section in particular.”

“I’m fine.” Mikasa nods, but a groan behind her has all of them snapping their gazes to see. A soldier limps out of the dugout with the help of two others. His leg is stiff and bleeding, and he cries every time his leg brushes against debris or corpses. 

“I suppose some of us aren’t always fortunate.” Armin murmurs guiltily, and Mikasa hums in agreement. 

Eren, always the reluctant one of the two men, places a hand on Mikasa’s bicep and gives a soft squeeze. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Mikasa sees the large surge of relief on his face, and she recalls that they last saw each other after that argument about Colt’s belongings. 

“Me too.” She grabs his hand, which is still on her arm, and gives a squeeze in return. 

Eren’s eyes flick to something behind her, and his hold on her immediately retracts. Mikasa looks behind in time to see Captain Levi approaching. 

“Soldiers.”

“Sir!” They all say in unison, standing erect. Levi gives them each a glance before his gaze lands on Mikasa. His expression seems calculative, and it transpires to Armin when he breaks his stare to glance at the blond man. Eventually, he tosses a small pouch, which Mikasa grabs with a swift hand. 

“You know the drill by now.” He murmurs, “Collect the tags of the fallen.”  

Mikasa salutes, Armin and Eren following her lead.

“Once you’re done, take a break behind our lines.” Levi gruffs while looking up at the white sky, a blurry smoke escaping his lips from the cold. “The day is promising, we ought to reward you for your work. Spread the word Yeager.” 

When Levi turns away, Mikasa faces her group, giving them a melancholy look before leaving to fulfill her orders. She crouches down on the soldier she saw at the bunker's entrance, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his uniform to pull the necklace with the dog tags out. 

She snaps one of the dog tags from the necklace, tucking the it away into the pouch. She repeats this five more times, eventually coming across a familiar body. This soldier was Tom, a member of her old squad when they were training. With a heavy breath, she snapped his dog tag and let it fall into the pouch with the rest. 

By the end of the ordeal, Mikasa had collected the tags of two other soldiers that she was familiar with. Ruth D. Kline and Hanna Diament, two of her comrades taken too soon. 

The dog tag in her breast pocket seems to ignite in a taunting flame, burning a reminder in her chest. 

——————

“She’s had a rough few days.” 

Armin takes a bite out of his stiff bread from his rations, listening to Sasha as they are all gathered at a respectful distance from Mikasa, who was passed out in sleep against a tree. Her arms were crossed, a leg over the other. 

“I mean, while watch, she was acting a little off.”

“I agree.” Eren chimes in, “She collected some belongings from a Marleyan soldier she had killed. You all know how odd that is.”

The group hums in agreement, until Armin says, “We should give her the benefit of the doubt, she’s a commanding officer after all. They always have it much tougher than the rest of us.” 

“Huh?” Ymir intercepts bitterly, “I think she’s still the same bitch she’s been since cadet days.” 

“Watch what you say.” Eren hisses, and Ymir yawns, “Or what? You’ll slap me, Yeager?”

“You need to get over yourself. You’re upset because you didn’t get to fawn over Krista for the trillionth time.” Jean retorts, tossing a breadcrumb at the woman. 

“Am not!” Ymir responds furiously, but the red hue on her freckled face gives off the obvious truth. “You’re all miserable because you don’t have someone in this shithole to be with. Mikasa just needs someone to get into her pants, you’ll see the difference. Kierstan, you should be the one.” 

Jean chokes on his coffee, “Shut up with this nonsense, Ymir.”

“What? You have the clear hots for her.” Ymir taunts, diverting the previous attention on her to the man. Jean scoffs, but the red on his cheeks don’t aid. Eren grimaces, “You’re gross. Our comrades are dying around us and you’re still the ever careless one. As for you, Jean, Mikasa would never go out with a dumbass like you.”

“Fuck you, Yeager!”

“Cut it out, you two.” Armin scowls, “We’re in no position to be discussing foolish things. We’re solders in active war. Please act accordingly.”

Jean takes a gulp of his coffee with a bitter hum, while Eren frowns but clears his throat.

Armin stares passively at Ymir, who shrugs. “Anyway, she needs sleep. Look, she’ll be refreshed when she wakes up.” Armin continues, ignoring the hostility between the other two and gesturing towards Mikasa.

Ymir scoffs, “If she even wakes up.” 

Eren makes a huffing noise out of frustration, his breath coming out in a vaporized cloud. Sasha and Connie give eachother grimaces, shivering from the bitter cold. “At this rate, the sky will fall upon us with snow.”

“Shut up!” Sasha whines, “I don’t think I can handle it.”

Connie frowns, “It snowed last year around October, don’t be surprised if it falls this month.”

“Ugh.” Sasha whines amidst clattering teeth, Armin sighs from the prospect of such and observes the resting woman, wondering what plagued her mind, and trying to recollect when this pattern of disturbance had begun.

——————

When Mikasa awakens, she awakens with a bruising shiver in her body.

This time, her teeth do chatter, and she stretches with a wince at the soreness of her muscles. She blinks when she sees Eren, Armin, Jean, Sasha and Connie staring quizzically at her, and she raises a brow. “What?”

“You were out cold for a while.” Eren comments, tossing a piece of stiff bread at her, “Which, is very unlike you.”

Mikasa catches the stray piece, but does not eat it. She doesn’t appreciate the underlying tone of suspicion in Eren’s voice “It’s only been a few minutes.”

“It’s been exactly two hours and twenty five minutes.” Jean intercepts, looking down at his watch. Eren looks at his own, confirming the observation with a nod. 

“Two hours?”

Mikasa looks around the field to see numerous of other soldiers huddled in circles, drinking their own share of drinks and eating their portion of rations. A sharp needle-like pain pierces the muscle of her shoulder, and she bites back a groan. 

“We must get back.” She says, standing and rolling her aching shoulder. A look at the sky indicates a bruising cold, and potentially, a snow storm. 

The others seem to know that as well, as Sasha gives a solemn look at Connie who shrugs and whispers, “I told you so.”

“Do we really need to return? Neither of the commanders have given the word.” Eren inquires, but Mikasa is staring solely forward. 

“You spoke too soon.”

The five of them turn and stand almost immediately with stiff bodies. Levi was approaching them with a deadly glare, two older officers flanking either side of his otherwise short frame. 

“Officer Ackerman.”

Mikasa straightens, meeting his challenging glare with one of her own, but the captain seems amused, if anything. The momentary stare down is shut off when the blue eyes of the senior soldier searches in between the group, eventually falling onto Armin who stands even more erect than before. 

“Your name, soldier.”

“Armin Arlet sir!” Armin shouts, saluting. Levi gives him a look over, before mumbling something incoherent and giving a skeptical look to his soldiers, they both frown and one of them even shrugs.

“Both of you, come with me. The general wishes to speak to you privately.”

Armin and Mikasa give each other a reproachful look, but follow nonetheless. Armin gives his comrades a final glance, who watch them depart with worrisome expressions of their own. 

“What do you think is going on?” Armin whispers, leaning in slightly into Mikasa’s space.

 “I can’t say for certain, but it must be serious.”

They descend down the trench, Levi cutting through all these twists and turns while conversing with his two men. One of them speaks loud enough for Mikasa’s sharp ears to hear. 

“The blond pipsqueak looks like he’ll hardly harm a fly. Are we sure we have the right man?”

“He confirmed his identity.” Levi grumbles, “He’s smart, apparently.”

Mikasa bristles, of course Armin was smart. He was crazily astute and observant and everything tactical that a few commanders did not even possess for such a rank. She would follow Armin’s orders undoubtedly if the day came for him to take a position. 

“He doesn’t seem as physically gifted, captain. The other one however…”The soldier turned slightly to give Mikasa a look, but she met his glance with a hardened stare. He quickly turned his gaze away, “There’s no doubt about it, she’s a crucial weapon.” 

Levi turned enough to give Mikasa a look of his own, and for a moment, she saw the reflection of her father in his gaze. The moment doesn’t last long, as Levi and his men stop in front of an entrance of a bunker and turn around to face their subordinates. 

“I’ll advise you, the weather today has taken an unfavorable path.” 

The weather? 

Mikasa’s scowl deepens slightly, but Armin is quick to speak, “Whatever it is, captain. We’re sure we are up for the task.” 

“Sure you will.” The previous soldier snickers, and Levi goes inside. The dugout for the commanders has a thick cover with the sigil of the Survey Corps, and Mikasa pushes through the thick sheet with Armin closely behind. 

“Officer Ackerman and Soldier Armin Arlet, sir.”

The adressed salute in front of the imposing general, who eyes them carefully. “Officer Ackerman, I’ve heard quite a lot of impressive details about you as of late.”

His voice is strong, but his tone is nervously calm. Mikasa swallows the dryness in her throat before speaking, “General Smith.” 

Smith nods and looks at Armin, who shifts uncomfortably under his intense gaze.“And you must be Armin Arlet, I’m glad I’ve had the pleasure to meet you today.”

“It’s an honor to be before you, sir.” Armin speaks, but his voice is shaky. Mikasa briefly scans the room, the atmosphere is dark with a few candles scattered around. Commander Hange Zoe is present, flanked by Nile Dok and Pixis Dot. Section commanders Nanaba, Mike and another man she isn’t familiar with is also there.

“I’m proud of you both, soldiers, but I’m afraid this meeting isn’t just for the satisfaction of introductions.” Smith speaks, staring down at the table before him.

“I figured.” 

Armin gives a fretful glance at Mikasa, who stares strictly forward. General Smith’s thick brows furrow, but any indication that Mikasa’s comment offended him, he does not show. Instead, he continues, “To begin with, you’re both about to receive important private orders from myself and my superiors. We’ve all come to the agreement that this mission should be taken under both of your leadership.”

Mikasa stays quiet, hands behind her back as she has been taught. Armin, always the more skilled with conversation, asks reluctantly, “I fail to understand sir, are we leading an attack?”

Smith hums, “Yes. We’ve been informed that Marley has requested reinforcements for this particular section of warfare. A group of young soldiers that are currently residing ten miles to the east of this trench. Not only does this indicate that their forces are losing this sector, but they’re desperate, and we’re winning this battle.” 

As Smith points to areas on the map, Mikasa meets Levi’s stare, and if she squints hard enough, she can see blonde hair and a kinder face of a man she no longer remembers. 

“Your task is to overwhelm and dispatch these rookie squads. You’ll both lead a divergent group with soldiers of your class, a sizable group if you may.”

“Pardon the interruption, sir, but captain Levi informed us of ill weather, wouldn't it interfere with our mission?” Mikasa inquires, her gaze never faltering from Levi’s glare. Levi raises a challenging brow, and Mikasa breaks the staredown to meet Erwin’s blue eyes.

“A snow storm that is set to fall this evening, a blizzard has been hovering over us. I apologize for this inconvenience, but as soldiers, we must do what will benefit our nation.” 

“We understand, sir.” Armin answers for Mikasa instead, as she is busy analyzing Levi with a critical look that does not go unnoticed by the general. Once again, if Mikasa’s lack of respect bothers him, the general makes no motive to confront it. 

“I’d suggest that you all receive a change of fresher uniforms, as well as request that you acquire thermal wear to keep warm during this expedition. We have a list of soldiers that are to travel with you.”

He gestures to Commander Zoe, who approaches the two with a smile. She gives the file to Armin and returns to her place next to Levi and another man. 

“I want you all to spend the day resting for this endeavor, as you will travel into later hours once the sun has completely set.” Smith concludes, standing at his full height. Both her and Armin offer a firm salute,“Yes sir!”

“Good. I entrust you Arlet, your quick wits remind me of my own youth as a prospering commander. Officer Ackerman, you have the burn of steel akin to that of your relative. You both will make a lethal impression.” A small smile forms on his face as those words leave his mouth, and Mikasa realizes that he truly believes in their capabilities. 

“Thank you sir!”

“Good luck.”

They offer a final salute, and the officer is the first to leave the dark space. She walks with a small urgency within her steps, but Armin quickly catches up to her with a look of trepidation. 

“What is up with you?”

“What are you talking about?” Mikasa responds half-heartedly, venturing down the path. Armin frowns, “You were distracted in there. The general looked at you and you were busy looking somewhere else, something you would never do. Mikasa, what is wrong?”

“You’re overthinking.” Mikasa hisses, glaring at a soldier that looks at her with critical eyes. 

“Is it because of the marleyan soldier?”

“No.” Mikasa snaps, halting with her steps and almost causing Armin to collide against her. The blond has a conflicted expression, brows knitted together in thought. “Mikasa. You can talk to me.”

“Armin.” 

Her tone is sharp, demanding. Armin blinks in surprise, but sighs in defeat, “Alright, but if you ever need to speak-”

“I know. Let’s round up the group, we leave as soon as the sun sets.” 

Armin watches Mikasa take steps forward, and he has no other choice but to comply. 

——————

Freshening up was always a marvelous task in these downcasted days. 

Mikasa stares at her reflection through a broken and displaced mirror, beads of water falling in between the rigid lines of her muscular body. She’s losing definition, as expected, but it is still a displeasing fact. 

She allows her eyes to travel a thick fleshy line that went over her chest and another pair of scars that trailed down her hip bones from the harness of their uniform. These were caused by a chest buckle that went around and was fastened in front of the torso, with the pure purpose of support. This belt was eventually strapped down to a similar belt that was around the hips, where gear such as grenades and extra weaponry was strapped onto.

Years of these pesky harnesses had dug into the skin and caused nasty scars. 

The pair of dull scissors calls to her, and without thinking, she grabs them to trim the longer lengths of hair. 

She analyzes the finished product, decently proud of her patchy work, and turns to get dressed in the thermal bodysuit. It is quite an uncomfortable task, with the tight clothing immediately sticking onto her wet body, but there’s no such thing as complaints on the battlefield. 

She fastens the individual buckles and straps of the clothing, pulling the zipper up to her neck and eventually enclosing it with her signature white shirt and uniform pants. The material underneath is thick, but with this cold, it is surely not an unwanted layer. Strapping the harness responsible for the scars is a different ordeal in itself, but again, complaints are never spoken. 

A new trench coat awaits her eagerly, with the only exception being her scarf which was now being washed with her previous uniform. 

When she enlisted, she was issued a complete set of uniforms with an extra pair. Their name tags were always stitched onto the breast of the coats, for easy identification, as well as the uniform tag on the back. 

This was one of the two pairs, freshly washed and waiting. 

Mikasa shoulders her coat, M. Ackerman is finely encrypted onto the fabric, and slips her dog tags over her neck, tucking them away inside her green coat.

She gives herself a final look over before deciding that she looks presentable enough. She leaves outside where her friends and soldiers are awaiting, Eren tossing her a fully loaded rifle with a pouch full of rounds. 

“Ready, captain?” 

Surprisingly, there’s no form of jealousy in his tone. There’s evident excitement in his eyes, his voice doesn’t hide it at all, but Mikasa cannot return the same thrill. 

“Everyone ready?”

“Awaiting your orders.” Jean confirms. 

Mikasa meets the expectant eyes of her comrades, and Armin stands beside her with newly renewed vigor. He hands a bag of supplies to the ravenette, who takes it and shoulders it as well. 

“Officer Ackerman has been titled Captain for this mission.” Armin begins, “As have I. However, the authority has been given fully to Captain Ackerman. Everyone present is expected to follow our orders, but foremost, will abide by General Smith’s commands to eliminate Marley’s reinforcements.”

Everyone salutes in acknowledgment, and Armin gives her the opportunity to talk. Mikasa takes a step forward, meeting each pair of eyes individually before speaking, “Captain Arlet has addressed the most important task. You all are to abide by my commands. If I say move, you all move. If we face complications and I am dispatched, everyone is to follow Captain Arlet’s orders, are we clear?”

“Yes Captain Ackerman!” Everyone says in unison. 

“Very well, let’s move along.” 

Everyone starts their march, Mikasa in the front of the group with Armin by her side. Snow had begun to fall not even in the first mile of their travel, and Armin eventually confirms that the blizzard is hot on their tails, furthering the snow into a windy blur of white.

But Mikasa doesn’t give the command to stop yet, and she doesn’t falter upon the bruising wind or the punishing snow. 

The hour is 20:35, they had three hours to travel. 

If everything went according to plan, Marley’s squads would be easy to dispose of due to the element of surprise being granted to her group. 

They don’t stop for another hour, with 3 miles already claimed. Eren hikes up to Mikasa’s step, a gloved hand over his eyes. “We should stop!”

“We haven’t even traveled half of the distance!” Mikasa shouts, squinting to avoid the piercing snow from invading her eyes. 

“Mikasa, everyone is tired! At this rate, we won’t have a squad of our own to fight against Marley’s reinforcements.” 

“He’s right!” Armin shouts besides her, “We can take shelter in that cabin there!”

He points to an abandoned but decent sized cabin, and Mikasa releases a breath. “Fine, alright.” 

She turns to face the soldiers, who shiver understandably from the wind. “We will advance whenever the storm has died down! Refrain from engaging any enemies if spotted. Focus on recovering energy.”

The cabin isn’t warm, but that is quickly fixed with a fire in the furnace that must have gone years unused. Everyone huddles around the growing flame, stretching their limbs as close as possible without burning themselves in the process. 

Mikasa doesn’t gather around, instead she stands by a window and observes the blizzard. 

Even when her men fall asleep, she doesn’t leave her designated spot. She grants them this small break, soon enough, they will be out. 

Armin sets an alarm for fifteen minutes, and Mikasa closes her eyes while she counts the ticking seconds. The storm had loosened, but it was still a risky endeavor to try and travel through it. 

At one point, she succumbs to sleep. She dreams of her father, of times that seem like centuries ago. Her mother holds her, smiling warmly at her despite the evident conflict in her eyes. 

There’s a child who she never met once in her life, and realizes that it would’ve been her younger sibling had the unfortunate tragedy never occurred. 

That’s enough to impulse her awake, and two seconds go by for Armin’s watch to blare out. 

Everyone reluctantly stands, groaning as they shake away the sleep from their bones. The storm had fully died down, leaving a winter wonderland behind. Mikasa looks to Armin who gives the command to the rest of the group, and they leave the comfort of the cabin behind as they continue their trek. 

They travel for another hour, their knees aching and their feet numb from the snow despite their boots. The moon above is bright and strong, and the snow gleams against the moonlight, making it easy to see without the need of flashlights. 

They stumble across a deep river, the currents high and dangerous. Armin spots a wide and long bridge and signals at the group to continue. 

“Watch your step, keep your eyes open.” Armin shouts, Connie and Sasha are the first to follow, with Eren and Jean besides the blond. 

There’s broken down wagons and massive boxes scattered about on the flat bridge, abandoned for a while. There’s one box in particular that arouses peculiar suspicion, and Mikasa stops abruptly. 

“Wait.”

Everyone stops in their tracks, turning to meet the distrustful look of their leader. Eren eventually asks, “What is it?”

“Something doesn't feel right.”

From where she’s standing, Mikasa notices that a certain box is finished with new wood, an indicator that it was recently placed there. She glances around the thicket of the forest, frantically searching for something out of nature. Eventually she catches the glimpse of a familiar white uniform. 

Her stomach sinks with realization, “It’s an ambush.” 

A shot fired across the clearing, and a soldier collapses without much struggle. A gaping hole is centered perfectly on the man’s skull, and Mikasa shouts, “Retreat! Everyone Scatter!” 

Panicked steps and countless fired rounds send everyone into a frenzy. Mikasa hides behind wooden crates, narrowly escaping the hefty shot of a sniper. Armin and Eren nestle beside her.

“Shit.” Eren hisses, and leans forward to shoot. 

Many of her unsuspecting comrades fall from the shots, with the distinctive crackle of the sniper. Whoever was the designated shooter, they were tragically proficient. 

Mikasa aims a shot at an approaching enemy soldier who falls with a hand clenched around his bleeding throat, once more, narrowly missing another fired shot.  

“How did this happen?” Armin questions fretfully, “They weren’t supposed to know we were coming!”

“They must have infiltrated a communication line.” Eren answers, but Mikasa shakes her head. 

“They set us a trap.” 

Her boys give her defeated gazes, but Eren shouts curses out of rage. 

Marley had set them a trap, and they fell right into it. 

Hundreds of outcomes run through her mind, but one stands out the most. Everyone here dies, and their mission has been a failure.

“We’re overwhelmed!” Jean shouts from his hiding place, Marco is next to him nursing a wound on his thigh. Ymir and Krista embrace one another in an intimate hug, and Mikasa exhales. 

“I’ll distract them.”

“What?” Both Armin and Eren hiss, snapping their wild gazes at her as if she just spoke the most outlandish thing on earth. To their credit, it surely was. 

“I can do it. I’m strong, I’ll serve as a decoy and get them busy. The sniper knows I’m the captain, they’ll take the bait. The rest of you will advance through when the opportunity presents.” Mikasa speaks, more determined than ever. 

“Mikasa, that’s suicide!”

Armin jumps in his place when hands grip his shoulders with force, “You must complete the mission! You take this squad and dispose of the target. This is an order, soldier. Do you understand?” 

Mikasa’s voice is grave, and he swallows the thick lump in his throat. He could not argue, “Yeah-Yes, Captain.” 

“Armin, whatever happens next….” Mikasa trails off, and Eren is shock-stricken besides them both. 

“Mikasa, wait-“

But Mikasa is already sprinting full force down the bridge, jumping over the corpses of her comrades and taking cover behind a massive rock. She shoots two soldiers from this position, and dispatches three more just before the sniper could react. She takes into account the extra six soldiers she just evaded, enough of a breakthrough. 

But rough hands grip her throat, and she thrashes wildly as the owner of these hands raise her up and flip her around, pressing her against the snowy rock. 

“You bitch!” He spats out, punching Mikasa right on the face, splitting her lip. 

Mikasa kicks the man on the stomach, causing the man to loosen his hold on her to nurse the pain on his gut. She takes advantage of the moment and unsheathes the blade on the soldier’s belt, slitting his throat and closing her eyes as the blood sprays onto her face. 

She pushes him away, and wipes a hand on her eyes from the temporary blindness. She turns in time to see that Armin is guiding the squad cautiously through the breakthrough. 

She advances in the opposite direction, shooting at soldiers who all turn their attention towards her. She’s deadly close to the edge of the roaring river, but her position provides a substantial amount of clearance, and Armin has clear sights of her. There’s no booming echo of the wretched sharpshooter as well, perhaps taken out while she wasn’t aware. 

She takes a moment to collect her breath, closing her eyes to rest them for a while, but branches crack beside her, and she turns just in time to dodge a lethal kick to the head. 

A blonde woman stands before her, crystal blue eyes piercing through her own steely greys like the ice that had just formed around the frosted snow. Mikasa’s gaze leaves the deadly look of the other for a second, noticing the sleek and gleaming black bolt action rifle hooked on the blonde’s shoulder.

She was the sniper. 

She circles Mikasa, who stands centered with watchful eyes. The blonde looked like a prowling predator, eyeing her critically. 

There’s something akin to challenge in her piercing irises, so Mikasa awaits another attack, raising her hands defensively with no hand held weapons. This provokes an eyebrow raise, but the look of concentrative ire is schooled back. The soldier lands another deadly blow, this time it connects against a tree, causing bark to fall and break away. 

When the opportunity presents itself, Mikasa tackles the blonde against the frosted ground, and the two twist and turn desperately with groans whenever a hard punch or painful scratch is given. Mikasa eventually twists free from the blonde’s deadly hold, kicking her brutally against her ribs.

She stands long enough to regain her breath, but it is short lived, as the blonde hurls herself onto her frame and grips her uniform’s collar with a sharp pointed dagger around her ring. Mikasa grips her perpetrator’s hand, straining to avoid the blade, keeping the blonde’s hold solely on her collar to prevent it from moving any closer to her jugular. Despite her small frame, the sharpshooter was incredibly strong. 

But Mikasa’s boots slip against the frozen mud.

It takes her a second to register that she is falling. The blonde’s angry scowl twists into panic, and the last she hears is Armin’s and Eren’s cries as she makes contact with freezing water

Chapter Text

November 1st, 1856, 23:45 PM

—

Mikasa was trained to fight a war on land, never in treacherous waters. 

Her body strains against the unforgiving currents. Everywhere in her body is set alight in a bruising frosty fire as she flails around, trying to find purchase, but a strong current submerges her entirely below the surface. 

When she resurfaces, water spews from her gasping lips.

It's a devastating struggle trying to fight such a fluid force of strength. She finds that not even her sturdiness is enough to stop herself from being carried away into chilling waves. 

She hears heaving coughs across the river and sees blonde hair and icy eyes struggling just as well as she is. Mikasa oversees the woman despite this circumstance, and at this moment she can’t even acknowledge that the other is an enemy, an opponent so diligent that Mikasa’s violent efforts to fend her off were not enough.

Something raw snaps inside her body, a foreign and oddly familiar sensation. It’s similar to the fury she rarely ever feels, but it’s powerful like an instinct that comes naturally to the human soul. She’s vaguely distracted, watching the other woman with an intensity that she is positive could burn holes if it had the power, and the more she stares the more she finds that she cannot stand this opposition, this threat to her own existence.

Almost distraughtly, she registers that the feeling she feels is fear .

A stray and sunken branch whips Mikasa in the abdomen, snapping her out of her thoughts and nearly knocking the breath out of her body. Tears border her eyes, but a sharp rock grazes her hip and it is almost enough for them to fall. 

Her arms burn from fighting the current and her legs protest from the bruising hits she receives under the river’s rocky bank, but she keeps her head high and above the biting cold of the waters. 

The stranger isn’t as lucky. 

Mikasa sees her progressively sink and reappear with ailing eyes, her small frame does not serve any benefit for her struggle. If the waters dragged Mikasa like a rag doll, then surely the soldier was an even easier thrashing toy. 

The perceived fear returns once more, and with it, a new sense of anger surfaces just as strongly. Mikasa feels the burning desire for the challenge in her veins, coursing through her like the adrenaline that cushioned her at this very given moment. She wants to destroy this soldier with her own hands and prove her worth as a commanding officer, and a leader . 

But something in her chest and gut scream at her to do anything, a plea much stronger than her ire, and the sharp voice in her mind reminds her of her loyalties in retaliation, how attempting to save a Marleyan soldier opposes all of those loyalties to her nation. 

A final look at the weakened state of the blonde, and seemingly all the fury in her quenches down. Mikasa cannot stop herself from springing into action.

She’ll make up for this later. 

The soldier rises with half-lidded eyes, jaw clenched and body loose by the time Mikasa reaches her. There’s enough hostility in her expression, daring the taller woman, warning of threats and promises. Mikasa grips the white uniform and pulls her closer in response, earning a hiss of protest. Her body is far too weak and damaged to oppose Mikasa’s assistance regardless. 

Mikasa’s eyes cast down to her chest, at the imprinted name. 

A.Leonhardt 

Leonhardt’s lidded eyes look warily at Mikasa, but there’s alarm in her gaze and she attempts to speak through sharp shivers. 

“What?!” She hisses angrily, trying to compose herself from also imitating the blonde with her biting cold.

Leonhardt points with a wrinkled forefinger at the distance. 

“Waterfall.” 

Fucking hell. 

Mikasa’s grip on the other soldier tightens until her feet no longer feel the cursed bank, and her insides sink into her body when she falls once more.

——————

The overwhelming sensation of drowning is what propelled Mikasa to the surface of the dark lakes.

When she rises, she takes a massive gasp of air, her lungs feel like they’re going to explode in her chest as a result, and her body is sluggish and slow from any movements. 

She floats around for a while, recollecting her breath until she looks around for Leonhardt. There’s no sight of her, but she notices bubbles nearby. The woman was sinking. 

Don’t do it.

Mikasa closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. She already did her part by keeping the blonde afloat during the river’s rapid currents, already did enough by holding her close so the branches and debris would not wound or kill her if Leonhardt could not surface it was because she didn’t desire to live hard enough despite Mikasa’s previous efforts. 

Mikasa makes a move to advance to the shore, but that painful ache in her body isn’t allowing her to continue. 

She can’t fathom why it bothers her now to kill. Perhaps it was the wrath in the blonde’s eyes that reminded her of Eren’s impulsive anger, or the blonde hair that was a shade lighter but similar to that of Armin’s. It felt… wrong.

With a frustrated huff, she turns around and quickly approaches the bubbles, taking a deep breath before diving into the icy waters. It feels like she’s swimming forever, launching herself deeper until she catches a glimpse of a white uniform. 

Leonhardt’s eyes are lidded, offering Mikasa a debilitating stare. Mikasa swims towards the blonde and slides her hands underneath the arms, pulling her up with all the strength she can muster. When they both break the surface, the blonde splutters and gasps painfully. 

Reaching the shore is a handy task, but Mikasa’s height allows her to touch the bank way before the blonde, and she switches her hold of Leonhardt by gripping the scruff of her uniform, dragging her through the soft ripples of the water like a man dragging their ill-tempered dog. Leonhardt doesn’t even protest from the lack of respect and simply allows the discourteous action.

The snow crunches underneath Mikasa’s wet footsteps, and that’s her cue to release her hold on the blonde’s body, which falls flat against the snow with a cough. She continues forward, ignoring the sounds of discomfort behind her, grabbing her forgotten rifle that had survived the fall and now lay on the frosted snow, praying it wasn’t damaged.

“Wait.”

The meek voice behind her forces her to stop with a deep, annoyed breath. Turning around with anger in her eyes, she sees the pitiful sight of the Marleyan soldier, who sits on her knees and eyes her wearily.

“What?” 

Her voice is bitter, laced with hostility, and the blonde takes a strong breath as if contemplating whether she wants to press any further or speak her mind. Eventually, she mutters, low enough that Mikasa strains to hear, “We’re lost in unknown terrain.”

Mikasa’s scowl deepens, “I’m aware.” 

“You saved me just now.”

Mikasa glares, the truth of those words clung heavily in the air, taunting her for the genuineness it carries. Slowly, Mikasa raises her rifle and points it at the blonde, placing her finger on the trigger, feeling a scalding ire out of nowhere. Leonhardt raises a trembling hand in surrender. 

 “I’m beginning to regret it, too.”

“Fine. Shoot me. I don’t think it makes a difference anyway.” Leonhardt coughs, lowering her hand and easing against the frosted ground. 

There’s a pause, with Mikasa staring down at her opponent who awaits her death. The ravenette closes her eyes again, trying to will herself to shoot, but she can’t. Or rather she won’t. The soldier was already a lost cause here in the wilderness.

You’re a lost cause too. A voice in her mind hisses, and she loosens her stance, allowing the gun to fall. Leonhardt looks up at her then with confusion, but that is quickly replaced with her signature scowl.

That, and the dooming fear that wraps Mikasa’s insides like a dangerous snake. Fear she never felt in war, not even in her trainee days. A fear that will continue to persist if this soldier is kept alive and away because that means an actual threat exists in the world, and Mikasa could perish.

She decides that keeping her within her line of sight works best to her advantage, even if it’s just to keep that strange fear in check, but that in itself is also a deadly thing to do. Traveling with a soldier from Marley, a proficient enemy no less, a natural recipe for disaster.

There is only one option right now, and Mikasa simply can’t do it. 

“I know what you’re implying. I’m not a fool.” Mikasa says cautiously, “But I must remind you that I wield the gun, so you must abide by my orders. Understood, Marleyan?”

The blonde seems pensive for a moment, until she murmurs, “Yes.”

“Stand up.” 

Leonhardt struggles to even do so, but Mikasa isn’t merciful. She nears the blonde and roughly pulls her up by an arm, causing her to groan in pain. Mikasa then becomes acutely aware of the protests in her body, the exhaustion suddenly crippling. Leonhardt also appears to be in the same state, if the struggle to even remain standing isn’t an indication of such. 

“Weapons.” 

Leonhardt glances over her shoulder, but Mikasa doesn’t halt in her anger. The blonde rolls her eyes before slipping a handgun from inside her coat and two daggers, handing them to slim hands. The paradis’ soldier raises a brow accusingly, shooting a glance at the gleaming band of silver wrapped around the blonde’s finger. 

Leonhardt shifts slightly to face her, “The ring stays.” 

Mikasa frowns, “What did I say?” 

“Please.” Leonhardt murmurs, never removing her gaze from Mikasa. 

Mikasa stares in return, hardening her gaze, before speaking, “Move.” 

A pointed push against the blonde’s back and Leonhardt stumbles forward with a grunt. 

Mikasa follows after the blonde, wincing from the strain of muscles. The wound on her thigh had long stopped bleeding, the cold numbing the pain. 

A light blur of snow begins to fall from the dark sky, both Mikasa and Leonhardt are shivering profoundly from the cold as they travel. It did not help that Mikasa’s inner layers, especially the thermal wear, were soaked and added more to the freeze she felt, and her outer layers were starting to curl into thin ice. 

Mikasa grips her gun even more and guides the blonde to a nearby village. Everything is abandoned, a ghost town. They approach a nearby cabin, not really thinking about their safety, rather than the impulse of the cold, and they stop in front of the door, with Mikasa getting in position while Leonhardt watches her skeptically. 

“Follow behind me,” Mikasa whispers, composing herself from chattering, and she kicks the door with enough force to let it loose but not enough to break it off its hinges. She gives a final look at her apparent companion, who narrows her bitter gaze, unamused. Mikasa frowns slightly but makes her way inside.

The cabin is fairly empty, with no signs of any recent activity from anyone or anything. The furniture had gained a fair layer of dust, the place a lost memory. Despite it, Mikasa keeps her guard up, carefully scanning every nook and corner, attentive for any noise.

When it is clear that they are secured, Mikasa rummages through drawers and cabinets, with shaky hands, shuddering breaths, and chattering teeth, ignoring the odd look that Leonhardt throws her way. It doesn’t take long for the blonde to connect the dots though, as Mikasa tosses papers into the fireplace and throws whatever wood remains. 

Attempting to light up a goddamn fire with her trembling hands is even more difficult. The dusty matchbox is struggling to even spark a fuse, and Mikasa’s frustration is slowly boiling. Another strike and the match breaks between her fingers, Mikasa curses before attempting again, but it breaks once more, and she attempts again-

“Give it to me.” 

Leonhardt is beside her, hands reaching cautiously forward. Mikasa wants to move away, but her trembles are too intense. The cold of her clothes enclose her in a deadly freeze, and her hands shake in response. The blonde gives her a final look before reaching forward to remove the matches, her cold finger brushing against Mikasa’s shaky palms. 

With a swift motion, the fuse lights on fire, and the blonde burns a piece of paper before setting it with the wood. In a moment, the fire burns bright and the women don’t hesitate to reach for the warmth of the flames. 

“This isn’t a thank you.” 

Mikasa flickers her gaze from the fire to the blonde, who is watching her attentively in return. “When I get the chance, I will kill you. I promise that.” 

Mikasa holds the stare, returns the promise through her eyes before turning away to watch the crackling fire in front of her. It didn’t matter to her what the blonde did and didn’t promise if it was already broken.  Leonhardt had this solid opportunity and she had not taken it. 

“That’ll never happen.” 

Leonhardt hums in displeasure, but says nothing more.

Without much question, Mikasa slowly shoulders her green coat off, ignoring once again Leonhardt’s questioning stare. She stretched it near the fire, eventually unbuttoning her white shirt and stretching it out as well. She could cope with the dampness of her pants and the still numbing cold of her wet thermal suit, but it would dry in no time with this fire. 

Leonhardt’s stomach growls beside her, and the blonde curses underneath her breath. She watches as Mikasa silently reaches for her coat, ruffling through the pockets until she pulls out a can of saltine crackers. Leonhardt eyes them with a new interest, but her suspicion is greater.

“Upstairs.” Is all, Mikasa says, her hand outstretched. Leonhardt takes the offered can and opens it with eagerness, taking a cracker and popping it in her mouth.

——————

A sharp jolt is what wakes Mikasa up. 

She can’t remember what she was dreaming, or what war crimes she was committing in her slumber, but it was enough to impulse her awake. The fire was nothing but ash and smoke, yet the cabin still attained enough warmth to not freeze them off just yet. Mikasa’s clothes were dry enough now to trap heat rather than cool insulation.

Naturally, she glances around for the Marleyan soldier, but her alarm kicks off immediately when she notices that she is nowhere to be seen. 

Perhaps the simple act that she is alive should be a relief in itself, but the previous leashing of this soldier was with the purpose to keep her close and within her sight. So Mikasa immediately stands up and reaches for her rifle, which is also still perched against the wall of where she last left it, and she makes way to search. 

A flurry of thoughts go through her mind as she ventures through the cabin, having a sense to stalk around quietly despite her nerves. Her rifle is fully raised as she goes upstairs to open a bedroom door, only to find it empty. 

Mikasa carefully threads through, but a hand covers her mouth and a body presses against her back. 

“Don’t make a sound.” Leonhardt whispers against her upper back, “There’s bandits nearby.” 

Bandits. Citizens that have become depraved of moral decency. Mobs of these individuals were as threatening as a whole battalion of soldiers, and with Mikasa and her companion still being in such a vulnerable state, they were a massive threat to their well-being. Mikasa catches sight of a group of four men venturing through the snow, the blizzard is no more, and just a thick blanket of snow covers the streets. 

Leonhardt must’ve turned off the fire as soon as the first signs of the men came alight, to further conceal themselves.

When the men disappear further away into the distance, far from their cabin, Mikasa grips the blonde’s wrist and tosses her over her shoulder. Leonhardt collapses against the creaking boards with a gasp, and Mikasa hovers over her with her rifle pointed at her. 

“You’re really testing my patience.” 

“Fuck.” Leonhardt heaves, hand splayed across her chest as she gasps for air. “I was looking out for us both.”

She breaks away to suck in another pained breath, easing against the floor with her eyes set against Mikasa’s angry scowl. 

“You could’ve killed me…In my sleep.” Mikasa questions skeptically, “Why didn’t you take the chance?”

Leonhardt rolls her eyes, “A waste, really.” 

Mikasa raises an eyebrow and the blonde sighs in exasperation, “You’re a worthy opponent. I want a challenge when I try to take you out. Dying in a struggle is more dignified than dying in your sleep.”

“How endearing.” Mikasa’s voice drips with sarcasm, “I didn’t expect anything less from a Marleyan soldier.”

“You’re charming.” Leonhardt insults back, but Mikasa is not offended in the slightest. 

 “Name.”

Leonhardt blinks in puzzlement from the sudden question, a rather intimate question that possessed valuable information. “What?”

Mikasa’s posture tenses further, and her gaze is deadly. “Your name.”

“Leonhardt.” 

“Did I ask for a surname? Give me your name .” Mikasa hisses.

Leonhardt swallows but caves in, “Annie.” 

“Annie.” The taller of the two repeats, the name sounding foreign yet fitting in her mouth. This is the first time Mikasa ever speaks this soldier’s name, and it may as well be the last. “Your squadron, what were you and your group doing there?”

“Wasn’t it obvious? To dispose of you imbeciles.” Annie deadpans with a slight shrug, with almost no regard to her current position. 

Mikasa doesn’t halt her questioning, “You knew we were coming. How?”

“I was given orders.”

“You’re not answering my question.” 

Annie bites her lip, looking away as if thinking carefully of her choice of words. “My commander suspected that Paradis would attempt to sabotage the transfer of troops. We were given the order to stop any potential threat. I guess he was right to suspect.”

“How many seasoned soldiers were in your battalion?”

Annie snaps her gaze right back at the latter, her eyes fierce and her voice laced with bitterness, “Am I your traveling partner or your prisoner?”

“That depends on you entirely. If you choose to be of no use to me then I will dispose of you.” Mikasa murmurs gravely, her stare still heavy on the blonde. “But if you choose to cooperate by answering my questions, I won’t kill you.”

“You’re amusing.” 

Mikasa blinks, “…Excuse me?”

Annie gives a slight lazy shrug, “You saved me from drowning. Now you’re threatening to shoot me. Which one is it?”

When Mikasa is about to object, Annie continues “You either kill me, or you don’t. I think we both know what choice you picked.” 

Annie has a smug look on her otherwise serious face, but it quickly crumbles away when a bullet whizzes deathly close to her face, so close that a bit of her hair from her bangs begins to fall like a cat’s fur amidst a shedding season.  

The muzzle of the rifle has smoke, and its wielder has a satisfied yet angry expression on her features.

“Eight.” Annie murmurs then. 

“Good. Cooperating is very simple. Makes an appealing outcome for both ends.” Mikasa notes, “Perhaps if Marley took consideration into making their soldiers more obedient, we wouldn’t have been in this awkward predicament now, hm?”

“Paradis sure as hell makes entitled snobs play pretend.” Annie hisses back, “What even are you? A captain?” 

“A commanding officer, if you will.” 

“Sure.” Annie says with distaste, “You’re unreal.” 

“Likewise.”

——————

November 2nd, 1856, 06:24 AM

—

Morning comes to them in the shape of a pale sky. Mikasa feels like a strange numb and sluggish creature. She has gotten more sleep in the past two days than she has ever in her years in war and yet, her body is so unfamiliar to the concept of sleep. 

They don’t have any time to linger in the warmth of the cabin. Mikasa stands and allows her bruised body to acclimate to the sudden stance, before stretching a sore limb out and shouldering her rifle. Leonhardt eyes her tiredly, releasing a pained breath before standing as well. 

Scavenging wasn't always a glorious ordeal, but with Mikasa’s rations lost with the only exception of a small pouch full of ammunition that Eren had tossed to her before their travels, searching for whatever crumb she could find was more than sufficient. 

Upon opening a cabinet, she finds a can of sweet corn kettles, two bite sized chocolate bars, and another can of salted crackers. She allows her lips to break away into a small smile of victory, already tasting the sweetness of the chocolate even if it was years expired. 

Annie ventures close, eyeing her but that critical look shifts into awestruck wonder when Mikasa holds the bars out like two winning cards of poker. Their amusement for this treat was greater than the hostility, as Mikasa tosses a bar at the blonde who catches it swiftly. 

Annie doesn’t hesitate to tear the wrapper and take a bite of the chocolate, a slight grimace caressing her features and prompting Mikasa to raise an eyebrow. 

“Dark.” 

Mikasa hums in understanding, reading the label of her piece and seeing the undoubtful bold letters. 

Without another word, Mikasa opens the wrapper and places the small piece in her mouth, immediately getting the taste of bitter cacao. She doesn’t grimace like Annie does, finding that she actually enjoys the sharpness of the chocolate despite her sudden craving for a much sweeter appetizer. 

With a final search and finalizing that they aren’t leaving anything behind, as well as packaging any goods they can find in their pockets, they open the door of the cabin, wincing from the cold. 

Surveying the town during daybreak is a devastating sight. Mikasa doesn’t need to be in her sharpest ends to know that this was no doubt, no man’s land, or atleast, what remained. Annie seems to realize that as well, and without sparing a glance at each other, they take a step forward, deep into the unknown.

Chapter Text

November 2nd, 1856, 09:25 AM

—

The snow crunched below their boots. 

Mikasa’s thirst clawed her throat, and her stomach was twisted with agonizing hunger. The fall in the river had lost her gear, except the flask of water that was attached to her hip, and her rations became nothing but soup along with the currents. The fall had also exhausted her beyond measure despite the sleep she managed to gather hours later. 

The chocolate bar wasn’t even an appetizer. 

For a moment, Mikasa craves to bite into stiff bread and sloppy beef stew. She could taste the uneven flavored Cherry Berry cobbler or the bitterness of the cocoa powder once it was added to hot, scalding water. She wasn’t a particular fan of chewing gum, always giving those to Eren to keep him awake from how strong they were, yet she somehow yearned to have a piece in her mouth, even if to keep herself in check.

Her mouth suddenly isn’t as dry as it was before, and she swallows before taking another step forward on her endless walk. 

It is Annie who sees it, and it is she who mentions it. 

“Look at that.”

Mikasa stops in her tracks, looking out into the horizon to see whatever it was that caught the blonde’s eye, enough so that she even spoke. They had not exchanged a single word since their last interaction with the chocolate, apparently more inclined to remain silent.

It was justified, they were still combatants despite the circumstances. 

But Mikasa does see what Annie sees. A worn down house set on some enclosed land, a slightly bigger barn placed not even half a mile away from the home. 

“It’s a farm.”

Mikasa stares at it in slight disbelief. A farm usually meant the presence of life, and an indicator that they were not too far off from the nearest district. 

A farm also meant the presence of livestock, fresh meat and poultry and other lovely things that could satiate the crushing hunger in her gut. 

Annie knows that just as well. 

“I don’t think there’s any inhabitants.” The blonde says, voice low and level. That observation might as well be true, but Mikasa knows well that their luck is not great to test against. 

“I’m not risking it.” Mikasa deadpans, ripping her gaze away from the farm and taking another dreadful step forward. The less she looked at the potential of a meal, the prospect of something way better than expired chocolate bars, stiff bread, and sour cobbler, the less the flame of starvation was ignited. 

Annie, of course, doesn’t share the sentiment. 

“Why not? Imagine the meal we will eat! Meat from I don’t know, a chicken or something. Maybe a pig.” Annie says behind her. Mikasa can practically hear the hunger in the blonde’s voice, and if she were a dog, perhaps she would be drooling. It nearly amuses the dark-haired soldier, finding that brief similarity to Sasha. But Annie was nowhere near as aggressive or starved as the brunette, and Mikasa almost feels guilty for making such a comparison. 

“Pigs squeal too much if you look at them the wrong way. You would sell yourself out.” She sighs, turning to see Annie’s glacial stare. Have her eyes always been that pale blue?

Annie makes a disgruntled noise, “Fine, no pork, but the chicken stew we could have? Come on.”

Mikasa scoffs, meeting blue once more, and feeling a strange flame of sympathy. She was hungry as well, and chicken stew did sound appetizing with this cold, but Annie’s pale white uniform slaps her into reality. “So late into this war only makes the production of animal products far less acquirable.”

Annie’s brow raises into a confused expression, perhaps she was expecting Mikasa to cave in. The taller of the two speaks once more with strong clarity, “Eldians aren’t forgiving, not even to their own soldiers. What do you think they would do when they see you- a Marleyan soldier- stealing their stock?”

“Wow.” Is all Annie has to say for a moment, eyeing Mikasa disapprovingly. “You have a lot of morals, how have you made it this long?”

“What did you say to me?” Mikasa snaps, her voice thick with warning. Her body tenses and the grip on her rifle, which was relaxed and loose, tightens with sudden anger.

Annie doesn’t falter, “You think of yourself all mighty and heroic. That farmer doesn’t give a shit about you or the fact that you’re fighting their war. Stop being so selfless.”

Mikasa releases a frustrated breath through her nose, but the hint of desperation in the blonde’s voice does not go unnoticed. 

“You talk like you have somewhere to be.” 

There’s snark in the comment, as well as an inquiry. Annie is taken aback briefly before recollecting herself completely, “That doesn’t concern you. You’re a bitch, you know? You have no will of anything! If somebody told you to die, would you?”

The atmosphere seems to shift into something far more dangerous. Annie studies Mikasa’s unreadable expression, the blazing fury in her grey eyes, almost a predatory glare akin to the tigers she had seen imprisoned in zoos long ago back in Marley.

For a while, Annie’s stomach twists into something that isn’t hunger. An anxiousness that claws its treacherous limbs deep into her body. 

Fear.

Mikasa gives her a final look, before turning around and speaking so low, it makes the blonde’s skin crawl with unease. “Anything else you want to say, or can we finally move along in peace?”

Annie doesn’t say anything at first, still alarmed with the sudden emotion, but when the words do register, her frustration and anger are far greater. 

“Are you serious?”

“We are advancing.” Mikasa shouts in finalization, making a move to carry along. She isn’t even four steps away when she stops dead in her tracks.

“You’re related to Levi Ackerman, aren’t you?”

“How did you-“

Mikasa doesn’t know what shocks her the most. The sudden truthful and alarming question, or the look of pure disappointment in Annie’s eyes. There isn’t a single trace of smugness that one usually expresses when their speculation is proven true, just dismay. But Annie gestures at her breast, where her own name is sewn. “The surname is the same, and the Ackerman name is one that’s long lost. You mentioned that Marley should be more diligent with teaching their soldiers obedience. They prioritize vigilance over basic compliance.” 

Mikasa glares at Annie, a deadly stare but says nothing more. She had no idea what more she could say, what she should say. Deny? She can’t deny the truth, it would only make a fool out of her. If Annie was aware of Levi, and perhaps his appearance, then she would know the painfully obvious similarities in both their features. There simply was no denying the truth. 

Annie continues her talk, “There’s word of Paradis having a very viable and strong human weapon, unlike humanity’s strongest soldier.” 

A common title given to Levi’s skills, Mikasa feels her throat tighten. 

“A threat to Marley. A war goddess. That's you.”

It’s almost as if Annie has a realization, because her expression-although serious and composed- shows the faintest trace of disbelief, of surprise. It’s almost as if Annie is seeing some sort of highly sought idol, and Mikasa hates it. 

“What a ridiculous title.“ she hisses, taking steps towards the blonde and hovering above her with outrage. Annie doesn’t even flinch. 

“I’m a soldier fighting a war and getting miserably proficient at it. I’m not a war goddess, nor am I some sort of nuclear threat! I’m no one but Mikasa Ackerman!”

Shit. 

Mikasa silences herself almost quickly, but the damage has been done. Annie is just as bewildered as she is, training her sullen icy eyes at Mikasa’s calm steely greys.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Sure.” Annie says, snapping Mikasa out of her internal panic. “I’m disappointed to know how pathetic you really are. I was interested in meeting the Ackerman that they were so afraid of.”

“I’m sorry… to disappoint.”

They’re silent for a while, Mikasa looking down at her feet while Annie is observing far out into the distance, hands in her coat’s pockets.  

“Do you know the origins of your family?”

“This has nothing to do with the damn bird you want to steal.” Mikasa snaps, averting the question, and the topic in general.  

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Annie replies calmly, “But I had to speak of it. If I waited any later, it might’ve been a waste.”

“Get on with it, Leonhardt.”

“All I have to say is that farmers have enough to feed themselves for weeks, not having to worry much about starving to death.“ The blonde sighs, closing her tired eyes and releasing a deep breath through her mouth. “They’re the rich in a crisis like this, just like you’re the apparent Athena or whatever. A singular damn chicken will not cost them a fortune, just like our lives don’t cost our nations.” 

None of the words carry bite or anger, and Annie is speaking in a strangely indifferent tone that has Mikasa nervous. If she had agreed to take the bait and go get themselves that stupid animal, perhaps none of this uncomforting conversation would’ve happened.

“If we’re going to do this, we’re doing this with my methods.” Mikasa murmurs, looking at Annie who’s still staring at the distant barn. “I don’t trust you to jeopardize us with a stupid mistake.”

Annie turns to look at Mikasa, but the taller of the two had already shifted her gaze to the horizon.

“Thanks.”

——————

“Marley white is not an appealing sight.”

Annie is at a loss of words as she observes Mikasa, who sets the rifle down against a tree and begins to shoulder her coat off. Annie can’t say much before a blur of green flashes through her vision and a heavy thud crashes against her chest, forcing her to catch the wretched coat.

“What the hell?” Annie snaps, realizing what Mikasa wants. “That’s a crime.”

“An order has been released that farmers and citizens have the right to execute an enemy soldier if they invade their property.” Mikasa carries along, absentmindedly unbuttoning the buttons of her sleeves and lifting the material to expose the black underneath. It goes up to her elbows, and even through the compressive material, Annie can make out the muscles of her forearms. 

“A comrade of mine during training days was shot to pieces by an angry farmer because he didn’t have his paradis uniform on, just a white sleeve.” Mikasa says gravely, now unbuttoning her collar and sparing Annie a glance. The blonde frowns, finding this strange undressing spectacle heavily peculiar, but admittingly interesting. 

Mikasa keeps her gaze, but stops at the third button just above her breasts, snapping Annie out of her trance. Mikasa gives her a sharp look and an eyebrow raised, and Annie clears her throat before looking the other way with a scoff. 

There’s an unspoken question on Annie’s tongue, but Mikasa answers as if she read her mind. 

“Citizens cannot shoot their own forces. So be quiet and wear it.” 

Mikasa grabs her rifle and shoulders it, eventually eyeing Annie who still holds onto the coat with conflict. 

“That leaves you exposed.” 

The words simply spew from her lips with no other intent, but Mikasa’s expression lets Annie know that she said the wrong thing. Regardless, the taller of the two gestures towards her attire, which dawns at Annie that the whole unraveling of her shirt was to expose the black layer underneath, an indication that she was a Paradis Soldier. 

“Since you’re… strangely informed of me, you’ll be me for this foolish scavenge of yours.” Mikasa points out, “Come on.” 

Mikasa doesn’t wait for a reply, already ahead by a few steps, and Annie exhales with an inner apology to her father.

——————

The plan is simple.

Mikasa will launch Annie over the massive wall closest to the barn, while she keeps watch from the exterior, as well as aiding Annie with the catch. The blonde, being the smallest of the two and frankly, the most agile, would sneak in and catch whatever she could catch before coming back. 

Tossing Annie over the ledge is easy, the difficult part was now waiting. She hears Annie’s footsteps progressively get fainter, which is Mikasa’s cue to begin her guard.

She looks around her surroundings, taking notice of a distant bird circling high in the clouds, and another perched in a nearby tree. A small white rabbit pounces in the snowy field, but it breaks into a fast sprint when a flurry of orange fur chases hot in its heels. 

Just then, Mikasa hears the loud barks of a dog. 

“Leonhardt?” Mikasa shouts from her side, hearing a flurry of shouts and even more noise. She doesn’t get a response, which causes her panic to grow. 

“Leonhardt!” 

A sharp motion bursts Mikasa’s peripheral vision, and she sees Annie barely avoiding slipping against the snow as she sprints towards her with a large white goose clamped tight in her right arm. Her free hand is holding the bottom pocket of Mikasa’s coat.

“Run!” 

Mikasa doesn’t think twice, breaking into a sprint after the blonde, turning back to see a gruff old man coming out from the same direction that Annie had just slipped out of. 

A bullet flies past the two women, and Annie shouts furiously. 

“I thought you said they wouldn’t shoot us!” 

Mikasa doesn’t answer, choosing to run forward even more quickly, her chest burning from the lack of air. Another bullet blasts by, narrowly missing their heels. Mikasa realizes then that the farmer wasn’t shooting at them, but shooting near them, enough to cause a fright. 

“It’s working! Keep running!”

They run until they reach the safety of the forest, stopping only when they’re deep into the thicket and sure that no danger is present. Mikasa is trying to collect her breath when Annie flanks her. 

“Look!”

In Annie’s hands, a massive limp goose hung with its downy feathers fluffed from the wind. Mikasa actually blinks in surprise from the sheer size. She looks up to see Annie have a smile, something unusual to grace her stoic features, but it’s contagious enough to find herself cracking a smile as well. 

“You did it.” 

Annie nods, her eyes glimmering in pride and glee. “You know the best part?”

Downy feathers are pushed into Mikasa’s hands, and Annie shoves a hand into the coat’s pocket, pulling out three big goose eggs.

“No way.” Mikasa murmurs, staring at the eggs with creeping joy. How the hell did Leonhardt manage with such little time? 

Annie’s smile widens slightly more, “Yes way.”  

The sole joy of their catch made the women break into barely contained laughter, all previous tension lost. The impatience of their hunger was so strong, it didn't take long for both to find a water source. With a goose in their possession, they completely ditch the idea for a stew, along with the reminder that they didn’t have the required resources to even prepare it. 

Annie searched the thicket for dry branches and material, with Mikasa crouched against the riverbed to remove the feathers of the bird, proud for once that the blonde complied with her plan. The goose was plump and evidently well fed despite the low sources of corn or feed.

Eating it was just as fulfilling as the process of roasting it. Even without any condiments or spices, the goose was tender and flavorful, the taste so unlike the rations that it made Mikasa’s mouth tingle from the deliciousness. 

“My father would say that goose blood was packed with vitamins.” Annie says after a while. The dark-haired woman just stood quietly, hearing her carefully. 

 “Always drink it, Annie, it helps smarten you.” Annie says with a reminiscent look. Her expression is relaxed but still graced with the signature gloominess that always seemed to cloak her features. 

”And you believed him?” Mikasa questions after a while, eyebrows raised. Annie merely shrugs, expecting her companion to stay unresponsive. “I was a girl of six, what do you think?”

“He lied to you, for all I can see.”

“Oh fuck off.” Annie snarks with no malice, “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be taking a bite out of that leg.”

Mikasa’s response is taking another bite of said leg with a satisfied hum, giving Annie an even more satisfied look, which earns a roll of eyes from the other. There’s silence, a comfortable silence that Mikasa assumes is thanks to their hunger. It’s strange, this neutral atmosphere being shared with the enemy, and yet, at this very moment, they’re nothing but two humans sharing a meal together.  

But it only takes simple things to suck Mikasa back into the truth of their situation. The first is the large wave of crippling nerves that twist Mikasa’s senses. Annie knew about her, knew of her relatives, was aware of her existence. 

Annie Leonhardt was equipped with something Mikasa lacked, knowledge.

The second, is the fact that she just shared a meal with the enemy, a soldier who was still enclosed in her uniform, almost creating the illusion that Annie was an Eldian soldier.

Suddenly, the goose isn’t as fulfilling. 

In one instance, Mikasa stands abruptly, earning a questioning glance from the other, but Mikasa can’t look at her for too long. Annie was certainly a dangerous piece on the chessboard now. 

Mikasa should kill her. 

“I want my coat back.”

Annie stills quizzically, “I-“

“Now.”

It was fairly easy to spark the fuse of fury in Annie. The familiar rage, the burning fire of displeasure. It was all that Mikasa yearned to see in this very moment, craved to witness. At least to justify her actions and sentiments, to ignite the previous ire with better lasting wood. 

And keeping Annie in Paradis green was far too treacherous. 

Mikasa couldn’t bear to see such a sight. 

Annie tosses the green coat, which lands squarely on Mikasa’s chest. It relieves Mikasa to see the dull white of the blonde’s uniform, to spot the flag of Marley stitched by her name which stands proudly and tauntingly. Annie releases a deep breath as if she herself is released from some shackled imprisonment, which only provokes a sneer from the latter. 

Pathetic. 

“You sicken me.” 

Annie’s relief turns to resentment alarmingly quickly. 

“I disgust you?” Annie hisses almost immediately, “I don’t know how many times I stopped just short of trying to kill you.”

”You should’ve!” Mikasa shouts in return, “You’re competent enough to do just that. A refined sniper, you wiped half of my squad clean in a matter of seconds!” 

“Then hand me the stupid gun and I’ll do just that.” Annie says coldly, standing now. “I’m a Sniper for Marley. I took some of your buddies out, blew holes into their skulls and yet, I haven’t done that to you.”

It’s like a dam of control just… snaps within Mikasa’s body. Annie seriously pissed her the fuck off. 

“Do you want applause for that?”

Annie scoffs, “No.”

“Then what’s your point?”

Annie pauses briefly, doing that thing where she sports a contemplative look, stepping on thin ice before deciding to risk the plunge. “My point is that it stands for something, doesn’t it? I didn’t blow your brains out with a bolt.”

It is Mikasa’s turn to scoff, “I’m not thanking you. You’re a failure of a soldier.”

It’s those words that have some effect on the blonde. Mikasa prided herself in her ability to read between expressions, the simple constriction of the pupils, the minuscule twitch of a lip, the subtle creases of an eyebrow. 

And right now, Annie’s expression gave nothing but the clear indication that Mikasa’s words had hurt. 

Pathetic.

Despite the obvious look, Mikasa can’t find herself to care enough. 

They’re not on the same side of war. 

Chapter Text

November 2nd, 1856, 15:15 PM

—

Traveling once more, becomes another quiet endeavor. The sky is pale and sickly grey, shielding the sharp glare of the sun with its thick foggy clouds.

The snow was now a sheet of thick white ice, with some spots thinner than others, and occasionally Mikasa would need to adjust her footing to avoid an embarrassing fall.

She remembers the time Eren fell flat on his ass during training days due to a slip. Fortunately, he did not break a bone or twisted a ligament, but he did get a harsh scolding by the higher ups and an even more severe reproach by herself. 

Her class was highly praised, but most of the soldiers of her grade had long perished, leaving only a cluster of their group alive. 

Mikasa was detached to the concept of death. Always a tragedy that was far involved in her life since way before the war. Being exposed to it even further, and matter of fact, being the cause of it, made her numb to it all. It changed it all for her comrades, shifting their dispositions into insensible beings, unbothered yet troubled all the same. 

Annie Leonhardt is a mystery. Mikasa cannot find the proper name for her sentiments in regard to the blonde. It’s a whirlwind of emotions, having to work together due to the odds, but also aware that reaching their destination returns the undoubtful hostility that they struggle to ease even now. 

Mikasa believes that this is how Jean must feel about Eren. Irritation yet a deep understanding, both men yearning to please, desiring to prove their worth and wishing to dispose of the cause of their misfortune. Their similarities in personalities and goals make them a perfect match in combat, for what Eren lacked in leadership, Jean sufficed with his commanding disposition. 

And yet, they clashed all the time. 

Mikasa has never met her match in combat. All of them were weaker, all of them were dimmer, none of them could equal. 

Annie is the only one who can keep up with her, and Mikasa does not know how to handle such a situation. Annie carried a bored demeanor. As much as she preached about Mikasa’s disinterest and lack of selfishness, she herself had an unamused desire to live. 

But Mikasa can see it. She has something to live for, while Mikasa has nothing but Eren and Armin, and they are actively fighting the war alongside her. 

However, as much as meeting her match was a disappointment, it was also a great opportunity. Mikasa could release all her force with Annie, for two reasons. The blonde could keep up with her strength, and withstand it pretty well, as well as being an enemy made for an easy outlet and excuse.

The difference between Eren and Jean and Annie and herself, is that Eren is always the fuse to Jean’s flame whereas Annie is an already burning flame. With her involvement, it leads to two strong flames conjoining. 

You have no will of anything . 

The words taunt Mikasa ever since they have been spoken. They have not fought, but if Annie wants a challenge, Mikasa will give her that and more. Leonhardt is no one superior. 

I’ll prove it to her.

A small imposing castle that is surrounded by a smaller town, which is practically obliterated shows up to view. The small roads are littered with debris, wagons with rotting wheels sit plastered against the cracked pavement, highlighting the ghosts of the townsfolk who were no longer around. 

The smell of decay isn’t strong, but it’s present. 

For a moment, Mikasa is glad that Annie is beside her. She had taken her fair share of solo trips, usually passing through devastation and destruction, but it always uneased her when it was only her and the deceased. 

So even though Annie makes her livid, she also grounds her enough. 

Speaking of Annie is beside her with a sullen expression. Mikasa prefers it that way. It grants her time to think, invent ideas that should have long been overdue. 

However, she stops her thinking when she spots a military box with Paradis green. 

Supplies.

Mikasa hurriedly rushes towards the abandoned storage unit, undoing all the latches and finally opening it with a dusty creak. Surely, inside there was a small travel bag, an even smaller box with ammunition, medical equipment and rations. 

Holy shit.

It’s like staring at a box full of riches, Mikasa is simply frozen in place. 

“Look around.” She says after a while, giving her companion an authoritative look. “There’ll be more.”

Annie’s frown speaks for itself, but she does not snap back a response. She turns and makes way to the small castle-like structure. The roof is flat with its signature ridges just slightly above the regular homes. 

Mikasa does not waste time to gather the equipment into the bag, stopping short to observe the small box of rations. They provoke a familiar sentiment of Deja vu, a strong desire to suddenly return back with her friends in the confinement of the trenches. 

But a crackling sound burst through the quiet atmosphere and the rations break in her hands. Mikasa has heard that noise numerous times in the trenches, countless times in training, and certainly enough times before she fell into the river.

The clean hole in the center of the box confirms it. 

She looks up to see the gleaming piece of metal from the rifle’s barrel perched against the castle’s ridge, and she also sees a familiar blonde in white. 

Mikasa barely avoids another bullet to the skull and narrowly manages to avoid another at the shoulder. Annie kept firing rounds with no hesitation, but her precision was sloppy, urgent.

She takes advantage of it.

Slipping by buildings and tossing whatever she can get her hands on farther away to divert Annie’s attention. When she’s near enough, she rushes into the castle’s already cracked gate and quickly but quietly walks the stairs. 

Annie must have found a weapon case hidden away with the bolt, her signature precision rifle of choice, and of course it would make sense that a sharpshooter would locate themselves at the highest point. 

How could Mikasa entrust her just like that?

When she reaches the top of the stairs, Annie is already facing the door. 

“No ammunition.” Is all she says, giving a shrug as she tosses the gun away. Mikasa watches the weapon fall against the gravelly ground, trying to figure out an antic to retrieve it.

“Fight me.”

The words snap her attention back at the blonde, who stands with such a determined composure. 

“No.” Mikasa verbalizes firmly, but Annie is already in stance. 

“You have no choice.”

It’s tense. It’s suffocating. Neither Mikasa or Annie break their visual contact, and the previous desire to prove a point wrong ignites in the dark-haired woman’s composure, so she takes a simple step forward. 

There’s no exact telling of who made the first move. In one moment, Annie’s dangerous kick connects with Mikasa’s calf, the next, it is Annie who is slammed against the floor with the latter above her. 

Mikasa does not hold herself back. Hand to hand combat was one of her strongest points in fighting skills, skills that were not much involved in tactical battles involving distant shooting. But Annie unsheathes the blade from her ring and quickly lashes across. 

A needle-like burning bursts from Mikasa’s lower lip, and the taste of blood is all she needs to know.

Annie then kicks her harshly against the abdomen, a bleeding anguish that erupts and causes Mikasa to release a breath. The pain is anchored further when Annie grabs her arm and pulls her towards her to drive a knee into the same spot that was just kicked, taking advantage of the fact that the earlier stunt had stunned Mikasa for a second.

Mikasa pushes her harshly away with a grunt, immediately placing her arm around the bruised section, glaring daggers into the blonde. Annie is breathing heavily, pacing back and forth while giving the taller woman a stare down, searching for a crack of composure.

They fight for hours on that rooftop. They fight until each individual muscle, joint, ligament, and vein is straining from their struggles, even when every minuscule touch is a stabbing attack, and they keep fighting even after Mikasa is drenched with sweat and Annie is practically heaving uncontrollably beside her. 

At one point, they stand at opposite ends of the roof. Mikasa is breathing intensely, spitting out blood-infused spit while Annie still paces. 

Even when Mikasa is sure that Annie cannot take it anymore after she sends her pummeling against the roof, the blonde stands with her feet slightly distanced and her arms raised, her fists on either side of her head. Mikasa gives a frustrated huff but says no more. 

Annie aims for another lethal kick, but Mikasa dodges the blow and counters with a tackle. It’s a desperate and sloppy move, and it sends them both crashing against the dirty roof, but neither of them reduce their force. 

Mikasa struggles to regain control, but Annie is already transitioning into a dominant position. Despite her size, she was full of strength and with a fluid motion, Annie maneuvers into a triangle choke, locking her legs around Mikasa’s neck, cutting off her air supply. Mikasa’s eyes widened in realization, unfamiliar with the move but very aware of its purpose. She begins to fight back in an attempt to break free, but Annie tightens the hold, using her body weight to keep Mikasa pinned down.

As the pressure mounted, Annie shifted their position, extending one of Mikasa’s arms and transitioning into an armbar, prompting a strained gasp from Mikasa. Annie doesn’t hesitate to grab Mikasa’s wrist and pull back, hyperextending her arm. 

“Give up.” Annie hisses through her teeth, pulling just enough that Mikasa actively grunts. 

But the defiance is clear as day despite the obvious disadvantage. “No.” 

Annie further squeezes her thighs, but Mikasa’s grip on one of her knees tightens in its hold and she pulls.

Mikasa is a beast. Annie thinks she is aiming for a slam, but that thought immediately dies in her mind when she remembers that her moves were not taught in Paradis’ curriculum or anywhere else, strictly ingrained in her memory by her father. But Annie’s stomach catapults when Mikasa somehow manages to loosen Annie’s deadly hold on her frame, and just as quickly Mikasa forces the rest of her body through the slip. The other hand is now in the picture, and Annie releases the hold on the one she had to adjust her position. She wraps her legs around Mikasa’s waist now and pulls her further into her own body, limiting the taller woman's space for movement. 

It’s a twist of limbs and torsos, with Mikasa still finding a way to maneuver and giving Annie powerful blows to the face. Annie somehow manages to flip them over, snaking her hands around the other’s throat and pressing with whatever strength remained.

Even when Mikasa’s hands find their own way around her neck, even when her head is buzzing and her ears are ringing, she has to have Mikasa submit. 

The wild expression on Mikasa’s face, the bloody corner in the side of Mikasa’s lip from an earlier hit with Annie’s pointed ring, and the bleeding eyebrow that drips blood into Mikasa’s steely eye awakes a feeling of superiority. Annie wonders how she must look in her gaze, what emotions the woman underneath must feel. 

But suddenly, an even painful shattering sting emits from the center of her own face. She releases her hold of Mikasa to cradle the wounding pain in her nose and feels herself float in the air for a second before slamming against the gravel of the roof. 

“Fuck, my nose!”

She’s writhing in pain there, releasing pained noises and cursing through whimpers. Warm blood seeps through the spaces of her shaky fingers. She hears gravel crunch behind her, her insides flip in an urge to flee. 

Screw her pride. 

Crawling away with a shaky and bruised body is not at all a simple task. Mikasa catches up to her with her own shaky knees, but the woman's grasp on Annie’s coat’s collar is strong despite it, and like a cat dragging an oversized kill by the scruff, drags her against the rocky roof. 

“Come here.” 

Mikasa’s voice sends shivers down Annie’s spine. It has a rasp to it, with the obvious hint of fury, and Annie braces herself. Heavy droplets of blood splatter against the gravel, and her mouth is thick with the coppery taste of the fluid. 

“Wait- “

Mikasa pulls her up and slams her against the roof’s edge, knocking the air out of Annie’s lungs.

“Shut up.”

Annie Leonhardt does not beg, but at this very moment, she finds that she is stricken with fear farther than any lecture or tough love her father bestowed upon her. She does not care how pathetic it may seem to beg for mercy. 

“Please.”

“Be quiet!” Mikasa hisses, turning her around and adjusting her grip to meet the blonde’s eyes. The Paradis officer pushes Annie even more against the edge, so much that half of her torso is hovering above the ground below with only Mikasa’s arms for support. In desperation, Annie wraps her legs around Mikasa’s hips, grips the fabric of Mikasa’s sleeves with bone white knuckles, practically anything she can find purchase with to hang on with dear life. 

“Give up.” Mikasa says at last, an eye is cloudy with blood and the other is livid with rage. Her uniform is stained with red splotches, unknown if it was Annie’s own or Mikasa’s, and the blonde is sure she looks just as battered. 

When the blonde stays silent, Mikasa speaks with clear intent, “You don’t have much of a choice right now, Annie. ”

Annie makes a noise at that. 

“Give up.” 

The blonde heaves a deep breath which flares into even smaller deeper ones. How could she have been so easily overwhelmed? Mikasa takes notice of this, and has the audacity to soften her expression, just by a bit, but the grip remains deadly, and after a few seconds, she speaks.

“Breathe, Leonhardt.” 

When Annie’s breath becomes even more rapid, a full-fledged face of concern graces Mikasa’s previously enraged features. It unease and enrages Annie all the more, but she was in no position to retaliate. 

“Look at me.” Mikasa presses on cautiously, her voice now an octave softer. She pulls the blonde away from the ledge, gently leans her against the wall instead with such ease, Annie’s chest constricts.

“Annie?”

But Annie is engulfed with incapability. Mikasa had overpowered her, damn near brought her to her own demise. What would her father think?

“Can’t breathe.” She gasps after a while. Her nose was broken and it hurt to drag in a breath from her nostrils. Each gulp of oxygen that she sucked in with her lips just made her lungs even more tight.

“I understand.” Mikasa murmurs, a hand placed against the blonde’s knee to ground her. Her knuckles are bruised and bloody, some are open with bleeding tears, but the touch is soft despite its gnarly form. Annie can’t believe those are the same knuckles that spiraled her to unspoken submission. 

“But you must calm down. Take a breath.” 

Annie shakes her head, unable to respond this time. Mikasa can kill her so easily. It makes the fear all valid, the damn fear ! 

“Breathe with me, ready?” 

Annie still can’t respond, she’s heaving and gasping but she nods frantically. The combined pain of her muscles, along with the panic, mix into a cocktail of crippling anxiousness. It’s all disorienting when the woman who’s trying to ease her from this, is the very one that was just about to kill her not long ago. But Mikasa carefully sucks in a deep breath, wincing herself from a bruise already forming near her rib cage, and Annie imitates the breathing aspect of the gesture to later release it shakily along with the other’s exhale. 

They repeat the motion five or six more times until Annie’s chest isn’t falling and rising in such jerky motions, and she has regained her composure to be able to breathe accordingly. After a moment of silence and controlled breathing, Mikasa speaks. 

“I’m going to pop your nose back into place.” 

Annie shakes her head in immediate disapproval, already gripping Mikasa’s wrists to impede her from even touching her at all. 

“It’ll swell if I let it be.” Mikasa says, but Annie doesn’t budge. “You’ve done enough.” 

Her voice is hoarse, but the pain when she attempts to breathe is not at all appealing. 

Mikasa gives her a look, and Annie fights through her stubbornness to reluctantly release her hold on the woman’s wrists. 

That’s her cue. Mikasa gets to work almost immediately, pinching the start of Annie’s nose bridge with her fingers while the other hand pinches the opposite, fleshy end. Annie is stiffer than a wooden plank, but Mikasa’s fingers gently massage the bone.

“You have a nice nose.” 

Annie wants to slap her again, “Excuse me?”

“It’s different.” Mikasa says absentmindedly but immediately, her fingers begin to add pressure, and the pain feels sharper than needles.  

“ You broke it!”

Mikasa hums in agreement, “I did.”

Annie doesn’t have time to snap back, as a sickening crack accompanied by an even worse pain than before, shoots from her nose and wrings through her entire face. Her eyes water from the intensity, and she shoves Mikasa away with just as much ire. 

“Fuck! A warning would’ve been nice!”

“If I warned you, you would’ve tensed up again.” 

Annie groans, the pain still lingering but subsiding greatly. Mikasa is watching her with attentive eyes, that disgusting grey eye still red with a bloody membrane. 

“Can you even see me?” Annie questions after a while, gesturing at the woman’s eye. Mikasa shrugs indifferently but doesn’t respond. 

Annie doesn’t like that answer, “Give me that.” 

She snatches the flask of water that is strapped against Mikasa’s hip, unscrewing the lid. 

“What are you doing?”

The tone of warning is increasing by the second and this time Annie does not want to test its limits.

“Cleaning your eye. It’s gross.” 

Annie shifts and adjusts herself, but Mikasa is still eyeing her warily. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, I’m aware, now tilt back a bit.”

Mikasa does not budge at first, but a firm press against the chest and she complies cautiously.

It was Annie’s silent way of acknowledgment for the woman’s previous actions. 

The water is murky red when it washes away. The taller of the two hisses a bit, but eventually Mikasa’s eyes were clean. However, she refused and pulled away when Annie attempted to rinse the bleeding eyebrow, and the blonde knew now that she was not going to pester. 

They stay silent like that, letting their bodies recover the substantial energy they just lost. Mikasa’s lip had dried, with a deep crimson crust already forming, but her eyebrow was still bleeding sluggishly. 

Annie observes her in her place. She had underestimated her enemy and had paid the consequences in full. 

“Your eyebrow.”

“I know.” Mikasa responds, a tone of defense. The hostility still lingered in the air, but it had noticeably taken a much less aggressive approach. 

“It’ll get infected. Patch it up.” 

Mikasa stands then, walking with a limp to the abandoned bag stocked with supplies at the entrance, giving the blonde an unreadable look. 

“I know.”

When Mikasa is no longer in her sight, Annie releases a breath of relief.

They won’t be going anywhere for a long time.

——————

November 17th, 1856, 04:45

—

When a building relies heavily on one specific pillar, it makes the rest of the supports weak.

Armin can’t stop replaying that day in his mind. 

Everything occurred so quickly, Mikasa shouting at him to advance, soldiers from both sides shouting and screaming, the sight of Mikasa fighting with the blonde soldier. 

He had given them their cue, had pushed through the open path and obliged by his orders, and yet the last he sees is Mikasa’s look of anger as she falls into the raging river with the Marleyan soldier. 

The world became eerily quiet then. Eren and the squad stare in disbelief, and two tall brute men from the opposing side also sported looks of incredulity. 

Mikasa had fallen. 

“Give the call, Reiner.” The tall brunette hisses at the blond man, “It’s over with! We lost!”

“She- “ 

“Give it up! Reiner!” 

A single bullet whizzes by and grazes the Blond’s bicep, who shouts in surprise and agony. Armin turns to see that Eren has his rifle raised, the muzzle smoking from the fire. 

“You bastards! I’m going to kill you!”

“Eren!”

Keeping Eren at bay when he’s in the center of his outburst is just as equally challenging. 

“We never did anything to you!” Eren seethes, eyes wild and muscles taunt. The other side stares in return but the blond man calls a retreat with his remaining men. 

“Useless bastards! Always retreating! What of your fallen comrades? Why!?”

His questions go unheard by unwilling ears, and finally he shakes off Armin and Jean with ire. 

“We have to get them.” Eren hisses, but Jean sighs in defeat.  “Mikasa gave her life for this mission. We can’t let it be for nothing.” 

“She fell in the river! She’s strong, she can’t have- “

“Eren.” Jean voices, “She’s gone.”

Hearing the words make Armin’s stomach twist, and he turns away from his comrades, throwing up bread and coffee from Mikasa’s rations.

The higher ups are the ones who can’t understand. They can’t seem to fathom how this mission went so terribly, how an Ackerman could easily be disposed of. 

But it isn’t their disappointment or pitiful reverence that upsets Armin the most, it happens weeks after the tragedy of that date. 

He’s frozen by the commander’s flank now, feeling displaced and yearning to have Mikasa next to him. He doesn’t know what it is about Erwin Smith, or why he insists on having him present for such private meetings, but he often finds himself distracted and engulfed in grief to properly engage. 

And now is one of those days.

He’s standing in the formal way of a soldier facing their superiors, but his gaze is down casted to the ground. All the generals and commanders from each regiment are present, and General Smith stands as imposing as ever. 

“My comrades, I am glad to see you all well in these times.” 

Each leader grumbles in agreement, commander Pixis takes a deep gulp of his whiskey as if he’d rather be elsewhere. 

“Today I received a letter from his majesty, the king, informing me of a potential ceasefire being put into place tomorrow.”

Armin immediately tunes in. A ceasefire?

Could this seriously mean-

His flurry of questions is interrupted when Erwin continues speaking, “Now I know what you all may be wondering. Does this ceasefire mark the beginning of an end? I cannot say it does not, but the King has assured me that our endless fight has been acknowledged by not just Paradis, but Marley as well.”

“Marley?” Nike Dok inquires, “Those shitheads declared this damn war, you don’t think it’s strange they want to give up now?”

Erwin hums in acknowledgment, “A war can only go on for so long. Marley wants the ceasefire to replenish their remaining forces. They’re suffering a heavy loss of their men with their harsh efforts to even the numbers.”

It is Hange who says, “That gives us the opportunity to collect the bodies of our fallen. No enemy soldier will intervene with that process.” 

The rest of the group break away into a conversation of dimly lit hope and remembrance. Armin, however, feels his chest aching.

Mikasa died so close to the end.

It is Levi who points out his pitiful form, drawing the gazes of the rest. 

But Armin does not care how pathetic he may look to him, the tears fall from his blue eyes and soak into his uniform while his sobs are crisp and clear in the small, enclosed space.

How unfair.

——————

November 17th, 1856, 08:29

—

November only gets colder. 

The snow from the snowstorm had turned into ice by now, but a thin blanket of frost coated the world with its new snowflakes. They fall in a dancing appeal around them, making their jaw clench and their eyes water. 

Mikasa cannot feel the small prickling pain from her facial wounds. 

After their fight, Mikasa had left Annie on the roof. She wordlessly limped towards a house, dust immediately infiltrating her nostrils, but she did not care. Her body was sore, begging to be taken care of, a variety of bruises already forming on her skin. Mikasa can’t fathom that such a scene could cause her to practically be bedridden for almost two weeks.

She was utterly confused and disoriented. Annie was more of a formidable opponent, but it was one thing to be aware of it and another to experience it.

And now, as they both walk tirelessly without a stop, Mikasa finds that she respects the blonde and she knows there’s no use in trying to fight it otherwise. But her body thrums in yearnful challenge, desiring to feel the thrill of the adrenaline as it spiked with each throw that was thrown and received. Even though her point was proven exceptionally, so well that she had Annie begging to be released, she still finds that she can’t remove the memory of Annie’s skillful tactics. Annie had sparked a fuse that Mikasa had been afraid of lighting, and now she was in inner turmoil. 

Annie has been different since their fight too. She no longer lashes at her, doesn’t even provoke her by taunting. She engages in semi-peaceful conversation from time to time, and Mikasa responds to her inquiries unless she deems them too personal or inappropriate. It's like all they needed to cool down was to brawl it out. Mikasa wonders briefly why Annie was simply subjected to a sharpshooter, a restrictive position, with such intense combative instincts. 

But she can’t make any further speculations, as Annie’s disinterested eyes meet her own and Mikasa feels the buzz of competitive excitement burn in her chest. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

The question, despite its mocking tone, has the familiar hint of curiosity. Mikasa blinks, completely caught off guard, which earns a partially amused expression from the other. 

“Nothing of concern.” 

Mikasa looks away, the meadow is vast and grandeur, almost a sea of white with the snow. She cannot confess her interest in a rematch, even if the more prominent winner of said spar was herself. She remembers the urgency in Annie’s panicked attempts to breathe, how the unaligned bone of her nose felt underneath her fingers, or the harsh shove that followed after her nose was popped into place. She figures that she does not want to subject the blonde into another moment of panic like that again.

Even when Mikasa could have thrown the blonde over the castle’s edge and fulfilled her promise, she finds that she is truly more at peace without performing that task anymore.  She also realizes that she could kill Annie, but her compassion is greater than the primal instinct to kill, so she won’t . 

She hasn’t decided if she’s fully okay with that yet. Being conditioned to kill and being so accustomed to being responsible for many deaths, yet she can’t add another tally mark.

“Your hair is longer.” 

“What?” Mikasa murmurs with puzzlement. 

“Your hair.” Annie halfheartedly motions to her own overgrown bangs, “It’s longer.” 

“Oh.” 

Mikasa reaches to touch her hair, slightly damp from the snowflakes. She expects her fingertips to rise high above her neck but stops short when she feels her hair is now below her nape, brushing the edge of her uniform’s collar. It’s not her preferred length, but Annie simply stares at her like it’s an interesting visual. 

This stare is different, away from the usual anger or frustration and enclosed with curiosity. Mikasa raises an eyebrow with skepticism but feels her chest burn furiously with unknown intensity.

“You’re staring.”

Annie doesn’t deny that she is, simply shrugging. “You look different. More dangerous.” 

Annie gives her another look over before taking a step forward and away, leaving Mikasa steps behind, “An unkept soldier looks more threatening than a polished one.” Annie murmurs, gaze heavy. 

Mikasa wants to know what memory she is visiting, but she can’t ask. She’s beginning to dislike not being able to ask.

Annie clears her throat, “In Marley, there’s a bird called a Harpy eagle. They have a crest of messy silly feathers around their heads.”

“I know what a Harpy eagle is.” Mikasa frowns, “Is that an insult?” 

Annie’s back is to Mikasa, but the taller of the two swears she can see the hint of a smile on the blonde’s lips.

“They demand respect.”

Annie jumps over a fallen tree, Mikasa following her motion. This was one of their strange conversations as of late, but it does not compel Mikasa to stay away.  

“You’re odd.”

Annie does react then, just turning around and tossing a small branch at Mikasa in coy defense. This motion would’ve pissed Mikasa off greatly, but now it barely provokes a negative reaction. 

That was another strange shift about them after their fight. An active respect that now exists between them, like all previous hostility was replaced with an uncanny warmth.

“You should keep your hair at that length.” Annie continues, snapping Mikasa out of her thoughts. “It suits you.”

The latter hums, unsure if Annie is genuinely complimenting her or slyly insulting. Annie had a way with her words, and how she expressed her thoughts, always vague and ambiguous. She goes for the second, the much probable choice. “I like your nose too, even if it's bent the wrong way.” 

Annie scoffs, but the instant challenge in her eyes flashes briefly before it dissipates into calm, collected annoyance. “That scar on your lip looks cool too. May I know what or who gave it to you? I want to pay my respects; it must be difficult to perform that kind of task.”

Mikasa rolls her eyes, a scowl already forming on her features. “I feel the same way about that gorgeous bruise on your neck.” 

It’s then that Annie stops in her tracks and gives her a skeptical glare, “That just sounds wrong.”

Mikasa feels a creeping wave of confusion. Annie’s expression gives away full frustration and annoyance, but the way her hand makes way to cover the bruise from a furious blow during their match, and the hint of red tint on the blonde’s face gives another expression that isn’t exactly hostility. 

She’s about to question, but a motion out in the distance captures her attention and she hurriedly gestures Annie to hide. Being out in the center of this giant field only minimized their options for cover, but they made the most of their situation. 

Damn it, how could she have been so distracted again?

Braving a peek, Mikasa raises herself just slightly above the hill to see four green uniforms. 

It feels like she’s living a fever dream. Four soldiers from Paradis Island, four soldiers who shared the same badge, oath and pledge. Seeing soldiers from her side after days of nonstop travel with the rival makes a ton of different emotions crash deep into Mikasa’s soul. She’s genuinely gleeful, like all the hope she lost has returned. 

But those emotions twist into dread when she realizes who she has been traveling with and what that means now. Annie is looking at her with a knowing look, full of anticipation and guardful composure. None of the previous playful mirth is present. The question is in her pale blue eyes, the truth is on the tip of her tongue, but no words are spoken. 

“We should clear them.” Annie says cautiously, like a test, an act of confirmation. Her gaze is solid onto Mikasa’s expression, waiting for an answer that was already obvious, because even suggesting such a ridiculous idea when neither of them bore the same flag or colors was madness. If Mikasa remained silent, it was her cue to flee, automatically outnumbered and at vast disadvantage. However, Annie does not know how she feels about travelling without this threatening woman anymore. 

But what Mikasa says instead, makes Annie still.

“Let’s divert them.” 

It’s so strange hearing such a sentence. Matter of fact, it’s strange that an opportunity is present and Mikasa simply chose not to take it. Annie had learned that the woman, although a sloppy leader at times, always preferred to take any convenient opportunity for her survival. 

You’re not going with them? She wants to ask, the words freshly formed on her tongue and waiting to be spat out. But Annie stays dumbfounded there, watching as Mikasa shifts into a crouch and stalks her way to the edge of the nearest woods. 

Mikasa has made her decision. 

Annie was not going to finish this trek alone. 

Even though she’s aware that at one point it will come to an end, whether that’s through an escalated fight that does result in a death, or their eventual separations into their respective sides, not to be seen again, that day will not be now. 

She hates that she feels alarmingly satisfied by Mikasa’s choice. 

She doesn’t even realize that her body is mindlessly following the other until Mikasa abruptly stops, resulting in the blonde stumbling into her bigger frame.

It proves to be fatal, as Mikasa’s unsuspecting body takes an unbalanced step forward, resulting in the loud snap of a twig.

“Shit.”

A bullet flies by them in an instant, soon to be followed by another and another. If Mikasa is upset from the slip up, she does not let it be known. They scramble to the nearest point of safety, the soldiers closing in on them without shooting their weapons.

Mikasa can’t risk trying to surpass them now. 

“Ackerman?” 

Annie’s voice is harsh and firm. Mikasa closes her eyes and rests her forehead against her rifle’s forestock. “Let me think.”

The steps of the other soldiers crunched louder as they got closer. Annie is itching with anticipation, awaiting to fight tooth and nail. She may lack the weaponry, but her physical combat was superior to that of many. 

Except Mikasa.

Annie shuts the voice immediately, but she finds that she gives a side glance at the woman now in creeping unease. 

It startled her completely when Mikasa perked up once more after sitting and thinking. Her initial reaction is to brace for contact, expecting Mikasa to lunge at her from changing her mind, but that thought goes down the drain when the officer turns quickly and shoves the rifle into Annie’s hands instead. 

“What-“

“Cover me.” 

Mikasa’s expression is precarious, lips pressed into a thin line and eyebrows knitted together. She turns and silently stalks away towards the incoming group, leaving the blonde in a state of further doubt. Annie doesn’t hesitate despite it, she immediately raises the weapon and perches it against the stone’s crumbly surface. She observes the other’s movements through the small pointed sight ingrained on the end of the muzzle.

The weapon is foreign in her grip, so similar yet distinctly different from the rifles that Marley used. It makes a needle-like sensation prickle the inside of her righteousness. She doesn’t know what boundary has been crossed once more.

She sees a flurry of green, and sees a soldier lunge at Mikasa, who collapses to the ground with the other above him. Annie points the gun at the man, pressing the trigger when she feels the common instinct of her rank finally kick in. 

The man freezes above Mikasa, a look of confusion and recognition, before he drops dead just as quickly.

Annie can’t afford to hesitate.

———————

“Mikasa?” Daz says above her, but his surprise is short lived, as a bullet pierces his temple clean and he drops dead on top of her.

Mikasa is stupidfied below the now deceased body. 

How did it come to this?

Pushing Daz’s body off of her is in a way, sickening. She feels like she’s about to throw up, about to rip her own throat out for even allowing this to escalate. She gave the gun to Annie, she knew what she was implying, but she had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. 

Her body after that enters the typical numbness she felt during trench warfare. 

Another soldier comes rushing towards her, Mikasa recognizes him as Samuel. He comes to a complete stop when he sees her, dropping the gun in his hands as if he caught sight of the most perturbing thing to have ever existed. 

“Y-You’re alive?” 

Mikasa doesn’t respond, her body moving in its own accord. She’s taking a step towards Samuel, her mind blank as she advances to him. 

“What are you doing?” He questions when Mikasa pulls her combat knife from its sheath.  

It’s hardwired into her neurons the same way it is bred into lions and tigers, but killing a comrade was a feeling too unpleasantly foreign from dispatching a common enemy, she can’t navigate through the sentiment.

Her hand is warm and wet from the red liquid, her grip is deadly around its tainted surface. Mikasa exhales sharply, her chest beating hard against her ribcage. Samuel twitches below her, blood pouring out of his wounds with rapid speed. 

There was no turning back now. There was certainly no way of ease for this. 

Her mind is muffled and grim, so she takes a step over Samuel’s body and follows the noise of another approaching soldier, already late to the scene. That’s when she sees him.

A man, roughly her age, tall with sun-kissed skin and dark short kept hair. He’s broad and fairly muscular, prompting Mikasa to freeze in the middle of those woods, staring deep into the soldier’s light brown eyes.

And particularly to process the familiar constellation of freckles scattered about on his cheeks. 

The freckled man squints his eyes only to widen them, “Mikasa? Is that really you?”

“Marco.” 

All the numbness from her previous deeds evaporates to bring a torturous realization. Mikasa’s eyes are wide and her voice almost cracks. Her throat is painfully tight, why did it have to be Marco?

The other soldier smiles, a genuine heartfelt smile, twisting Mikasa’s heart with even further guilt. “God, you’re alive! You look so…so different.”

Marco’s words sound warm, but his expression is troubled as he takes in Mikasa’s form. She knows just as much as he does, what she has committed. 

“Likewise.” 

Marco frowns slightly upon the coldness of the reply. He carefully analyzes Mikasa with an untrustful look, though he tries his best to keep his cheerful demeanor. He gives a sloppy smile when he meets the woman’s eyes, innocently pointing out, “Your hand is bleeding.”

Mikasa looks at her blood soaked hand then, which holds the knife responsible for Samuel’s demise. The blood that falls from its pointed tip patters against the soft snow, leaving crimson stains as deep as rubies. She says nothing, just releasing breath after breath, looking deep into Marco with conflict.

Marco’s initial excitement slowly fades into dark understanding.

“Ah.” 

That’s what snaps Mikasa, who takes a firm step forward, causing Marco to take a large step back in return. It's sickening how that action makes a primal instinct in Mikasa shiver with anticipation.

“Eren is okay. Everyone is alive.” Marco begins to say cautiously but desperately, it temporarily stops the woman from advancing any further, and he continues with urgency. 

“Come back with us, Mikasa. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

“I can’t” Is all Mikasa says, holding the knife with a better grip which does not go unnoticed by the man. “It won’t be the same. You know too much. You…”

“I won’t say. You know I won’t say.” Marco reasons, “I won’t tell them about the sharpshooter.” 

“Why did it have to be you?” Mikasa says gravely, raising her hand with restrained vigor. Marco shouts a raw cry of betrayal before quickly breaking into a fast sprint. 

“Stop it! Mikasa! Don’t do this!”

Mikasa once again does not say anything. She tackles Marco down into the ground, a simple task considering that the man is nowhere near her strength level, but he still proves to be a decent struggle despite her efforts. 

If she doesn’t think, for once, if she does not think.

“Why? Why!” He shouts with tears, when Mikasa’s hold is more deadly and crushing. “Why? Why do this? Mikasa!” Marco cries, tears streaming down from his wide eyes. He sobs and he wails, prompting Mikasa to make a pained noise of despair herself. It only gets worse when Marco pleads,“We haven’t even had a chance to talk this through!” 

Mikasa’s tears stream down her own cold cheeks. She places shaky hands on the man’s belt, feeling for the gun sheath. The handgun is cold, frigid, and unfamiliar in her grasp, but the noise it makes when she pulls the trigger is too familiar in her consciousness. Crows immediately scatter away from the noise, leaving the woods with eerie silence.

Chapter Text

November 17th, 1856, 09:30 

—

A single bullet rings through the woods. 

Annie closes her eyes when she sees the spray of blood that comes with a penetrative headshot. It consoles her to know it didn’t come from her index finger. 

But she can’t believe it. 

The things that Mikasa has done…

Having her wield the rifle was one thing in its entirety, but killing comrades was a much more unforgiving crime. Marley would’ve dispatched her on the spot, her father would’ve…

Annie swallows and rests her head on the rifle’s barrel, much like Mikasa had done previously. 

She yearns to return home. 

Suddenly, another loud, crackling noise resonates in the empty forest, and Annie’s skin rises in goosebumps. 

Mikasa. 

She doesn’t even think about it, her body moves on its own accord. The muscles in her legs strain to advance faster and burn with imperativeness. In the distance, Mikasa had collapsed on the ground, her hands squeezing her thigh.

She doesn’t hesitate to fire a round, which sends a splatter of blood along with a thud against the snowy ground. Mikasa is next to the body of the soldier she had killed, but blood pools from her thigh at a rapid pace. Her expression is twisted in pain and obvious guilt, but her eyes remain solely on Annie. 

The other soldier stands next to the one Annie had just killed, but he quickly stands erect when Annie almost presses the muzzle of Mikasa’s rifle against his chest. She sees the Red Cross band around his bicep, and the words leave her mouth without much protest.

“You’re a medic.”

“I-I’m in training-“

“You know how to treat gunshot wounds.” Annie cuts him off, watching him cautiously, “Fix her up.”

The man gives a glance at his fallen comrade, and Annie follows his gaze to see another Red Cross badge against his uniform. That must have been the veteran medic. 

Another war crime was added to her list. 

“She’s a traitor!” The soldier shouts with a strained voice, confirming further his inexperience in authority.

Annie’s stare hardens, “ You don’t get to decide that.”

“Neither do you, disgusting Marleyan.” The man sneers, “You don’t know the kind of soldier Officer Ackerman is.” 

He gestures at the mess of dead bodies littered around, at Mikasa’s bloodied state that resulted from the slaughter of her comrades, and the way the expansion of blood soaked the crisp white snow from Mikasa’s wound. 

“Watch what you say.” Annie snaps, taking into account the look of utter disgust and confusion that adorned the medic’s features. There are a lot of questions that are gearing up in his mind, Annie can see them actively spinning.  

“Marley will punish you.” 

Out of all the obvious truths, that was the one that Annie expected to hear less. If Mikasa was an official traitor to Paradis, then that made Annie all the more certified turncoat to Marley. 

“Patch her up, eldian devil.” 

She cannot stand to be reprimanded by an outside party that was not her nation’s commanders or superiors. She never took that opposition from any soldier below, above, or within her rank, and she was not going to let a soldier from Paradis out of everyone scold her now.

The soldier has a look of disdain and dissatisfaction, sporting a look that the blonde could not accept, didn’t deserve.

“You don’t know the things we’ve done to get to this point.” Annie says threateningly, “A death penalty from a trial does not frighten me. Treat her now, or I’ll have to dispatch you.” 

The medic takes a final sharp breath before gazing at Mikasa, who stares at the expanding puddle of bloody snow, teary-eyed. He approaches the fallen woman then, crouching down and beginning to unpack his med kit. 

Mikasa doesn’t even flinch when the medical soldier inserts the tweezers and maneuvers around the cavity, but she does stiffen in discomfort and eventually makes pained noises from the burning pain. The bullet is retrieved soon enough, and the soldier pours alcohol onto the bloody aftermath. 

This is what causes Mikasa to release broken cries, it’s so unlike her, that it has Annie worried. 

“I’m going to wrap it now.” The medic informs while Mikasa recovers from the previous task. Deep breaths are released along with faint gasps, each a more painful release than the one before, which intensifies when the soldier wraps the gauze tightly against the muscle of her thigh. 

“Keep it clean and dry. It should heal in around six weeks.” The soldier looks up to make contact with Mikasa, his demeanor immediately sours upon the sight of the officer. “Yet I suppose that it will take sooner than that for you, yes?”

Mikasa doesn’t answer. 

The medic sighs in defeat, but when he stands and turns to face Annie, it’s brief and harrowing. 

“What-“

“Thank you.” 

A single gunshot resonates once again in the valley. 

——————

November 19th, 1856, 03:19

—

Annie’s jaw clenched from the cold. 

Frost had accumulated to form a thin crust of ice around her uniform’s surface, ultimately resulting in a blanket of pure icy chill. It didn’t exactly serve the purpose of keeping her warm anymore, but it wasn’t like she would strip it off either.

She was scuffling around way before daybreak, the world was silent with the occasional distant noise of artillery and gunfire. It was strange to be far from the sound, always used to being within a mile radius of the disastrous noise.

Annie isn’t sure how she managed to stay alive for so long. The war had been going on since she could remember, and her father had sent her away after he no longer could sustain his position. He fought for a while, periodically stationed for reunions before being deployed once more. In the time that he stayed, he trained Annie for days on end, long continuous hours to fortify the blonde’s instincts. He never once gave Annie a loving gesture, always intent on sculpting her into a Marleyan warrior, a force that Paradis’s soldiers could not reckon with.

She didn’t doubt her abilities, but her father had always made it clear that she lacked the drive for survival. So he pushed her until her limits were surpassed, so much so that the blonde couldn’t take it one day and lashed her rage towards its source. 

Her father would never walk on his own again. 

Annie was beyond infuriated still when the man had enough strength to praise her for what she had done. She expected him to punish her, beat her perhaps, send her away if needed, but all he did was praise her greatly. 

He viewed her as a weapon, a rusted blade that needed refined sharpening to the edge. Annie was drilled into a shell of power and superiority, yet she still attained her motives of stubbornness and procrastination. Perhaps that is why her father sent her away, or matter of fact, why she chose to follow his massive footsteps and pretend that he had sent her away. 

The truth is, Annie had lost a war already. He had begged her to return, the first time he had ever gotten on his knees and exposed his vulnerability to her. That was her first battle that was long lost. It had made her sick with regret and anger, how could he rob her of a childhood only to turn the tables and express remorse?

Even if every other creature alive comes to hate you, your father will always be by your side…so please. Promise me that you’ll come back.

Annie shudders as the words replay in her mind, the despair and desperation rooted into that sentence clung in her consciousness like a weed. She had a father awaiting her return, and every soldier in Marley probably assumed her dead. 

Annie shakes the thoughts all together. 

She focuses on the task at hand, scavenging through the darkness and taking whatever she can get her hands on. She and Mikasa had been staying in an abandoned small cabin in the middle of a wooded area. The location of the house was far for walking and away from any nearby towns, but Annie made the best of her options. Mikasa was nearly passed out when they reached the place, her wound bleeding through the gauze. It wasn’t looking great at all, and now the woman depended on Annie for support. 

As a result, she occupied most of her hours by scavenging and searching, recycling traps that the previous owners used for wildlife in hopes that they would catch despite the cold. She felt weak and malnourished, but she didn’t voice her thoughts out loud. She couldn’t complain when she had chosen to take this path.

Paradis was a heap of rubble and mess. Civilians had either perished or vanished, leaving small towns and villages nothing but distant memories. Annie walks through the empty streets of one small town. This one was practically destroyed, only a cabin or two intact. 

Something catches Annie’s eye. It's shimmering under the glow of the moon. She follows the glare without much thought, crouching to inspect the object when she’s near it. 

She feels joy when she sees the bottle. It’s a very dark green glass that looks black, possibly an even darker red, with a red capsule. The label is parchment colored, with a language only she would be able to understand. 

“No way,” Annie murmurs to herself. The bottle is fresh and new, full of wine. She would recognize this anywhere. 

With joy comes realization. If a bottle of Marleyan wine was here, new and unopened, then soldiers were around. 

Marleyan soldiers. 

Out of better judgment, Annie stalks around the place, ears and eyes sharp for any indication of life. She has to blink when she spots the four white uniforms not far away, the grip on the wine is firm from disbelief. 

She realizes that this is what Mikasa must have felt when she saw her comrades. 

But the feeling of utter shock is further enforced when she sees the faces of the soldiers. Reiner is standing next to Bertholdt, the two men distinctly different from her last encounter with them. Reiner had grown stubble, and Bertholdt looked even more tired than she recalls. 

They can’t see her, hidden at a point that would’ve been advantageous if she had her proper weapon, but she can see them well. They’re conversing quietly, interrupted by a woman with fair-length hair and a man with a slick back. 

Pieck and Porco. 

An impulsive thought worms itself into her mind. Their presence was a perfect opportunity to return to her side. She could leave with them, and make them revoke her name from the death list. They would greet her back and embrace her just as well with no knowledge of what she has been up to. 

She contemplates it, but she will not do it. Mikasa had sacrificed her comrades, and performed crimes for their survival, but particularly Annie’s. Mikasa had the choice to leave just as well as she did now, and she did not do so. 

So Annie stealthily walks away and diverts her comrades. She turns her back to her nation- her father, once again. 

Doing so only makes the conflicting emotions about Mikasa’s actions even more unsettling. Annie had very bitter resentment towards her homeland, the exploitation of the youth to fight a battle that was not theirs to fight. It was something she had detested, but never had she thought of taking her discontentments out on her comrades by taking their lives. She also never thought of an instance where she would kill them to ensure the survival of the opposing party, as much as she wanted to believe she could. 

Reiner and Bertholdt were her brothers at arms…having to murder them?

It was heinous to even consider that. 

And Mikasa doing just that frightened Annie. She was the epitome of a titan, something not to be reckoned with at all. Mikasa was the soldier that her father had tried all his life to forge.

But Mikasa was as equally human as everyone else. She felt emotions as raw and powerful as storms and expressed herself through expressions and body gestures that only certain people could understand. Mikasa was a woman of little words but equipped with a big heart. That's why when Mikasa returned to the cavity of solitude and silence after the massacre, Annie did not stop her. 

The past few days have been full of sleep for Ackerman. She’s hardly ever awake, and sometimes Annie sits next to her to hear her breath. It assures her when she hears the soft breathing of the other, or the quiet sounds of discomfort whenever she moves in her sleep.

Despite being passed out, Mikasa looked concentrative, with her eyebrows creased together. Other times, her face is blank with a look of peace. 

Right now though, Annie feels a slow build of alarm rises up in her body. She had just arrived at their temporary hideout, and Mikasa was lying on the couch as she last left her, but the woman’s chest wasn’t rising or falling. 

“Ackerman,” Annie says firmly, hoping that it’ll wake the woman up. There’s no response, not even a twitch. 

Shit.

“Mikasa.” 

Her name is strange in her mouth, but it rolls effortlessly on her tongue. Annie shoulders the bag off without much thought and rushes towards the form on the couch. She is hovering over the taller woman, hands on her shoulders as she gently but solidly shakes her. There’s still no sign of life from the other, further spiking Annie’s panic. 

“Shit, Mikasa. Don’t die on me now.” Annie says shakily, clearing her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. Her father would ridicule her, and her commanders would disapprove of her weakness, but Annie cannot let this happen. Not now. Not after everything they have endured through.

“Wake the hell up, please.”

Her shaking becomes more violent, more desperate. At one point, she leans down and presses her ear against Mikasa’s chest, swallowing at the proximity but focusing heavily on capturing the barest sign of life. 

Before she can even hear a heartbeat, a slim hand grips her coat’s collar and pushes her away.

“What are you doing?” 

Mikasa is staring at her, stormy eyes all suspicious and eyebrows furrowed. Her scowl is sincere, and the grip on Annie’s collar doesn’t loosen. 

“I thought you were dead.” Annie retorts, shoving the woman’s hand away and standing erect. She runs a hand through her hair, stopping short at the tie keeping her bun in place.“You scared me.”

Mikasa rolls her eyes and pulls herself up, her face twists in pain and she releases a shaky breath. There’s evident discomfort that only Annie would be able to distinguish. 

The blonde watches her silently, the way she adjusts and shifts in her position, tensing each time from the wound. Eventually, Mikasa asks, “What did you see?”

Annie holds herself quiet for a while longer, choosing to keep her comrades a secret. 

“I found wine.”

“Oh.” Mikasa is looking at her intently, gaze flickering between Annie’s eyes. She doesn’t look convinced, “Where?”

“Scavenging.” Annie shrugs, “Would you like a glass?”

“I don’t drink.”

“It’s a marleyan wine, made by a comrade of mine.” Annie reasons, grabbing the bag she had discarded to tend to Mikasa’s unresponsiveness. She pulls the bottle out in a casual motion, “It’s called Zeke’s Spinal Fluid . It’s smooth and sweet, it might help with the pain.”

“That’s a strange, unappealing name for a wine.” Mikasa frowns, but her body is tense, particularly her thigh.

Annie muses, “That might be why it’s so popular.” 

The blonde is so focused entirely on the bottle that she doesn’t even notice Mikasa’s silent staring at her. 

“You talk a lot about Marley.”

Annie looks up at the other then, seeing genuine curiosity brimming in the woman’s irises. Mikasa rarely expressed any interest in her at all, always the one being pressed upon. Annie once again gives a half-hearted shrug, “That’s where I’m from. It’s a part of me.”

“The outside world.” Mikasa hums, closing her eyes. 

“What about you? Paradis is your homeland, right?”

Mikasa opens them again to meet Annie’s curious blues. She’s notably stiff, but her voice is level, “It is.”

“It’s a pretty place.”

The latter scoffs bitterly, “It's blown to pieces now. There’s nothing pretty anymore.”

“Don’t say that.” Annie frowns, “Paradis has a lot of scenery and tranquility. It’s more primitive.”

“Am I to assume that Marley is not?” The ravenette inquires. Annie takes the moment to hum in thought, peeling the foil of the bottle and using her thumbs to push the cork inside. She didn’t linger long enough to look for a corkscrew of any kind.

“It’s a city. Every other date we have festivals with clowns and balloons and sweets. There are food stands and events for the children.” Annie says, taking an inhale of the sweet aroma of the wine. “People use vehicles and steamboats to get around, it’s congested.” 

The blonde takes a big sip of the liquid, humming at the instant sweetness and semi-bitterness that is common to wines. Zeke always made sure to use the finest grapes, even now into the war, the man had connections that were faithful to his productions. 

She grimaces lightly when the wine goes down her throat and leaves a small burn in its path. Mikasa observes her, devoid of any expression. 

“If everything settles and we…” Annie stops herself momentarily but decides to speak her truth anyway. They lived on borrowed time. “I’ll show you around. When the war ends. If it ends.”

Mikasa has an unreadable expression. She fiddles with her thumbs, her hands resting on her lap as she continues to think. She’s beyond lost in thought, as she has been ever since the incident. Annie for a moment thinks she has spoken the wrong thing. 

“Sure, Annie.” 

——————

November 21st, 02:49

–

It’s in the middle of the night when Annie hears it. 

A pained whimper, a sound so intrusive in the otherwise dead silent room. The blonde groggily wakes up from her position on the uncomfortable armchair and approaches the source of the noise. Mikasa is sweating bullets where she’s resting, making pained sounds as her chest rises and falls at a slow pace.

“Leonhardt?” 

Mikasa’s voice is weak and muted, and her eyes are half-lidded and dull. 

“You’re not dying on me now,” Annie says dismissively, but Mikasa doesn’t scoff as she would’ve. She’s quiet, gazing up at the ceiling before she swallows dryly.

“I think…I think I am dying.”

That simple statement is alarming in itself, it makes the blonde sit on the couch’s edge, next to Mikasa’s legs. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Mikasa’s expression is twisted in discomfort and pain, it makes Annie copy the gesture in a phantom feeling of her own, as if the sensations that the other felt would seep into her own body. 

“This is not humoring, you know? Don’t say these things.” Annie snaps, whether it's frustration or panic, she cannot say. 

The ravenette releases a slow breath through her parted lips in response, but her gaze remains heavily on the ceiling.

“Fucking hell, Ackerman.” Annie hisses, shifting her position to crouch down next to Mikasa instead. “You won’t die.”

She looks so… defeated. Her hair is plastered against her pale skin, but she makes no effort to rid herself of any layers. Her eyes, although dull, remain fiery.

“You have a fever.” Annie’s hand itches to confirm her assumption, but she knows any better. If the state that Mikasa was in wasn’t enough of a confirmation, then she would not know what else.

“Take it easy, alright?” 

Mikasa eyes her cautiously, albeit softly, but she doesn’t say anything. Her response is given through closed eyes and gentle breathing. 

Annie stays by her side for the rest of the night.

——————

November 24, 1856, 21:52

—

“When this stupid war ends, I’ll marry Krista.”

Ymir’s booming voice rang through the empty field. The soldiers gathered around in a circle, sitting against the uncomfortable logs as they listened to the freckled woman. 

“You’re too gullible Ymir.” Connie scoffed, Sasha, humming in agreement beside him. “There’s no way in hell that Krista would marry you.”

“The hell did you say, baldie?” Ymir scowled, “Don’t piss me off.”

Connie burst out in hysterical laughter, “You’re an idiot!” 

Eren and Armin watched their bickering unfold with sunken expressions. The ceasefire had lightened the moods of many, potentially promising new beginnings, but neither he nor Armin shared the excitement as their comrades.

There was an empty spot beside them, one where someone dear to them both would’ve been sitting if it weren’t for that day. 

Eren is the first to say, “You think it’s going to be over?”

Armin stays silent, pondering the question. The war had been going on since they could barely walk, it wouldn’t surprise him either if this was a faux stop. 

“I wouldn’t know what to tell you, Eren.” 

“We have to fight to win.” Eren murmurs, “For Mikasa. She would’ve wanted it that way, right?”

Armin shakes his head in vast disagreement, “Don’t confuse your sentiments with what Mikasa would’ve wanted. You know she joined the survey corps for you.” 

Eren bristles, but remains calm regardless, “I know.”

“Mikasa wouldn’t…” Armin clears his throat, trying to speak through the large mass of accumulated despair. “She wouldn’t want to see you killed or harmed. She promised your mother.” 

“I know,” Eren says in defeat, his voice thick with unspoken hurt. “And she isn’t here anymore. Neither of them are.”

Sasha suddenly makes a loud comment about food and hunting, earning the attention of Jean and Connie who muse along with her. Their comrades were full of spirit, or as much as a ceasefire could provide.

“We should’ve been there for her. She was always there for us.” 

Armin sighs upon that statement, “Mikasa took orders to heart. She would’ve killed us herself if we didn’t abide.”

The brunette frowns, “Just that one time. Disobeying orders wouldn’t have been bad if it made sure she was here with us.” 

“Whatever happens next, Eren. We will see it through.” Armin says, a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Eren scoffs in minor amusement, but his eyes have tears. “You sound like her.” 

Armin smiles sadly at that.

——————

December 1st, 1856, 06:00 

—

Mikasa can walk now. 

Although she walks stiffly with a minor limp to her gait, she can walk. The discovery of this was quite a spectacle. Annie was merely collecting firewood early in the morning, not far from the cabin’s perimeter. Her hands were cold and wet from grappling onto mildly soaked branches, despite her best attempts to find the driest pieces of wood. 

She doesn’t understand how she didn’t hear her.

A hand suddenly rested against her shoulder, and without a second to spare, Annie dropped all of the sticks in her possession to grab the wrist of the stranger. With all her weight,  Annie threw the body over her shoulder, slamming them against the ground with a loud thud. 

“Holy shit, Ackerman.” Annie gasped when she saw who the hand belonged to. Mikasa was lying flat on the ground, a gasp piercing the air from the sudden lack of oxygen. Annie had knocked the air out of her lungs respectively, but the blonde wasn’t at all happy.

“Let me help you.” 

Annie crouches down to help lift the other soldier to her feet, but Mikasa pushes her away harshly, causing the blonde to fall flat on her ass. 

Annie tries to reason, “I didn’t expect you to be on your feet so soon.” 

The moment those words leave her lips, Annie stills in bewilderment. Mikasa was outside . Not indoors, sleeping hours away, but outside. She had managed to sneak up on Annie, and now she was here, on the ground, staring daggers into the blonde.

“Your thigh.”

“What about my thigh?” Mikasa snaps defensively, rubbing the back of her head with elegant fingers. She’s still sitting, and her injured thigh isn’t propped up like the other, but the mere fact that she didn’t look bothered by it was a progressive moment that was worth a victory. 

“It’s healed?” Annie questions quietly, raising herself completely. She refused to walk around with her rear wet from the snow. Mikasa follows as well, although she does so with a few winces to achieve the task. 

“I want a fight.” 

“…what?” 

Annie searches for humor in the other woman’s eyes and looks for an indication of hesitance in her features. Mikasa portrays neither, only intention and purpose. 

“I’m not fighting you.” Her voice is authoritative and graced with hesitance, “You’re injured.” 

“I can fight.” Mikasa objects, “I’ve recovered. I can take you.” 

“No.” Annie finalizes and turns away, collecting the abandoned sticks. Mikasa stands there, bemused. She crouches down again and places a cool hand on Annie’s which is enclosed around a stick, halting the blonde from moving. Another wince graces her admittedly pretty features before she gives the blonde an almost urgent look. “I want to fight you.”

“Mikasa, you’re limping. ” Annie deadpans, still unfamiliar with the woman’s name. Mikasa doesn’t even acknowledge that formal and almost intimate address. “Not even a few days ago, you told me you were dying .”

The woman huffs a breath, unfazed. “I’m fine now.”  

“You’ll get your fight,” Annie says at last, using the blunt end of a stick to gently tap it on Mikasa’s injured thigh. Of course, the woman hisses at the contact, so Annie traces a tight circle around the tender muscle to further prove her point, before pressing its end firmly on Mikasa’s chest, meeting her stormy eyes.

“Just not today.” 

She can almost smirk in amusement upon Mikasa’s look of bewilderment. But something foreign and unreadable mists Mikasa’s eyes, something smoldering and dangerous, it engulfs the blonde whole with an unfamiliar nerve. She looks between Mikasa’s features, soaking in the pale scars on her face, the foreign look of her in general, and her gaze impulsively falls on the woman’s lips. The pale thin scar that overlaps an even paler one on the corner of her lip is strangely appealing. 

She wonders if Mikasa can sense the unusual but electrifying shift in demeanor. If her frozen composure is a result of the sudden shift of anticipation, if the way her shoulders tense but she slowly and almost willingly drops to her knees, like a surrender,  to be at a better position within Annie’s height is all a result of this new appeal. Mikasa looks lost and distracted, and her breath is a cloud of white vapor when she releases it cautiously, exercising the limit. 

Annie thinks this look of unspoken submission is completely and ridiculously attractive on the usually overbearing and annoyingly stoic Mikasa Ackerman.  

But she clears her throat and uses the stick that’s still pressed against Mikasa’s chest to flick the woman’s chin, snapping them both out of their trance. Mikasa makes a huff of discontent from the action, but she is mainly dumbfounded where she is, watching as the blonde stands and leaves back to the warmth of the cabin, unknown to her that Annie was leaving with a knot of warmth spiraling in her chest and a face full of puzzlement. 

The days to follow have a similar pattern. Mikasa is observant and keen on Annie’s habits. She almost seemed like she was itching to have some sort of movement, always pacing around the cabin with slightly stiff steps or tapping her fingers against the armrests of the chairs. Annie had questioned the woman about her apparent unease, but Mikasa had brushed her off firmly with a scowl. 

She also didn’t seem too troubled by her actions against her allies, occasionally losing herself in thought processes that lasted minutes on end, but not to the point where she would punish herself with doubts and verbal attacks. She had told Annie once that what she had done could not be redeemed, that there was no use to stay clinging on the past.

Annie assumes that it is due to Mikasa’s constant pressure that she shoulders. She was a commanding officer, an imposing one if you will, with expectations and experiences that required full attentiveness. She didn’t have the time to process the guilt properly like many others did, soldiers or not. To be placed in a rather tranquil environment out of the blue, it was not surprising to see her move around this way either. Mikasa couldn’t afford to live in the past, not now. Not ever. 

Regardless, their animosity had… shifted. Their past fight was like a beaver dam breaking, all the tension and secret inquiries answered and fulfilled, but it had awakened another layer of uncertainty which was reinforced by the stunt Annie had pulled. She merely intended to prove a point, partially ridicule and remind her companion of the situation, but it had escalated to a magnifying point.

Annie knows that Mikasa can sense it, that the reason why she is insistent on a rematch is due to that peculiar friction that was released, and her natural response is to fight it. The blonde isn’t sure that fighting this particular shift will suffice to quench the thirst, very inexperienced with this sort of allure herself, but fully aware that it could not be fought out through fists and kicks. With Mikasa’s unpredictability and her own rugged nature, many things could go wrong in seconds. 

The stunt with the stick was a strong factor that led to this strange appeal. Annie had felt a fuse spark in her chest and it passed through her entire body, Mikasa’s hazy expression haunted Annie’s consciousness since. She can’t shake the image of the woman’s drowsy expression, at times going to sleep and seeing that look in completely improper settings that launch her awake all hot and embarrassingly eager. 

It’s so unjust as a soldier to be dreaming of such fantasies during a time of full crisis, and a far scandalous treason to be dreaming of this with the enemy’s most prized human weapon. 

And Mikasa does not make it any better. Her oblivion is a blessing and a curse all the same. She has a strong point in eye contact, a trait that Annie had already been made aware of since they had been stranded together, but what used to aggravate her does nothing but excite her instead, launching her into a mess of nerves that she can conceal well from its perpetrator.

Annie would be a fool to deny Mikasa’s attractiveness, it was always there. The blonde’s previous dislike towards the other woman was deeply rooted in the given circumstances that they were in. Annie had wiped Mikasa’s crew, had attempted to kill her,  and was merely following orders, so she couldn’t exactly process the other’s looks and associate them with anything positive. She only took a semi-good look at the other’s features when she was undoing her shirt in an attempt to steal from the farm. 

It’s ridiculous.

When they fight again, Annie gives it her best. She doesn’t hold herself back and doesn't spare pity for Mikasa’s still sore state. She releases her frustration through her knuckles, elbows, knees, and whatever point of her body that makes impact with Mikasa’s solid frame.

She can’t find satisfaction through her punches or kicks, a devastating apprehension. 

“Wait-“

Mikasa raises her arms to block another hit, grunting when she loses her balance and slips against the frost. Annie doesn’t stop, taking the chance to throw a kick, but it doesn’t connect as the woman fully falls onto the ground. They grapple at one another and roll against the frozen ground, Annie straddling Mikasa’s hips and slamming her solid against the ground to finalize the fight. She’s panting, her breath nothing but vaporized mist. She swallows a lump of nerves when she finds that Mikasa is watching her carefully, astutely almost, with that same heady expression that had plagued Annie’s mind for the past few days. 

It didn’t help that Mikasa was sweaty and breathing intensely, her body having occasional trembles from the arduous fight. Her chest rises and falls to match the rhythm of Annie’s breathing, and the given position was painfully suggestive. It was nearly close to those mental images in Annie’s mind. 

“We’re even.” Mikasa’s voice is strained but firm. Her body is warm underneath Annie, hands resting on either side of her head. “You can get off of me now.”

“Right.” Annie immediately blurts out, earning a skeptical look from the woman underneath her. Was it exactly an even match if there was no intent to kill like the one prior? What was the purpose of this fight anyway? Was it a draw? Did Annie win?

Mikasa stands and brushes the snow off of her form, gives Annie a very tense once over, and stalks away into the cabin. 

She didn’t look remarkably satisfied with the outcome, but Annie was offended with herself that she practically sparred way better through distracted attention. Compared to when she was fully intent on dispatching Mikasa on that roof, she almost lost her life then despite her focus being entirely set on that goal. 

She dreams that night of a pair of languid dark grey eyes watching her from below, their owner desperate and eager for Annie’s touch.

Chapter Text

December 21st, 1856, 08:30 

—

Things are… strange. 

Mikasa Ackerman was good at many things. She excelled in proficiency and outclassed her moral compass. Her fortitude made her a strong leader, and her capability to inspire made her an even stronger influence. 

But things… things have been strange. 

They’ve been changing. The atmosphere and the air have been thickening to form some sort of cloak that constantly toys with her senses. It makes her erratic. It only solidified when she had dispatched her allies. The aftermath of her deeds…the gaping hole in Marco’s skull had spun her into a void of guilt and shame.

She doesn’t know what propelled her to do such a thing. As hard as she tries to come within reason, she can’t. She’s had hours on end just processing and dissecting each individual piece of her actions, so much that she would nurse crushing headaches as a result, but to no avail. 

The simple truth of the matter is that she panicked upon seeing her allies. Mikasa kept Annie alive to ensure her own survival, but she did not intend to form a proper companionship with her. Even when she came close to killing the blonde in their physical brawl, Annie’s usual empathic demeanor had shifted into a raw reaction that snapped Mikasa out of her initial rage and startled a protective urge. After that, the shorter woman had grounded Mikasa in a way that she didn’t think possible. All those seemingly harmless questions about her, the casual commentary in regard to her way of being and physical appearance, all of those inquiries had made Mikasa feel more than just a needed soldier and more than just a harmful instrument. 

When she saw the four green coats, she panicked. Keeping Annie close was a ticket to ensure that her potentially fatal opponent wouldn’t eat away at her tranquility. Killing her would’ve been logical, but then that would diminish her chances to live. However, her comrades wouldn’t understand her reasoning. They would immediately assume her as a threat, that she conspired with the enemy and therefore, required to be questioned before being killed as well. And they were right to question her, they had every right to wonder why she hadn’t killed Annie yet, why she entertained the latter’s innocent questions after their fight, why she wasn’t her usual self. 

Mikasa didn’t know either.

Marco was a sharp man. Even if Mikasa attempted to reason with him, explain her behavior, the man would’ve always carried the suspicion on the tip of his tongue. That would toss the purpose of keeping Annie alive away, as well as make the man a threat rather than an ally. Everything that she did was to guarantee that at least, for a few more days, she would be alive, even if it actively consumed each independent nerve with guilt.

Annie was just as human as anyone else, even if she bore different loyalties, and Mikasa was bred to fight an already losing battle. Annie had traces of who she was in her eyes, of who she was meant to be if she wasn’t corrupted and conditioned for battles and sleepless nights. Mikasa wonders if that is what Annie sees in herself, that even though Mikasa is lost in turmoil, she is there to walk the path of the unknown with her, semi-responsible for the loss of direction and semi-guiding her to another point. 

That’s another thing that has been changing.

Her initial displeasure and frustration with the blonde had morphed into something more…frightening, foreign. Annie didn’t startle any sort of negative reactions or feelings. It was a sort of neutrality at first, respect even, but it was something that was only there briefly before the atmosphere thickened with their second fight. Mikasa was insistent on that rematch to satiate her desire for it since they had last fought, but her curiosity was piqued when she had first requested it. 

Annie had rejected it. She wasn’t fully healed then as she was now, so it was expected, but Mikasa’s competitive spirit had ignited when the blonde had practically thrown her over her shoulder and slammed her into the ground like she weighed nothing. To Annie, it was a mere act of defense, but to Mikasa, it was a declaration, a challenge. 

Mikasa was never a persistent person, that title corresponded to Eren, but Annie has a way of simply making her want more than she can bargain for. That was what impulsed her to still petition even after Annie’s decision. 

But Annie had deflected her once more, even going as far as prodding at Mikasa’s injury with a stick, but their proximity from that position had made a new tension rise between them. It excited and frightened Mikasa all the same. She took it as a further challenge. 

But she couldn’t fight it like one. Annie had overpowered, full-on attacked with all her might yet her jabs and kicks weren’t as harsh. They carried a certain gentleness Mikasa couldn’t counter. 

Their grappling was so quick, that Mikasa was flat on the floor once again with Annie above her, a look so unreadable on her features it had Mikasa raising a brow of question. She was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling to match Annie’s laborious breaths, but Mikasa was entirely focused on how inviting Annie had looked. 

It took a lot of willpower to utter the words declaring her loss and Annie’s triumph. Mainly because it wounded her pride greatly, but also because she didn’t want the blonde to leave her position above her when she had looked so...tempting.

Mikasa had left feeling suffocated, exhausted, sore, and yearnful. 

The ambiance was still tense despite the fight, but it was no longer a cynical charge. Whatever negative scorn that resided was fully gone now. 

They had packed their things and left the comfort of the cabin, walking a path that awaited a lot of bad things if Mikasa didn’t play her cards right.

As if Annie was reading her mind, the blonde speaks through the crunching of their footsteps against the snow.

“You don’t have to shoulder the responsibilities on your own, you know.” 

Her words pierce Mikasa’s consciousness, and she sighs, “You have nothing to worry about. It’s your duty.”

Annie nods, choosing to not argue her cause. “You’re right. It was my duty. I failed, didn’t I?”

“What?” Mikasa frowns, “That is not what I meant.”

Annie says abrasively, “If you had sent me, it wouldn’t matter the aftermath because that is what it is to wear this wretched uniform. That would’ve been my responsibility, not yours. So yes, it was my duty, and I failed.”

The other woman stood there; gaze critical as she looked at Annie with silent questions. “You had the opportunity to return as well.” Mikasa deadpans, “You also had your chance.”

Annie’s eyes widen, “How did you-“

“The wine.” Mikasa coldly says, “It was new and the fact that it was a Marleyan wine no less. You met your comrades when I wasn’t with you.” 

Annie then remembers the look of pure suspicion that adorned Mikasa’s features that night. Her voice was thick with an unconvinced tone as well, eyeing Annie skeptically but only for a brief moment before she lost herself in thought. 

So Mikasa did notice. 

“I- “

“You’re the reason I’m spiraling out of control.” Mikasa suddenly…snaps. Just like that. Her eyes are wild, and her hands are tightened into fists beside her, it bewilders Annie incredibly at the rare loss of coolness. “I would’ve never done what I did for someone like you, I- “ 

“Ackerman.” Annie begins, approaching Mikasa cautiously. Mikasa’s accusations were beginning to wound an uncomfortable part in her chest.

“I meet you and nothing is the same- “

“ Mikasa .” 

The woman silences herself immediately, watching as Annie is holding her shoulders with a firm but otherwise gentle grip. “I understand your frustration. I blame you for my inconveniences all the time, but please, not another word.” 

Mikasa exhales deeply, attempting to calm the sudden ire she felt, and Annie continues, “I won’t deny that I saw my comrades during my expeditions, but I didn’t interact with them at all.” At that, Annie shifts her gaze to Mikasa’s stitched name, a few threads already loose. “You needed me, just as I had needed you in that river.”

The other searches into her eyes and she averts her gaze from the blonde to an insignificant patch of snow. “I don’t know where we are.” She says distraughtly, “I don’t know where we’re headed or what I’m doing. I don’t know .” 

Mikasa almost seems embarrassed to be speaking these things out loud. If the fluster of shame that dusts her cheeks and the obvious crease of her eyebrows isn’t indicative of that, Annie wouldn’t know what else it could be. It also must be rooted in the fact that Annie had been following Mikasa’s leadership since they had been astray. The tides were certainly shifting. 

“Trust yourself.” 

Mikasa eyes her reluctantly, her face twisting in dissatisfaction. Annie gives a minor squeeze to the woman’s shoulders before allowing a hand to fall on her chest and giving a quick pat.

“You’re Paradis' dangerous asset. Marley stands no chance.” 

Annie doesn’t know what propelled her to speak such traitorous words. Mikasa is looking at her with a look, like she too can’t believe the nonsense that she is cursed to hear, and it twists her expression even more with distress. The blonde clears her throat before removing her hands from where they were positioned, “I don’t- “

“It’s fine.” Mikasa says with closed eyes. “Let’s keep moving.”

——————

Walking mindlessly with no sense of direction was in itself, a beautiful nightmare. It was like being guided through a gorgeous forest, but its floor is littered with bear traps and any wrong step would snap you in place. 

That is how Annie feels in regard to this senseless appeal. She follows Mikasa’s steps blindly because she doesn’t have a sense of direction either. Sometimes she feels that if she speaks or does the wrong thing, Mikasa will snare her, even if tensions are not deadly anymore.

Those evocative dreams have decreased in frequency, but they still lingered in her muddled mind. A gaping wound that just bled through every print of her neurons. 

Annie tries her best to not think of it. 

Even now, she itches to discover things that would mean nothing to anyone else. Never mind the improper dreams, peeling layers of inner vulnerability was just as interesting and she wants to learn it all. She finds that she wants to know the simple, small details that make Mikasa Ackerman herself. She already knows the nasty, deep and heavy truths that chipped the woman’s sense of being the missing fragments and cracks that were etched in her sculpture from lost and forgotten memories. Annie wants to learn the chiseled edges and rough curves, if Mikasa too had them sculpted by a hand that wasn’t hers, or if they were chipped away with precision and security from a caring hand instead. 

But times like this when more drastic events and tragedies occurred on a daily basis always brought the least amount of moral decency present. Soldiers, warriors, eldians, or Marleyans, it mattered not if everyone was as horrible as the other party they tried to overthrow. 

But she contemplates fulfilling her curiosity in regard to her companion. After all, Mikasa was silent and tranquil, and they had been walking for an ungodly amount of time. 

“So.” Annie begins, clearing her throat and slightly picking up on her stride to stand next to Mikasa who walks impassively. 

“Do you like sweets?”

Goddammit Leonhardt. 

Mikasa stops in her tracks, prompting Annie to stop a few steps ahead of her and turn with a slight worrisome glance. The other soldier gives her a questioning look, eyebrow raised, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed. 

“What?” Annie says coolly despite the blazing heat that rises on her cheeks. She blames the cold.

“Do I like sweets?” Mikasa repeats with an equal amount of inscrutability. She doesn’t offer any explanation, just the mere reaction gives her wariness.

Annie just shrugs. “I figured we could use a conversation. It’s too quiet and cold, I forget that you’re even there.” 

“Humor is not your strongest trait.” Mikasa responds sarcastically. She takes a step forward until she is next to Annie, giving her a scrutinizing gaze before she carries along. 

What a jerk. 

“At least answer the question if you’re going to be such a bitch about it.” Annie scoffs, following Mikasa at a respectable distance. She stares into the back of her head; the woman’s back is decently broad from this angle.

“I like pudding.”

Annie blinks. Mikasa is still walking apathetically as she does, and her words come out as indifferently as she tends to be. Annie frowns though, pudding? Out of all the possible options to exist, Mikasa’s favorite dessert is a mass of glop with chocolate or vanilla undertones and thick in the mouth, such disgusting texture.

“What a gross pick.”

Mikasa doesn’t halt her step, but Annie can hear the faintest trace of interest now. “It has to be firm and rich, otherwise it’s not worth the effort.”

“Are you serious?” The blonde scoffs bluntly, “Pudding is not firm.”

“I had it a long time ago. Before the war.”

“Oh.”

Yikes. 

But Mikasa continues with no significant melancholic shift, “I had it again during cadet days. That was also a long time ago, but it wasn’t as good.”

“I’m assuming that it wasn’t either firm or rich .”

Mikasa hums, ignoring the underlying mockery in Annie’s voice. “It was thick and not appetizing.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you like custards.” 

“No.” Mikasa snaps, turning around to look at Annie. She slows down in her steps to stand beside the blonde, giving her an unamused expression. “Custards are an entirely different thing on their own.”

“Mikasa.” Annie begins, frowning, “Custards are firm and rich as you describe it, pudding is soft and thick.”

“It is not.” The other woman rejects, a firm hand finalizing her decision. “The texture has to be right. If your spoon can make shapes with it then it is not pudding.”

A wave of annoyance crashes into Annie upon Mikasa’s stubbornness. But it’s only temporary, as amusement finds itself far more grandeur than anything else. She actually feels the corners of her lips lifting to shape a small smile, “You just described what pudding is!” 

Mikasa shakes her head, “It is not pudding, Annie. Don’t contradict me.”

“In no way am I contradicting you.” Annie scoffs from disbelief. “You're telling me that your preferences are simply appeased with custards .” 

Mikasa scowls for the simplest of things, Annie can’t be irritated when the crease of Mikasa’s eyebrows is clear as day. ”Then explain to me the difference. How does a custard differ from pudding?”

The genuine confusion in the woman’s face astounds the blonde. How was it possible that Mikasa did not know? 

“It’s the thickening agent.” She says simply with a shrug, but Mikasa is still looking at her with puzzlement. Annie clears her throat and prepares to exercise the best instructional voice that she can muster. “Pudding is made with starch or flour; custard is thickened with eggs.”

“Starch?” Mikasa questions with equal disbelief and minor disgust. 

“That’s why pudding is runny with that starchy flavor. Custards can be too but they’re often firmer and richer because of the eggs, which is what you like.”

Annie studies the woman, wondering if she will remain stubborn despite her marvelous and rather informative claim. Mikasa’s gaze is on the ground, a look of concentration fully present. Annie finds it somewhat endearing how simple things such as pudding could make the woman so pensive. 

“Well, what do you like?”

“I don’t like sweet things.” Annie brushes her off, even though she knows full well that that was everything but the truth. Obviously, Mikasa wouldn’t believe that response either. “You expect me to believe that, after the question of the century?”

“Fine, fine.” The blonde muses sarcastically, “I like baked or fried things. Doughnuts or pie, whichever is at my disposal.”

Her mind paints a picture of warm doughnuts coated in a dusting of granulated sugar, their crust brown and slightly crisp to the bite. It has been a long time since she last had the pleasure to taste such delicious treats. They were more of her preferred dessert than pie, but she too yearned to take a bite of a tasteful freshly baked slice with a creamy pumpkin or peach filling.

Mikasa seems to think the same, as she makes a quiet hum, “Hm, pie is good.”

“Pumpkin pie is the best.” Annie agrees, but Mikasa makes a small grimace, “Now that’s an overstatement.”

“So, you disagree?”

Mikasa gives her a soft smile, it’s very faint and it has Annie bewildered. “Cherry and raspberry, I think.”

It takes Annie almost tripping on a hidden rock and Mikasa’s concern to respond.

“You’re strange. I bet you would eat apple pie from the green sour apples instead of the sweet deep red ones.” 

She says those words through a slight wince, but she does not let it show. Mikasa does not deny her pointed accusation, instead feeding into it by saying, “Frosted lime cakes are also very delicious.”

Mikasa really seemed to like sour and tart things. Annie can take that hint, so she continues with her own sweeter contrasts, “Honey cakes are more appetizing.”

“Raspberry cheesecake.” Mikasa says with a determined smile. It’s still soft and reserved, but it is there, and it makes Annie warm in odd ways. Sensible ways. Ways that make her feel less of an empty shell and more of a sentient being. 

“You really like tart and bittersweet things.” 

She didn’t exactly intend to speak her observation out loud, but she expects the look of pure innocence Mikasa adorns when she utters the most ambiguous, and frankly, suggestive words yet.

“It sits right on the tongue.” 

Annie keeps eye contact until she can’t contain her awkwardness and abrupt humor. She bursts out laughing, a sound so strange to even her own ears, it causes Mikasa to look at her in astonishment and she’s blinking as if she cannot believe what she is witnessing. 

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Annie says through a muffled laugh. She restrains it to the best of her abilities, but Mikasa’s wide eyes do not help at all. 

“You’re laughing.“ She says with exasperation, “What was so funny that you’re laughing?”

“You have a way with words. All this ambiguity.” The blonde finally manages to say after clearing her throat. 

Mikasa stares at her with skepticism but mostly awe, “If that’s what you think.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Do you like fruit?” Mikasa asks, briefly looking around their surroundings to ensure that they aren’t walking into a potential attack. Annie can see a certain timidness through the question. 

“It depends. I like to eat them with something sweet, like honey or something.”

“So, strawberries with, let me think, hazelnut spread?” Mikasa inquires further, genuine wonder gleaming in her grey eyes. Annie hums, “That sounds delicious.”

“I crave something tender and roasted right about now.” Mikasa says out of the blue while staring out into the distance. Annie raises an eyebrow and turns to see where the other is looking. She sees the house ahead, fenced with a cow on the field. Returning her look to Mikasa, she sees the mischief gleaming in her eyes.

“Me too.”

——————

It’s the same plan as the one before. 

Annie isn’t at all appeased by having to wear the green coat again, even though it feels painfully natural to be enclosed around her figure. Mikasa makes a show of undoing her shirt, again, and Annie has to rip her look from the woman to stare at her boots. 

The only difference from this plan and the one they had already experienced, was that Mikasa was now partaking in the scheme with her. Annie at first found it a faulty thing to do, but one thing about Ackerman was that she was more stubborn than a bull. Not a mule, as Annie has met a fair share of docile mules and donkeys in Marley. 

So, here they were, successfully creeping into the worn-down barn after they had diverted the farmer’s sleeping collie. 

“Let’s make it quick.”

Annie nods and makes her way to the caged ducks while Mikasa stalks to another row of perched cages. Hurriedly, her hands unlatched the doors and scrambled into the hay, hoping that the ducks here were female and had laid an egg or two. 

“Mikasa- “

The door of the barn suddenly swings open, in sight of where Mikasa was standing. 

A burst of panic floods her senses, she stands frozen in place while the older woman stood with a shotgun in her hands, gaze furious. 

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my property!?”

“I- “

“Where’s your green coat? Are you a Marleyan soldier?!” 

“ No! ” Mikasa shouts firmly, hands out in submission. They tremble from either anxiousness or the cold, perhaps both, and again, it’s so unlike her to express such loss of dignity. The farmer has a little girl clinging to her hip, and the expression of said child is one of fear as she too, eyes Mikasa distrustfully. 

Mikasa swallows, “No. Ma’am, I’m a soldier from Paradis. I lost my coat.”

“I’m not an idiot; how do you lose a coat during these horrid conditions?” The farmer questions with an evident sneer. Her grip on the gun doesn’t falter. 

“I was separated from my squadron, and I fell into a river trying to pave a way for them.” The soldier says carefully, doing her best to not turn her gaze from the woman to her hidden companion, not even a few steps away. As far as the woman entailed, she only knew of her presence.

“My coat got caught in a branch, I would’ve drowned if I didn’t dispose of it when I did.” 

A brief silence, a contemplative expression, and slight relief, “I see.”

“I’m from the Survey Corps, or the Scout regiment, whichever you’re familiar with.”

“I know what the corps are.” The woman scoffs, but the gun isn't pointed at Mikasa, and the young girl eyes her with awe and sympathy. 

“Momma she’s hungry.” 

As if she just noticed her presence, the woman immediately snaps a firm scolding, "Go back inside. You’ll catch a cold.”

“She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t hungry.” The child continues, meeting her mother’s eyes with distraught. Mikasa swallows thickly, taking the chance to steal a glimpse at Annie who is crouched and observing tensely. 

“I’ll tell you what.” The woman suddenly says, snapping Mikasa’s attention to her. She sees the look of triumph on the girl’s face, and the mother looks rather at ease but still sharp with skepticism. “I’ll send you off with bread and cheese, that kind of stuff. Just, leave the animals alone, okay?”

Mikasa blinks, “That… that would be very courteous of you.”

It was rare for civilians to willingly give their resources to soldiers. 

“You’re a soldier fighting for our clause. It is the least I can do, and I am sure the military doesn’t provide you with anything good other than expired slop.” The woman continues, she gestures at Mikasa, who still stands reluctantly until the girl approaches her and clasps a hand around her calloused palms, urging her forward. Mikasa resists the need to flinch from the touch.

“Come, I’ll give you a bar of soap too.”

Mikasa turns to look back at Annie, who watches the whole ordeal with confusion. 

Outside.

Annie doesn’t mouth a response as the door closes. 

——————

“I take it you don’t know what’s going on.”

Mikasa is eyeing the clasped hands with scrutiny. The girl’s hand is soft and unblemished in her tainted, scarred palm.  “Pardon?” 

“The news. The ceasefire?”

“There’s… a ceasefire?” 

Her heart twists tightly in her chest. 

“You poor thing. “The woman murmurs softly; it doesn’t help the sudden ache in her body. “The king and Marley’s government have agreed to place a second ceasefire for a week. I believe today is the second day.”

Mikasa is dumbfounded where she is. A second ceasefire? When was the first? 

She clears her throat, swallowing the thickness, “…what day is it?”

“December 21st. The end of the war is due.”

“Oh.”

It doesn’t bother her that the young girl is eyeing her peculiarly, or that the woman is still staring at her with certain animosity. It doesn’t matter that the sky above is a deep white color tinged with blue undertones from another snowstorm or that she is suddenly shivering from a certain chill. All her life, she has been nothing and yet everything to Paradis, this mind-numbing nightmare was reaching its end, and she has been living under falsehood and treachery. 

Her face feels hot, and her eyes freeze from the piercing cold, she blinks wet tears. “Where are we? The location.”

Even though her voice is level, it doesn’t hide the rawness of her emotions. The woman gives her a soft look, one that looks distinctly motherly, and it tugs the strings of solitude in Mikasa’s chest further. 

“Outskirts of town. Trost is 10 miles to the west, now give me a moment while I go and get your things situated.”

The little girl gives her hand a squeeze before running after her mother into the house, leaving Mikasa frozen in place with minor tremulous shakes.

She thinks her guts are twisting into horrible knots and she’s going to throw them out. Bending over while coughing vehemently, she tries to compose herself as orderly as she can, but the overwhelming emotions cloud her senses and she’s crying tears of pain or relief, she cannot tell. 

It takes a fair while for the farmer to come back out again, and when she does, Mikasa has already cleared her still wet eyes. She offers a strained smile in gratitude when the woman gives her a basket. Of course, out of better judgement, she opens the basket to find a wheel of cheese that was no bigger than her palm, a pound of granulated sugar still in its unopened glory, three brown eggs from chickens if she had to guess, fresh sourdough bread judging from its smell, two small glass milk bottles sealed well, and finally, a small jar of strawberry jam. Of course, there’s a bar of soap along with another larger bar. It all looks fresh and new, it astounds Mikasa. 

“You didn’t- “

“It’s alright. We have tons to spare. I had too many bars of goat's milk lavender soap and I took the liberty to throw in a laundry bar too. It’s citrus and should help with the smell of iron from you know…” The woman gestures at the dried brown splatters in Mikasa’s shirt. “I doubt it’ll remove the stains, but I’d rather you be in clean stained clothes than soiled ones.”

The little girl nods vigorously in agreement and they guide her to the entrance gates of the property, not far from the barn but still at a respectable distance. Mikasa can only hope that Annie has retreated by now.

“I’d advise you to find some sort of shelter, a snowstorm has been brewing, and it won’t take long before it starts. There’s a farm not far from here, five miles to Trost, I believe. You’ll know when you see it. The occupants have long perished. Maybe try your luck there.” The woman says, eyes flickering between Mikasa’s greys. 

“I can see you’ve been fighting for a long time, child.” She says with such a pained expression. “Your eyes. They’re filled with sadness.” 

“Ah,” Mikasa murmurs, wiping a sudden tear and diverting her gaze from the woman to the young girl still flanking her side. She wants to thank her deeply, spill and ramble her gratitude but she is afraid that if she utters a single word, she’ll break into tears instead. She can’t even speak.

The little girl beckons Mikasa closer, so she gives a look seeking permission from her mother who grants it warmly. 

Crouching down now isn’t a difficult chore to maneuver with her healed thigh. The little girl grabs Mikasa’s hands, tracing soft lines and circles on the scabs, scars, and lines of her dirty palms. The hands that have done things that this child’s innocence would never do. 

“Chocolate.” The girl murmurs secretly and places a large bar of milk chocolate wrapped in aluminum foil on her hands. “For you and your friend.”

Those words spark alarm in Mikasa, and the worst part of her instincts whisper of malicious intent to protect herself like she did all those days ago with her comrades, but the girl smiles and places a finger on her lips in a shushing manner, and Mikasa feels disgust with herself for having such unrecognizable thoughts.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

December 22nd, 1856, 20:00

—

They arrived just as the first blanketing sheet of snow began to fall. 

It’s all vaguely reminiscent in the way that Mikasa immediately searches for abandoned papers and parchment to toss into the unused fireplace, all familiar when Mikasa’s hands struggle to light the match, and she curses under her shaky breath only for Annie to take the box and spark a fuse with ease. 

The only contrast to this moment and the one long lived, is that Annie doesn’t speak cold detached promises or looks at her with dangerous eyes. She eyes her with acknowledgment and something else that Mikasa can’t quite grasp, speaks to her with warmth and interest to her words, and seeks her with curious intent. 

And now, Annie is sitting on an armchair by the window, staring out into the white foggy exterior. The slightly blue ambience makes her wintry eyes cooler to look into, Mikasa can’t rip her gaze away from them. 

Annie has been quiet since Mikasa informed her of the ceasefire, of the mere fact that the world that they have been conditioned to accept was becoming nothing but a cruel fever dream. She excused herself from Mikasa for a moment and disappeared for a few minutes before returning with a calm, almost alarmingly neutral disposition. 

Some people grieve differently. 

The food had been untouched, the basket sat squarely on the living room’s table. They couldn’t bring themselves to eat yet, entirely lost in their bitter reality. 

“It’s really over, isn’t it?” 

Mikasa studies the blonde’s face, carefully examining each of her features. The small crease of her eyebrows, the little kink in her nose from the ungodly punch, the slight curve of Annie’s lips. Mikasa swallows thickly and forces her gaze away, “It seems that way.”

Annie nods, but her eyes don’t rip away from the window. The storm is strong, wind howling and blowing snow and sleet. “Trost is where you were stationed, right?”

” Yes.” 

The silence is uncomfortable, but Annie continues with a soft-almost defeated tone, “Do you think it was worth it?”

Mikasa doesn’t respond. 

The other sighs, “I don’t know a life without a war in it.” 

“Me neither.” 

“What can someone as… as corrupt as us possibly do in a civil society?” Annie murmurs, “Can we even go back to civilization?”

“Let’s talk about something less intimidating.” Mikasa says, standing up and grabbing the basket of goods. “We can talk about whatever you want, just as long as it isn’t a future that isn’t promised.” 

Annie’s face expresses a clear dislike upon the shift, but she abides. “I guess sugar and eggs are more interesting.”

“Yes, they are.” 

She makes way towards the kitchen, Annie following behind in silence, probably thinking of what else to converse about. She sets the basket on top of the table before unloading it, the food feeling pleasantly foreign in her hands. The previous inhabitants had left the house with some resources stashed away. There was a box of sugar cubes and salted crackers, as well as a can of sardines. Of course, Mikasa wouldn’t touch the sardines, anything meat related always expired in unpleasant ways. 

This house had a small stove with a small milk pan already set on top. The kitchen sink still had the water running, even if it was just a small stream. Mikasa looked at the recipe bar of chocolate that the little girl had given her, and the two bottles of milk were still untouched. 

“Hot chocolate?”

Annie nods eagerly at that.

——————

“How old are you?”

Mikasa places her mug down against the wooden table, looking at Annie with a bit of skepticism. “You don’t need to know my age.”

But Annie persists, "If I told you mine, would you tell me yours?”

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes, it matters.” Annie blatantly says, voice soft from the chocolate. Mikasa locks eyes with the blonde, amused but not entirely convinced yet. She taps her fingers against the table, contemplating, watching as Annie waits patiently. 

“February 10th, 1835.”

“Holy shit.” Annie gasps, “You’re younger than me!”

Mikasa frowns, definitely not expecting that, “How old are you then?”

“March 22nd, 1834. Holy fuck Mikasa, your birthday is a month away.” Annie says with sudden calmness, a realization that seems to solidify her point.

Mikasa tilts her head curiously to the side, “Two.”

“One.” Annie argues, “I don’t count December.”

“So, you’re twenty-three.”

The blonde makes a hum, sipping at her hot chocolate with gusto. "Yes.”

“How long have you been in service?” 

At that, Annie widens her eyes and shrugs, “Let’s see. Marley had me trained at eleven and was sent to my first station at thirteen. I’m twenty-three, turning four in March, so ten years?” 

“Wow.” Mikasa says in bafflement. Annie nods in agreement, “Usually Marley retires soldiers who have been fighting for thirteen years. I used to think that number was far out of reach.”

“You’re closer to that number than anything else.” She acknowledges, “I can’t tell you when I was sent off, I lost track of time.” 

Annie eyes her like she does not believe that at all. “Your parents were fine with your enlistment?”

Mikasa stops tapping her fingers, a look of conflict and unease adorning her features, and Annie notices the shift of atmosphere just as quickly. “Sorry, you don’t need to answer that.”

“They were killed by bandits. I was there.”

Again, Annie looks at Mikasa with a troubled expression as she allows the statement to sink in her mind. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The ravenette sucks in a breath before lifting her mug of steaming chocolate, taking a long quiet sip. Annie’s throat constricts at the thought of a young Mikasa witnessing such horrific atrocities, and it makes Mikasa’s grave composure all the more justified. But Mikasa continues, eyes closed, and eyebrows furrowed as if she is deeply searching in her mind for memories long forgotten.

“I don’t think they would’ve approved of it if they had lived. I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Were you an only child?” Annie inquires, she probably should refrain from asking anything anymore personal. 

Again, Mikasa stares hard at her hands, eyes misting in certain concentration as she tries hard to remember. “Yes. I think my mother was expecting but…”

“Mikasa, you truly don’t need to speak of this if it’s a hard memory. You’re not obligated to.” Annie reassures softly, not wanting the woman to recount painful memories.  

“It’s…fine, Annie...”

“Well, if at any given moment you don’t want to talk-"

“I already said it’s fine.” Mikasa says defensively, a scowl of annoyance present. Annie stares at her quizzically before ceding, “Okay.” 

“What about you?"  The taller of the two inquires instead. There’s no hint of malice or mockery, not even slight scorn, and her expression is neutral. Annie fights the immediate need to be guarding, but Mikasa continues, “There’s someone waiting for you, that much I know.”

“Yeah, ever the sharpest tool in the box.” She says, drinking her hot chocolate with renewed vigor. 

“Your desperation was not easy to ignore.” Mikasa says with a hint of trepidation, it's slight but Annie notices it. 

“I have a father.” Annie says cautiously, testing the waters. She isn’t the exact kind of person that opens themselves so freely, but Mikasa was not someone to do the same either and yet she had. So, she continues, “Not biological, but he’s present, and he’s waiting for me to come back. A former veteran, fought in the same war that his daughter is now fighting.” 

“That’s very- "

“Poetic or some shit, I know.” Annie says derisively. Mikasa frowns, "I was going to say metrical, but if that is more of your preference.”

“You have odd preferences.” Annie snaps back playfully, before muttering underneath her breath, “Bitter things for dessert. Unbelievable.”

“I don’t care for desserts like you.” Mikasa scoffs amusingly, all previous tension lost. The shift of conversation is a very welcoming one. 

“You made that very clear.”

To further bother the woman, Annie reaches for the box of sugar cubes. She opens it and pops a cube right into her mouth, earning a grimace from Mikasa that only grows when the blonde bites it loudly with a hum. 

Mikasa reaches forward for a piece of bread and dips it in her chocolate. Annie isn’t sure if it’s a way to get back at her or if it’s just a simultaneous move, but she sure as hell finds it unappealing. 

After a while of peaceful indulgence, and of quiet staring, Annie is really compelled to ask far more curious questions. 

“Do you fancy women, Mikasa?”

Mikasa stops her movements, a piece of bread half dipped in her mug. She blinks at her like she just asked the most confusing question ever, “Fancy? I don’t mind their company, they’re calmer and more in touch with things than men.”

She takes a bite of the bread, swallows and watches as Annie shakes her head, “I mean, sexually. Romantically. That kind of fancy.”

“Oh.” 

Annie now watches as Mikasa looks everywhere but at her, as if the question is beyond her. For a moment, the blonde thinks she may have offended the other woman, but she sees a faint blush on Mikasa’s face who instinctively reaches up and pulls at her collar. “Um, I don’t know. I never had an interest in anyone. I don’t think the circumstances have given me a chance to figure out who I like.”

Mikasa still has the blush, and Annie merely says, “Or maybe you’ve never been around someone who does that for you.”

“Have you?” Mikasa asks with curiosity, the blush doesn’t fade. 

“Yeah, I suppose. A comrade of mine.” Annie says indifferently. Mikasa looks pensive, and when she asks her voice is quiet and low, “How was that?”

“It was brief and unattached.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t wrong.” Annie immediately corrects herself upon seeing the woman’s frown, “I enjoyed it. She wasn’t the person for me and war isn’t forgiving when you start to grow fond of anyone.”

“I’m sorry for that loss.” Mikasa says, and Annie scowls, “She’s not dead, Mikasa. Just there with the rest of the crew.”

“How is she?”

“Well, she has long dark hair and grey eyes. Soft voice. Charming I guess, I don’t know.” Annie says abrasively. She looks at Mikasa and she braves a comment, “Nothing as interesting as you.”

“Stop exaggerating.” Mikasa says with a roll of her eyes, sipping her chocolate with new sudden interest. Annie stares at her in disbelief, “Really? I wish you could meet yourself through my eyes. You’re intriguing as hell. I don’t know what it is about you.”

Mikasa’s blush grows, Annie can see a hint of it reddening her ear tips, but she speaks calmly, collectively, restrained. “It might be the title and reputation.”

“Or the fact that you’re annoyingly arrogant and stupidly stubborn and ridiculously strong.”

And lethally gorgeous. 

The pink hues grow, and Mikasa begins to look away in embarrassment. “You’re very flattering.”

“It’s your detachment from things, and your eyes.”

“They’re grey.” Mikasa deadpans, Annie shrugs, “Well yes, but they’re nice to look into.”

“It seems you have some sort of type. Grey eyes, dark hair.” Mikasa says calmly, but mostly for the sake of continuing the conversation. "I’m curious to know if I match the criteria.” 

Annie laughs at the remark and drinks her hot chocolate, making a show of drinking her chocolate slowly and steadily, eyeing Mikasa suggestively who only progressively widens her eyes.

“Do I?”

Annie simply shrugs with a smile. 

“Annie.” Mikasa practically pouts with minor insistence. The blonde only rests her head on her hand, elbow perched on the wood of the table with a soft, raspy tone, “Mikasa.”

Mikasa frowns, “You won’t tell me?”

“Why tell when I can show you instead?” Annie smirks, fingers tracing around the rim of her mug.

“Annie…” Mikasa trails off, watching the gesture carefully, blushing furiously. The blonde wants to be smug, but she finds that she is mesmerized with the look of pure bewilderment on the woman’s usually composed features.

“Don’t say foolish things.” She says at last, voice strained. 

“Does it tempt you?”

“I-.” Mikasa begins but she closes her mouth and closes her eyes. She clears her throat with a thick swallow, opening her lips to speak tightly, “Enough.” Her grip on her mug tightens. Annie smirks upon the sight, wondering if her words have painted rousing pictures in Mikasa’s mind and she was truly considering the scandalous offer.

But it would be wrong to deny that it didn’t get some sort of rise in Annie herself, a flash of a heady dream has her clearing her throat and looking away, crossing her legs simultaneously, suddenly tempted to actually indulge in the offer herself if Mikasa was willing to.

The silence is thicker than it was when the playful bantering began. 

Mikasa doesn’t make eye contact with her, but she tugs the collar of her shirt, slim fingers circling pale buttons, Annie watches the gesture with a rising burn in her chest, feeling the ghost of a shiver crawling in her spine like a phantom spider. Involuntarily, she leans in a little closer, shifting in her seat. Mikasa undoes the button, popping it out of place and exposing a small sliver of skin. 

It is Annie’s turn for her fingers to grip tightly on the mug’s handle. 

And Annie practically melts where she is when Mikasa finally returns her gaze to her eyes. There’s something else there, a gleaming determination but a prowling hunger. Mikasa looks dangerous , starved. 

Their eye contact is intense, laced with some sort of challenge but most importantly, coated in want. Annie feels like Mikasa is practically undressing her with her eyes, and everything suddenly becomes stuffy and overwhelming.

“I-"

“Upstairs.” Mikasa says abruptly, standing up which prompts Annie to do the same in secret excitement. 

“There’s a bathroom upstairs.” Mikasa clarifies, “A bath. The goat's milk.” Mikasa is scrambling with her words until she finally clears her throat and inhales sharply, “The water should be running. I’m taking a bath with the lavender bar. You’re welcome to take one too after me.” 

“Yep. Of course.”

Mikasa nods and swallows thickly, “Right.”

She leaves with a stiff composure, the bars of soap tightly held in her hands, and Annie takes a deep exhale of either relief or disappointment.

—

It turns out that the water wasn’t hot at all. 

Mikasa sits in a tub full of freezing water, a shock to her system, tightening her muscles completely. Her teeth are chattering away as she gathers enough strength to dunk another bowl of water on her head, gasping sharply when the water pricks her scalp like a tiny million glass shards. 

Perhaps boiling it and allowing it to cool would’ve been a more appropriate approach, a logical one, but the conversation with Annie had her distracted beyond comprehension, she didn’t think things through at all.

Her treacherous mind had pictured something far intimate. Annie’s revelation had made her wonder, but it only led her mind astray when she had practically proposed to entertain the idea of sleeping with her. Mikasa would’ve denied it at any other point, just like how she had always harshly turned down Ymir’s annoying taunting requests from time to time despite the clear attraction she held for Krista.

But God, Mikasa was going to accept. It was like a stray bullet had pierced right through her. She had some sort of sentiment that was not just attraction or basic normalcy for Annie Leonhardt. Her body was hot inside her uniform, foreign sensations far beyond what she had experienced that only people who cared for someone deeply ever felt. She was used to Annie igniting tame reactions and sentiments by now, but these actual physical reactions were so far beyond her that it frightened her enough to impulse her to flee. 

Mikasa Ackerman never flees. 

She entered the bathroom hurriedly with frustration and arousal . She didn’t know what to do at all to satiate it, what the proper way to satisfy such a strange feeling would be other than returning downstairs with the perpetrator of such, so she simply turned the waterspout to its maximum pressure and waited for the tub to fill. 

In a way, she is grateful that the water is shockingly cold rather than scalding hot. The freeze had the headiness of her body immediately jolted away and the lavender scent of the soap had eased her into tranquility. 

Now she focuses entirely on indulging into this cold bath, washing away her sins almost erratically until the soap bar begins to lose its complexion entirely. She has to stop to allow enough for Annie’s indulgence, so she shifts her attention to scrubbing the remains of her crime’s existence from her clothes with the laundry soap that was given to her. The woman was right, stains as old as the ones on her shirt will not go away. 

But the citrusy smell that clings to the fabric of her uniform is far more appealing than the odor of sweat, blood, and gunpowder residue. Her gunshot wound is stiff from the cold, but it feels pleasant to have it soaked in the icy water. In fact, her whole body feels refreshingly cool, the itchiness of the raised skin of her harness’s scars subsiding greatly. She also tenderly scrubs the tattoo of her mother’s family crest on her wrist, missing her vastly at the reminder. 

When she gets out of the shower, she realizes that she would need to let her articles of clothes dry, and the thought of wearing the previous inhabitants clothing in the meantime is discomforting. 

She’s wet and cold, wrapped in a towel and walking through the darkness of the hall and into the bedroom across the bathroom. It’s small and has a wardrobe and a small open hearth at the side with dry untouched wood already perched in it. A window allows a sliver of moonlight inside, or at least of what the storm grants. Mikasa swallows thickly at the realization, a singular room with a singular bed. 

Thinking back at it, it was not mere attraction that kept Annie alive, but rather curiosity that became attraction during the blurred lines of undefined boundaries. The tension of rivalry that Mikasa had mistook for a foreign hostility, the charge that ignited between them whenever they physically touched, the way she had involuntarily submitted to Annie’s domineering nature and the stunt of the stick being pressed onto her chest that only solidified her unspoken submission. 

Mikasa only ignored it until it caught up to her to bite her full force. 

She rolls the tension of her shoulders and finds a black dress shirt with loose trousers. Whomever the previous inhabitants were, they were both evidently men, so she is merely grateful to use her uniform belt. 

Lighting a fire on the hearth is simpler for whatever reason. Mikasa places her uniform on a nearby chair, stretching it out to dry it. Her harnesses and belts were set on a nightstand, and her dog tags were secured around her neck. 

Needless to say, she feels rather ridiculous in this attire, but when she goes downstairs to find Annie eating a piece of bread with strawberry jam on the armchair, she is looking at her like she sees a sunrise worth watching. 

“New clothes?”

Mikasa shrugs and crouches by the fireplace, embracing the warmth. “Smells nice, the citrus.”

Annie nods, but Mikasa doesn’t see it. She tries not to see her at all, afraid that meeting her gaze will ignite a spark of want that has been unwillingly growing. 

And even with her back to Annie, she can feel her eyes burning holes. Not in a hostile way, not in a negative way, just patent observation, and it drives Mikasa nearly to the brink of madness. 

“I left clothes that I think will fit you on the sink.” She says, voice level, not turning around. “Come downstairs to dry your uniform.” 

Annie hums behind her, and the rustling of clothing with the clicking of her boots is enough indication of her departure. She takes a deep breath at the blonde’s absence, a vivid warmth rooting in her chest, and sits against an armchair, closing her eyes and dreaming of pale golden hair and bored blue eyes.

—

Armin supposes that having some sort of dream that is worth fighting for is a good source of motivation. 

Mikasa’s absence still pained him vastly, as it had wounded Eren greatly, but the two men had learned to live without her fierce character or comforting presence. 

He now sat with him, eating stiff bread with distasteful thick soup, underneath the tree that Mikasa had been sleeping against before the expedition. Eren had cut his hair back to its cadet day length and removed the stubble that had grown, returning years of youth. It is Eren that speaks in regard to the future.

“We should see the sea, like we’ve always wanted to.”

Armin turns to look at him, but his green eyes are casted down at his bowl of unsavory broth, spoon moving the meat to and from. 

“Beyond the wall?”

“It probably won’t exist after this anymore.” Eren continues, poking at a particular gummy piece. “I don’t think there is a true victor.”

“That much I can agree on.” Armin murmurs, recalling the general’s words about Marley’s failing performance and Paradis’s large numbers of wounded soldiers to match. 

“If we see the sea Eren, what should we do after that?”

Eren shrugs halfheartedly, “I’ll go back to my house. I’ve always wanted to see what my dad had in his basement.” 

“You won’t…regret that, will you?”

“Armin.” The brunette says firmly, “For years, I’ve been wanting to know what Grisha Jaeger had kept away in that basement. My own mother didn’t know what he was hiding.”

The plate of soup is placed down beside him, Eren turns to meet Armin’s eyes with vigor. “Levi Ackerman is related to Mikasa, and no one knew that until we joined the regiment. What if I have a secret relative out there? Or better yet, a whole branch of inheritance? Armin, we can go back to something.”

Armin smiles amusingly at that, “Well I hope it’s the second, I can’t fathom another Jaeger.” 

“My dad was too serious.” Eren brushes him off, “Sometimes I think my mother went with him out of pity.”

Both men share a quiet laugh. Armin sets his own plate of soup beside him and leans against the tree. “Let’s definitely make an effort to see the sea. After that, I’m considering becoming a teacher.”

Eren frowns, “What? Seriously?”

“All of this will be written in the history books, Eren.” Armin says carefully, “What better teacher than a veteran?”

Eren is pensive for a moment, but he speaks with an unconvinced tone. “I don’t know. Reliving memories for future generations to never fully understand, wouldn’t you want to put this behind you?”

He’s right, and Armin swallows, “Putting the war behind us is putting everyone who perished in it behind us too.” 

His words are specific, Eren knows the message that’s being conveyed, but his expression isn’t solemn. “She’ll never be forgotten. A soldier of such strength and resilience, no way in hell will she not be spoken for. Hell, Armin, they will probably write a whole biography about her.”

Armin nods, “There’s also us to keep her memory.”

“And there’s Jean, apparently.” 

Armin raises a brow, but before he can question, Eren reaches for his coat’s pocket and pulls out pieces of paper. He hands one of the sheets to Armin’s calloused fingers, prompting him to open it. 

When he does, he sees a charcoal reflection of Mikasa, eyeing him with a monotonous expression and a particular furrow to her brow. He’s at a loss for words, soaking in each independent detail. 

“Jean drew it. He said he had sketched her before when we were cadets too. Told him he was a creep and a weirdo.” Eren scoffs, unraveling the other piece of paper and showing Armin a younger portrait of Mikasa, where she had her hair slightly above her shoulders and her demeanor wasn’t as grave.

“He captured her essence perfectly.” Armin murmurs quietly, feeling a turmoil of emotions bubble in his chest and creep up in his throat. He has to clear it to avoid his voice breaking. Eren hums in agreement, eyeing the piece in his hands, a look of yearning and loss engraved on his features.

“I think about our time at Shiganshina, the dumb bastards that would bother you.”

“What about them?” Armin asks, faintly recalling the brute boys, folding the paper again and hiding it in his coat’s pocket.  

“I think about Mikasa kicking their asses. She was always weirdly strong.” 

Armin laughs lightly, “They did say it’s the Ackerman gene.”

“Yes, but Armin, you didn’t meet her father.” Eren says with exasperation, “Her father was so kind, he didn’t look like he would hurt anyone or anything!”

Armin shrugs, “Maybe it skipped a generation?”

“Who knows. Mikasa was always quiet and self-kept. I always tried to get a rise out of her just to see if she was even capable of getting upset.” 

The blond blinks, “Why would you…?”

"I remember when I argued with her over something stupid, and she lost it! You should’ve seen her; my parents had to separate us for the rest of the day.” The brunette laughs at the memory, “I wouldn’t mess with her now. She was patient but I could tell that sometimes she wanted to, I don't know, verbally abuse me.” 

“You’re stupid.” Armin bluntly says, “You really aggravated her just to amuse yourself?” 

“It’s a shame.” Eren sighs, “I will really miss her grimaces.” 

It’s silent for a while, but something is deeply troubling the blond. He recalls a private conversation between Captain Levi and the general, and he swallows. 

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“I heard the captain and the general talking amongst themselves.” 

Eren gives him a look of trepidation and sudden seriousness, “What did they say?”

“Apparently, they want to initiate a final arduous battle before an armistice is announced.”

To say that its anger that burns in the man’s irises is an understatement. Eren’s fist clenches tightly and an eyebrow twitches, “That’s not right. Please tell me it isn’t true.”

Armin sighs deeply, “When the armistice is announced, it’ll officially mark the end of the war. I don’t know when it’ll be.”

“What the hell!” 

Eren stands abruptly, his bowl of soup falls on its side and spills its contents, enraging the man further. “Mikasa didn’t die for that, none of our comrades did!” Eren snaps, “Who is even winning? Armin, tell me who’s fucking winning this war.” 

Armin doesn’t respond.

“Fucking unbelievable."  The man grits, “They couldn’t declare it even and move along?”

“You know neither side would yield willingly.” 

“That’s bullshit.” The brunette snaps, “We’ve had two ceasefires in a row, and they cannot give it up?”

“Eren.” Armin hisses tiredly, “The ceasefires were sore attempts at regaining our strength.”

“There’s no strength left when everyone who ever bore it is dead. ” 

The piece of paper in his trench’s coat burns with torturous reminder.

Chapter Text

December 23rd, 1856, 21:00

—

The world outside is silent. 

There’s no wind, no shrill cry of a distant bird or the sharp sound of crumbling frozen branches. Everything is wrapped in a blanket of thick snow, inches and inches of the white cold dust covering every fragmental wafer of earth’s surface. 

That’s what Mikasa sees through the window of the bedroom anyway. 

She’s enclosed in her clean uniform now, everything from the thermal wear to the pesky leather harnesses, dry and smelling of lovely citrus. The clothes she had worn until then are neatly folded on the small nightstand beside the bed. Through the clearness of the window and warm glow of the hearth, she can make out her sullen eyes and the healed thin slit on the center of her right eyebrow. The left corner of her bottom lip has a thin scar as well, a reminder of Annie’s rough hits. 

She also sees the actual length of her hair. It surprises her greatly to see that it was now passing her shirt’s collar. It makes her look deadly, opposing, and definitely demanding of respect. It's a look that Mikasa does not really like. 

A loud clunk downstairs and a restrained curse through clenched teeth prompt Mikasa to divert her gaze from her reflection. She can focus on her complexion some other time, perhaps even find something to cut her hair with, but her priority is now set on Annie’s apparently deep frustration that reverberates through the house. Walking down those stairs, floorboards creaking at each precise step. Annie doesn’t even look up at her, wintry eyes casted on the piece of pale wood in her hands which rested on her lap, feet on the table.

Before the taller woman can question, the blonde releases a growl of annoyance, “Piece of shit.”

“What are you doing?”

Annie shoots her a glance, “Woodworking, Mikasa. Can’t you see?”

She raises her hands in a rather dramatic gesture, the block of wood is notched poorly on one end, and a pocket knife with an atrocious dullness is embedded into the wood at an unfavorable angle. 

“It doesn’t seem to be going well.”

“Clearly.” Annie scowls, wrapping a hand around the handle of the knife and giving a pull. “Don’t you have-I don’t know, a wall to stare at somewhere else?”

Mikasa’s shoulders stiffen guard fully at that, “Why stare at the wall when you’re right here acting like an imbecile.”

The other gives a deep exhale through her nose, closing her eyes before opening them to meet Mikasa’s vexed expression, “I’m trying to pass the time, okay?” 

“What are you even trying to carve?” The taller of the two inquires half-heartedly, gaze never faltering. Annie’s irises burn with unbridled fury, although it is tamer and far more restricted. This was a challenge, the blonde dares Mikasa to break visual contact, but the woman only returns the provocation with a deeper stare. It’s silent, it’s commanding , and Annie fights hard to swallow from how easy it was for Mikasa to overpower.

She doesn’t break eye contact though, but does answer the question, “A bird.”

“It should be easy if it's a round fat bird, then.” Mikasa sharply points out, still not yielding. Annie’s eye twitches, “It would be if this damn blade wasn’t duller than your existence.”

It’s quiet and tense, and Annie finally breaks the stare to adjust in her position, feet now on the ground. She sets the block of wood on the table and begins to wiggle the stuck knife back and forth, silently full of triumph. 

However, it isn’t a victory she can internally enjoy for long, as a blade whistles through the silence and almost clashes with the band of her ring. Annie jumps immediately at the sudden invading object, staring at its gleaming sharp edge and its firmly embedded tip against the wood of the table.

“Enjoy your woodworking.” Mikasa says coldly. “And be careful, or you’ll lose a finger.”

The dark-haired woman stalks away back to the staircase.

“What the fuck.” Annie hisses, mainly out of disbelief than anything else. “You’re insane. This-" Annie  stands and pulls the knife with a firm tug, the blade faintly ringing from its sharpness. “-Is insane.” 

Mikasa hasn’t even made a full step up the stairs when the blade is launched back at her, merely missing her face by a centimeter. She stares at the embedded weapon on the wall, eventually returning her grey gaze at Annie who looks like she might just lose it completely. 

Even though she is incredibly aggravated by the blonde’s appalling attitude, Mikasa wants to agitate her a bit further, feeling bold and impervious, and mainly confident. 

“Have you lost practice, Leonhardt?” 

Mikasa wants to smirk at the woman’s stupefied expression. “I-"

“It’s merely an assumption, don’t lose your dignity over my speculation.” 

The frown that follows is worth every bag of currency to exist on the entire planet. 

“Whenever you’ve cooled down from your apparent displeasure, feel free to seek me. There’s something important I need to speak to you about, and I’ll be eagerly waiting for your presence.”

That’s a proper declaration, a new challenge prepared and served on a silver platter for Annie to take. Mikasa offers a sly smile, meeting the blonde’s mildly amused and mainly perplexed expression. 

The knife is pulled from its standing position on the wall with elegant and semi-bony fingers, and she leaves it embedded on the edge of the railing for Annie to take. 

The floorboards creak once again with every precise step. 

—

Annie doesn’t come up the stairs for another three hours. 

When she does, she leans against the doorframe, watching as Mikasa carves a small and rather intricate horse out of a small block of birch.

She observes the precision of each shaving, the way Mikasa perfectly moves the tip of her blade into ridges and curves, or how flawlessly she moves the sharp edge carefully with the grain to carve away intact pieces. 

After a while, Mikasa blows against the wooden form, using a thumb to brush away any dust, and without meeting Annie’s eyes, says, “Whoever lived here really enjoyed whittling.” 

“I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.” The blonde blurts out, ignoring Mikasa’s comment. The guilt creeps into her body like a strange injection. The other one looks up at her then with a neutral expression and even passive words, “It would’ve been odd if you didn’t, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m sorry.”

The words hang in the unresponsive atmosphere, provoking a sentiment of further shame in the blonde, unaccustomed to such vulnerable admissions. 

Annie Leonhardt never apologizes.

“At least we didn’t fight it out.” Mikasa hums, beginning to carve a few more careful lines, blowing it sharply from any caught dust. 

“Would you rather us do that next time?” 

“Would you prefer it that way?” Mikasa returns the question with a faint hint of a smile, and a competitive tone to her voice. Annie shrugs, “As long as you don’t break my nose.”

The taller of the two rolls her eyes before gesturing at the empty space next to her, “Come here.”

Annie complies after a hesitant pause. She sits down next to Mikasa and watches her as she carves away finishing details. At one point, she shifts her stare at the woman’s hands to the woman herself, engraving every minuscule gesture and expression of Mikasa’s distinct features into her memory. 

It doesn’t alarm Annie when Mikasa sucks in a breath before speaking, “Trost district is a few miles away. Tomorrow morning, we…”

“Part ways.” 

Annie watches the small frown on Mikasa’s complexion, allows her eyes to flicker between Mikasa’s steely greys, soaks in the last bits of Mikasa Ackerman that’ll she’ll ever get to witness. The clock was ticking, and its hands moved loudly in her mind with each passing second. 

Mikasa stays silent as well until she sighs. “I thought it best that we spoke about it.”

“I understand. Today is our last day together then.”

Saying the words out loud is also equally important, a closure and an acknowledgement. It’s the announcement of their pending departure, just like the quiet initiation of their unspoken challenges. 

“Annie. I…” Mikasa pauses and gives her a conflicted look. As if what she was bound to say was a harmful confession of some sort, “I enjoyed your company, even if at times it did embitter me.”

Whatever Mikasa was actually going to say, it went unspoken, but Annie wouldn’t risk keeping her peace. It was a word she was never familiar with anyway. “I meant what I said Mikasa.”

“What?”

“You’re someone of interest.” The blonde murmurs, “You’re deserving to rely on the capacity of others, of someone who’ll keep you afloat when you feel like you’re losing yourself.” 

“Annie…”

“So, see it through. Don’t give up.” 

Even though her voice sounds monotonous and her expression is naturally filled with boredom, only Mikasa can make out the sincerity of her devoid sense of character. 

Only Mikasa .

“I won’t.”

Annie doesn’t know what else to say, feeling like she poured everything she ever wanted to say and nothing at all. She hasn’t said everything she needs to say, all the thoughts that went unsaid, or all the gestures that had gone unnoticed. They were clawing at her conscience and eating away at whatever tranquility she had left.

But she blinks from her inner turmoil when Mikasa timidly says, “I made this for you.”

She sets the blade down on the nightstand and shows the finished horse, twisting it around in the air with her fingers. “I tried to remember a particular toy I used to own when I was a child. It didn’t really have any important significance, but it stood out to me.”

She hands the horse to Annie, who takes it with awe. 

“It’s now yours to keep.”

“Mikasa.” Annie begins, “It's a very lovely horse. Very detailed.”

Mikasa shrugs like it’s nothing new, “I used to carve wood with my father, toys and utensils. I mainly embroidered things with my mother.”

“That’s beautiful.” Annie says with honesty. Mikasa smiles softly at her, so the blonde takes the chance to bump her shoulder lightly against the younger woman’s frame, “I was making the bird for you.” 

“Oh.” The dark-haired woman blinks. Annie shoves her hand in the pocket of her coat, whilst saying quietly, “I wanted it to be a surprise, I figured that one of these days we would eventually go our independent routes. I thought of a parting gift, but then I fucked it up.”

A smooth fat and round bird are raised in the air for both Mikasa and Annie to see. The blonde doesn’t move the form much, as it is a simple design and therefore, didn’t require much attention. She did, however, try her fullest to make the form as smooth as possible. She gives it to the other woman, along with the knife. “I made it fat and round, your knife was much better than the dull blade.”

“Obviously.” Mikasa muses, taking the bird in her hands with care, like it’s the most delicate thing she’ll ever touch and inspecting it carefully despite its evident lack of element.  “It’s very smooth.”

“Paint it when all of this is over or coat it in a finish. Whatever pleases you the most.” 

Mikasa hums and gingerly makes eye contact with Annie, who breaks it away to look at the detailed horse once more. “You really strived for excellence, didn't you?” Annie mocks playfully, tracing each independent ridge and groove of the horse with her eyes. It amazed her how quickly it took the woman to complete such a detailed artifact in less than 4 hours. 

“It’s what I do.” 

Annie rolls her eyes at that.

Reaching over to rest the whittled horse on the nightstand with the perched knives and Mikasa’s fat bird, Annie gives the woman a coy smile at the sudden proximity, but it merely disintegrates when she sees the inviting way that Mikasa is watching her, and the daring challenge that burns within her irises. 

When Annie slowly adjusts herself so she’s at a proper level with Mikasa, she can hear her own heartbeat palpitating violently inside her chest. She inches a little closer, slowly tethering against the currents, allowing Mikasa to feel a much closer proximity. Her action is met with grey eyes flickering between her icy blues, eventually casting down at her lips, and Annie swallows at the implication of that gesture.

Mikasa’s hands rest on her lap stiffly, her whole composure is ungiving, but the look remains. Annie feels like she’s about to drown, a sinking nerve falling in her chest, licking her lips which reels Mikasa’s attention intensely. 

She feels daring, so she leans in, but her stance immediately becomes defensive when Mikasa grips her collar hard in an attempt to keep her in place. Annie returns the gesture, but the force of their grips tugs them closer to one another instead, with Mikasa breathing heavily, gaze undoubtedly looking at Annie’s mouth, but they gleam with fury and restrained desire. They’re so close that their breaths mingle, so close that Annie can feel the ghost of Mikasa’s parted lips on her own. 

There’s no doubt that Annie’s guts are tying themselves into pretty bows. Mikasa’s chest rises and falls in an effort to keep herself together, sometimes leaning her forehead against the blondes to keep composure while she swallows thickly. 

“We can’t.” 

Annie tries not to simmer in disappointment, the painful reality. “I know.”

“We can’t.” The other repeats, as if saying it would make it any less true. Mikasa’s hot breath dances on Annie’s lips, and any attempt of self-control fails when the dark-haired woman pulls Annie closer into herself and presses their lips together. 

The gasp that Annie releases gets swallowed along with Mikasa’s own breathy noise of content. It’s electric and messy, very similar to their physical fights, but distinctive in its own rhythm. It's beyond ethereal, nothing like she had ever experienced. Mikasa’s hands immediately travel from the fabric of the collar to Annie’s warm neck, fingertips pressing firmly against the skin while Annie makes her way to straddle the woman’s lap.

There’s unrestrained urgency with the way that Mikasa touches and feels Annie. Her slim hands slide into the warmth of the woman’s coat, peeling the fabric away to leave Annie in nothing but her white dress shirt. It’s almost as if she was angry with herself for allowing this, and that idea reinforces in the blonde’s mind when Mikasa bites Annie’s lip while her fingers sloppily tries to unbutton the shirt, discarding that as well before Annie takes the initiative and removes her bra. Her tags clink with one another around her neck, the only object that she will not remove.

Annie had an inkling that this is new for the other woman, which was reinforced with her reaction upon their conversation. When Mikasa is skilled and experienced with something, it seeps through her movements, her precisions. Such as when they fought, Mikasa was exceptional and confident. Right now, she moves rather timidly despite her brash, bold gestures. Her kisses are rough and sloppy, teeth clash from their urgency, and her nails dig into Annie’s skin with desperation, but the obvious hint of inexperience is present. 

The fact that she was almost bare in front of the other while she was still fully clothed is painfully unfair. Mikasa is kissing the corner of Annie’s jaw, teeth faintly scraping against the curve of her bone. 

“Mikasa.” Annie whispers shakily, pulling away from Mikasa who only tightens her hold slightly in protest with a sound of acknowledgement.

“I want to see you.” 

Mikasa hums a throaty sound, it's raw and it hits Annie right in between her legs. The other woman doesn’t hesitate, hurriedly shouldering her coat off and tossing it with the abandoned pile of Annie’s clothes on the floor. Her shirt follows, the process very similar to her undoing it all those weeks ago. The blonde almost releases a huff of discontent however when Mikasa finally removes that pesky shirt only to reveal the black compressive material underneath, strapped with numerous buckles and belts. 

“This is really overboard.” Annie frowns while giving one of the buckles a sharp tug for emphasis. There’s no look of scorn or displease on Mikasa features, just that analytical expression. Her half-lidded eyes flicker between Annie’s, before she murmurs quietly, “Take them off for me.” 

There has to be some sort of underlying message behind those words. Annie studies Mikasa‘s eyes in search of hesitance or some sort of potential scheme, but there’s genuine honesty and need instead, so Annie obediently complies. It pains her to see how tight these leather belts were against Mikasa’s flesh, how they dug into the black material and more likely embedded its edges against the poorly protected skin. 

Mikasa makes hisses of relief each time a buckle is snapped off, the leather strains when the woman flexes a muscle with the undoing of each belt. Annie finds it completely dehumanizing, how uncomfortable and painful it must be to wear such a pesky uniform, but Mikasa does not remove her almost sleepy look from Annie, watching her attentively despite the harnesses requesting for her proper attention. 

The belts eventually fall along with the rest of the clothing, making loud clanking noises as it hits the floorboards. Mikasa is absolutely breathtaking in just her skin tight compressive material. Annie can see the swell of her biceps, the ridges of the muscles in her forearms, the curve of her shoulders. Even through the semi-thick material, Annie can see the planes of her abs and the protruding ridge of her collarbones. She was toned, of course to a degree given the poor circumstances, but her body was that of a fighter even without the proper definition. Her dog tags hung from her neck to glimmer tauntingly, but Annie knows that they too will not be removed. 

Whatever words she was going to speak, it gets swallowed by Mikasa’s hungry lips. She kisses her fervently, tongue exploring the crevices of Annie’s mouth and searching to make contact with Annie’s tongue. The blonde makes a sound of want from Mikasa’s sheer dominance at the moment, but Annie cannot have her take the upper hand. She either drives Mikasa into submission, or they both end in equal grounds. 

So Annie forces Mikasa down onto the mattress until the woman’s back hits the sheets. She shifts her position, so her body is flush against Mikasa’s torso, and her pelvis is perched above Mikasa’s hips. She breaks away from the kiss to quickly make way to kiss Mikasa’s jawline, nibbling at the skin there and moving down to the woman’s neck. Her fingers pull the zipper of that damn material until it stops square above Mikasa’s pants. Mikasa hisses each time that Annie bites and leaves open mouth kisses on her salty skin, and she moans when Annie trails her tongue across the sharp bites to ease the pressure, but there’s evident tension in her body when Annie toys with the zipper perched against her waistband.

Of course, they understood one another greatly through their physical communication. Annie immediately notices the hesitation as quickly as she could shoot a rifle, so that teasing hand is removed from that area to raise up and pull the compressive material from Mikasa’s shoulders instead, exposing those finely shaped delts. Annie bites those too, sinking teeth into the firm muscle before suckling lightly and pressing the flat of her tongue to soothe the discomfort. 

With each inch of skin and muscle that is exposed, the scent of faint lavender from yesterday’s soap is replaced by the smell of Annie’s saliva. She absolutely lavishes the woman’s body with kisses and bites, and she is particularly grateful that Mikasa is wearing a sports bra with two front hooks. It makes the removal of the garment much easier.

Her assumptions in regard to the harnesses prove to be correct. There’s angry raised skin where the belts and buckles had practically ingrained themselves, thick scars littered across Mikasa’s torso, upper midsection, and even angled across her ribs. But it makes Mikasa’s appearance all the more beautiful. Annie leans and kisses the tender flesh, refraining from biting or sucking, just praising and demonstrating her intention of care. Mikasa responds with a hand lacing Annie’s golden hair, messing with the blonde’s bun and undoing it to release a short pool of golden tresses.

Annie merely acts on instinct. She finds herself straddling Mikasa’s uninjured thigh, finds herself shamelessly grinding against the muscle after cautiously testing the waters first, moaning each time the friction causes sparks of pleasure to sparse through her entire body. She doesn’t care that she still has her pants on or that Mikasa is also fully clothed from the waist down, not when everything is on borrowed time and tomorrow, they will depart. Below her, Mikasa grunts and breathes along in response, fingers pulling firmly against Annie’s scalp, but not enough to cause pain. Annie prioritizes Mikasa just as she focuses on her own pleasure, by kissing and biting the swell of her breasts and sucking the hardened nipples, each minuscule earning throaty moans and delicious sounds from the woman underneath her. 

“Annie.” Mikasa moans, furthering the arousal that pools in both of them. Her grey eyes look into Annie’s pale blues, merely for the contact, as she watches the blonde practically undo herself with her body. When Annie’s grinding becomes more frantic, Mikasa gets the cruel will of switching them around, with Annie now pressed onto the mattress. 

Mikasa lavishes her just as hungrily and desperately as Annie. She sucks the blonde’s pulse point, bites her collarbones albeit a bit harshly, trails her tongue on the blonde’s breastbone and sucks her nipples into her mouth with a pop. It amazes Annie how quick Mikasa can catch up, and even though she can feel the faintest twitch of Mikasa’s hips, she does not grind on the blonde’s thigh. That in itself somehow pisses Annie off, the mere aspect that Mikasa was still restraining herself from her desire. 

It becomes her mission then to unravel Mikasa Ackerman completely. 

Mikasa softly kisses her nose, specifically the little kink where it was broken and healed rather incorrectly. She pauses, and Annie sees the look of conflict on her gorgeous features. The blonde takes the hesitance as a final barrier between themselves before they merge completely into an abyss with no return. 

With this, Annie grabs the woman’s face and pulls her in for a deep kiss. It scares her how natural it begins to feel, how their naked torsos press onto one another, their tags pressing cold against their damp skin. Annie’s previous competitive need rises, and she flips their positions again. Mikasa slumps against the mattress, fluffy black hair clasped onto her face and neck, eyes questioning but not wary. 

“Stay down.” 

Her tone is laced with need, Mikasa looks exactly like those fantasies with the only exception of her exposed body. In her dreams, she was clothed, but the expression is all the same. 

“Annie-"

“No.” Annie hushes immediately, a hand splayed on Mikasa’s lower abdomen. “I want you like this. Below me.”

Mikasa is semi-obedient at best. Initially allowing Annie to soak her features into memory, but the impatience is stronger, and it has Mikasa propping herself on her elbows, those exquisite muscles straining against the black fabric that was not fully removed from her arms yet. 

“Take this off?” Annie questions, hooking a finger in the loop of Mikasa’s pants. She needed Mikasa on a carnal level, a suppressed craving far primal than anything she has experienced. Once again, the look of hesitance adorns Mikasa’s beautiful features, but the woman nods. 

“We don’t need to if-"

“I want to.” Mikasa interrupts, “I want it with you, Annie.”

Something blooms in her chest at those words. Mikasa entrusting her in this regard, it sends a major warmth to burst inside her chest which spreads lovingly. So Annie leans in and kisses her, nibbling her bottom lip which earns a breathy gasp. She needs to rile Mikasa, needs to have her squirming from just her brazen touches. She succeeds and it strokes her ego by a thousands. Mikasa arches into her each time Annie descends further below, and she moans and sighs and quakes when Annie licks and bites and sucks. 

When Annie reaches the waistband of Mikasa’s pants, she presses a soft kiss on the exposed flesh of Mikasa’s lower abdomen while her fingers of her right hand make work of the pant’s button and zipper. One of Mikasa’s hands is tightly holding onto Annie’s left hand which rests below the woman’s breasts. 

Annie raises herself on her heels between Mikasa’s legs to remove the woman’s boots in order to pull the obscuring article of clothing, but she scoffs in disbelief and annoyance when she sees yet another set of belts and harnesses strapped around Mikasa’s hips, thighs, and knees. 

“This is ridiculous.” 

Mikasa makes a bemused scoff at that, but her chest rises and falls from Annie’s previous antics and she begins to sit up. “Let me help you.” 

“No no.” Annie murmurs, pushing Mikasa back down with a firm palm. “I’ll do it. You just sit there and watch.” 

Mikasa’s eyebrow quirks up in surprise, but she complies. Annie doesn’t hesitate to keep eye contact with the woman before focusing her attention on the intrusive belts, unbuckling them and untangling them from their loops. They get tossed with the rest of the abandoned garments, the metal of their buckles chiming with whatever they make contact with. Mikasa is now only in her thermal wear which hides nothing. Her thighs are sculpted just as deliciously as the rest of her body, and Annie can only imagine the nasty disfiguring scars that awaited her. 

It’s Mikasa who does the honors. She sits up only to fully remove the tight fabric from her torso, pulling her arms from the sleeves and pushing the material lower. It should be unfair how her muscles ripple with each movement, but they stop momentarily when Mikasa lays herself again against the mattress. Annie sees that Mikasa is waiting for her to fully remove and discard the wear with the rest. 

So, she does. She helps her by pulling the compression suit off and tossing it absentmindedly. Mikasa is now bare aside from her underwear, but Annie does not feel like they have reached a full exposure of vulnerability yet, and by the looks of Mikasa’s avoidant expression, she also thinks the same.

“Take yours off.” 

It’s a command, one that Annie willingly obeys. Hastily taking her boots off, eventually undoing her pants button, pulling the zipper and wiggling out of the fabric, throwing it away. Mikasa scans her body from where she is, absorbing each scar from old bullet wounds or knife marks. Annie’s body isn’t as injured or damaged as Mikasa’s, and she takes Mikasa’s scrutiny as awe at the lack of scars. After all, Mikasa’s whole body is littered with marks and old injuries of all sorts. Matter of fact, Annie traces a hand on the healed gunshot wound on Mikasa’s thigh, still a reddish hue from its new age, before leaning in and giving it a tender kiss. 

“You’re beautiful, Mikasa.” Annie murmurs against the heated skin. Mikasa’s response is through a tremble, letting Annie know that her words of affirmation were not just plain words, but a turn on, a passion. Annie travels in reverse now, going up until she’s at the jugular notch of Mikasa’s throat. She kisses there, a vulnerable point in combat, before going to the juncture where the shoulder and neck meet. She bites that spot, adamant with hungry intention to mark Mikasa with far less wounding bruises and reminders. She doesn’t focus on her release, entirely occupied with Mikasa’s pleasure.

“Annie.” Mikasa gasps, nails digging into the skin of the blonde’s back, who winces from the touch. This had to equate into submission, if Mikasa had not attempted to overpower Annie and simply allowed the blonde to continue her teasing assault over her sensory points, then that had to mean that Annie was winning the secret challenge of control. Her moans become urgent when Annie slots a knee in between her thighs, the woman gasping from the foreign sensation. She stills where she is, eyes closing to process the feeling of Annie’s knee. 

“Okay?”

Mikasa doesn’t verbally respond, rather she hides her face into the crook of Annie’s neck and bites the blonde’s ear with a throaty moan. Annie is left stupefied from that action alone; she doesn’t even notice when Mikasa begins to rock herself against the slotted knee until it becomes frantic.

It is now Mikasa who grinds with ardent determination, releasing moans of pleasure and shivers of bliss with each passing moment, finally allowing herself to indulge into the desire. Annie kisses her, although she overpowers in that too with Mikasa’s focus being entirely on the explosive sensations erupting from her core. When her moans become louder, Annie removes the presence of her knee to replace it with her hand.

Mikasa actually bites Annie’s lip in response, it's sharp and it makes Annie groan from the sudden pain. She doesn’t yield with her movements, however she slows in her tempo. 

“Okay?”

Mikasa nods and kisses a spot she has begun to favor on Annie’s throat, “Okay.” 

So Annie slips her hand inside Mikasa’s undergarment, greeted with heat and slick. She rubs in circular motions, Mikasa responding by bucking her hips for further stimulation. She trails her fingers through a sea of thickness, stroking areas of sensitivity before slipping her fingers inside. Mikasa moans at the sensation. They had their way of conversing with themselves without using any words, Annie gives her a look, one asking for her comfort and privilege to continue, and Mikasa grants it eagerly.

Annie moves her fingers skillfully, sending euphoric sparks to commence within the woman’s lower body, and when Annie touches that one delicate spot, Mikasa gasps sharply. This time, she does meet Annie’s lips with new fervor, a hand on Annie’s nape, another vulnerable point in combat, while the other splays in between Annie’s shoulder blades. Their chests are rubbing against one another, the slick of their sweaty bodies making the friction much easier. 

“Annie.” Mikasa says through a guttural moan, it ignites the lick of fire in Annie’s body further and she sucks the salty skin of Mikasa’s neck in response. She finds it unbelievable how she’s practically inside Mikasa Ackerman, Paradis’s most prized possession, and she’s full of pride to know that their valuable asset is melting under her touch, the enemy’s hand, Marley’s most precise sharpshooter. 

Annie presses onto a particularly sensitive spot that has Mikasa’s hips stuttering and her body arching. She gasps into Annie’s mouth, kissing her only to break away to simply breath. Her eyes are shut tightly, eyebrows knitted together in deep concentration and her lips are parted, brushing with Annie’s. 

With each thrust of Annie’s fingers, Mikasa’s body becomes tenser and tenser, and when she reaches her climax, her walls clench and practically suck Annie’s fingers in. Mikasa tilts her head back from her bliss, neck muscles straining lightly from the tension, but Annie notices how she isn’t necessarily breathing.

“You need to breathe.” She encourages against Mikasa’s skin, and although Mikasa doesn’t respond verbally to her words, she does take a massive gasping breath, her chest rising only to fall just as deeply. 

Mikasa is silent for a while, gazing up at the ceiling while she takes deep shuddering breaths. Annie withdraws her fingers carefully, placing her hand on the woman’s slightly protruding hip bone. 

“How do you feel?”

Mikasa’s response is a soft groan, “Satisfied.”

Annie smiles smugly, “Yeah?”

“ Partially satisfied.” Mikasa murmurs huskily, half-lidded eyes darkening suddenly as she shifts. Annie has to lean back, watching in wonder as Mikasa pulls herself slightly up so her upper back rests against the pillow. She pulls Annie in for a bruising kiss, nibbling her bottom lip while her hands guide Annie’s hips to straddle her thigh. 

It dawns then what Mikasa wants, and Annie breaks away to argue-still intent on being in full control, but Mikasa confirms her suspicion with such a rough voice, it has her shivering in place.

“Ride my thigh.”

“Mikasa-“

“I want you on top of me, undoing yourself with my body.” Mikasa demands hungrily, “You can do that, right? Listen for once.”

Annie nearly whimpers.

“Yea-Yes.” She clears her throat at her patheticness. It was truly unfair how Mikasa could just yank the reins of power right back with just words. 

“Good. Do what you must, then. I’ll just watch you.” 

“You’re very cruel.” Annie frowns, making her way to straddle Mikasa’s unscarred thigh properly, hissing in pleasure when the woman’s firm muscle makes contact with her sex. It’s fully unintentional when her hips instinctively begin to rock against that muscle, still unwilling to lose control, but she closes her eyes and tilts her head back while her hands grip against Mikasa’s wrists for support, the woman’s hands resting on her hip bones to hold her in place. 

She grinds until she finds a steady momentum, hard and fast, not caring that she would practically come undone in her underwear. She focuses on each independent stroke of her hips, of Mikasa’s hot skin against her, of Mikasa’s thumbs massaging deep circles on her pale skin. She feels the woman adjust herself, sitting up, her muscles flexing. One of those hands breaks away from her hip to splay on Annie’s straining abdominal muscles, only to glide against the curves and ridges to reach her chest where she cups Annie's breast and gives a firm squeeze.

“Fuck, Mikasa.” Annie moans, rocking harder against Mikasa who makes breathy noises along with her. 

“Look at me.” 

Annie chokes back a snarky response and instead obliges fully, cracking her icy eyes to stare into Mikasa’s hungry gaze. Where Annie’s eyes are unfocused, her mind entirely concentrating on reaching her release, Mikasa’s is calmly focused, carefully observing Annie. It’s so contrasting, it’s alarming , being watched with such an expression that practically makes Annie feel like nothing more but prey.

“You look gorgeous like this, Annie.” Mikasa grunts, voice thick with clear arousal, but her eyes are entirely set on Annie’s unraveling form. “On top but not in control.”

“ Fuck.” Annie whines, “Keep talking like that and I won’t-“

“Last?” Mikasa finishes for her, lazily pinching Annie’s nipple between her fingers, prompting the blonde to release a guttural sound. At one point, those teasing fingers stop to scratch deeply at her abs instead, and Mikasa begins to lavish her neck with hot lips, leaving wet trails as she travels higher, reaching Annie’s ear with a nip to her earlobe.

“Mikasa.” Annie groans, hands gripping the muscles of Mikasa’s shoulders tightly. Everything is becoming too much, too overwhelming, and Annie feels the tightness beginning to swell in her lower belly, so she moves more frantically.

“Annie.” Mikasa says through a wet kiss on the corner of her jaw. “ Fall .”

Those words drag the blonde to her release, the tone so infuriatingly haughty that it has Annie cursing. Her thighs shake and her body jerks against Mikasa’s frame, and she chants Mikasa’s name like it’s the only thing she’s ever known and will ever know.

She hides her face on the crook of Mikasa’s neck, flushed and breathing heavily. Her hands thread the soft tresses of Mikasa’s hair, spreading her fingers on her nape. Her mind replays the two words, realizing that there’s something threatening in the way that they were spoken, as if Mikasa spoke a promise that Annie does not want to entertain. 

She swallows, her hands stop playing with black hair, and she leans back to search her assumption in Mikasa’s eyes, but all she sees there is warmth and interest. She blames her paranoia and Mikasa’s habit of being painfully ambiguous. 

“Annie?”

The blonde doesn’t answer verbally, rather she leans in and presses her lips softly against Mikasa’s again and again and again , until she feels like the taste of the woman will burn hot in her memory forever even through the fleeting moment of her death. It is not enough, all of the impending fights, heated arguments, and peaceful discussions have led to this specific moment. 

“Wait-" Mikasa gasps eventually, struggling to keep up with Annie’s urgency. She breaks away to breathe, with Annie cupping her face with her hands. 

“Mikasa.” Annie says desperately, savoring her name, “Kiss me.”

Mikasa does, even if she had reciprocated every previous touch of Annie’s lips. She kisses her passionately, nibbles at her bottom lip and even licks the front of Annie’s teeth, who smiles into yet another hungry kiss. It doesn’t take anymore spark fire to burn their passions bright, as Mikasa turns them around and pushes Annie against the mattress, peppering open-mouthed kisses on her chest, biting her collarbones while her fingers brush dangerously close to where Annie needs her the most. 

The blonde doesn’t even care about maintaining her control, it could always be attained. 

When Mikasa touches her, she touches her experimentally, tenderly almost, thumb brushing against the blonde’s clit while her fingers rub tight circles. Annie is moaning into her mouth and arching into her body, needing Mikasa to touch her as much as she knows she is capable of, the woman was ever the most diligent learner. 

That of which is proven true. Mikasa mimics Annie’s movements, diving her fingers inside to slowly withdraw them again, picking a rhythm that has Annie writhing in place, kissing her deeply, eventually breaking away to concentrate on the task in hand with Annie kissing every inch of her exposed throat, groaning when the blonde bites her shoulder, wincing when the woman’s nails scratch roughly at her back, leaving evidence of the offense they were doing. 

Annie quakes underneath her when her orgasm hits, and Mikasa sinks into her with a heavy breath, body slick with sweat and a major tiredness seeping through her veins despite her being painfully aroused once more. 

But Annie can never be second best, can she? 

Mikasa doesn’t really know what happens.  Despite her tiredness, her energy exceeds its limits and she struggles to keep her balance when she sits back up, allowing Annie to sit up. She watches the blonde intently, Annie is still heaving for breath, eyes lidded in tiredness but they burn with scorching intensity and opposition. The message is clear; she wouldn’t falter. 

It feels vaguely similar to their intense fight, the first one they’ve ever engaged into. 

“Crawl to me.” Annie says with a sultry voice. Whether it’s to get back at Mikasa or not, it matters not as Mikasa swallows thickly, cursing her treacherous body for complying. When she’s close to the blonde, all Annie says is a simple command, “Turn around.”

“What are you doing?” Mikasa asks warily now, but she still semi-turns and sits between Annie’s legs. 

“This.” 

A soft kiss is placed on the tender angry marks that litter Mikasa’s back, before traveling up to bite the woman’s shoulder. Annie’s hands slide against Mikasa’s hot body, lithe hands massaging sturdy hips, experienced fingers rising up to touch scrumptiously defined abs, before going back down to their starting point. Mikasa sighs, chest rising and falling, eyes closed at the overstimulation and head falling back to rest on Annie’s shoulder.

“Annie…”

“Tell me what you want.” Annie murmurs against her throat, eventually tracing teeth against a red and sensitive ear. “I’m yours.”

Annie would never give up. Mikasa moans softly when the woman drags pointed canines against her skin, provoking goosebumps to rise, and she feels herself nearly whimpering in need when Annie’s hands slide into her underwear but barely touch, a ghost of her fingertips pressing against her. 

“Touch me .” 

Annie hums a throaty sound of approval, “Tell me how.” 

This was extremely arousing, unable to see Annie properly and having her backside pressed against the blonde’s front body, and losing her domineering hold for Annie to cease.

“However you wish.”

“No.” Annie rejects softly through a kiss on Mikasa’s cheek when the woman turns to meet her eyes, “This is about you. Be selfish for tonight, Mikasa. I’ll take you wherever you wish to go, but you must tell me how I can take you there.”

Mikasa allows the words to sink in her mind, feeling like she’s drifting into unconsciousness, but feeling a strong sense of liveliness all at once. She nods against a strong shoulder.

“I need you to touch me everywhere.” Mikasa murmurs, “We don’t have time. Please .“

Annie complies then, touching her hastily,  occasionally feeling cruel and teasing the woman until Mikasa is trembling harshly in her arms and their bodies are disgustingly slick and slippery from their sweat, until Mikasa’s breathy sounds turn into harsh and choked moans and whimpers, until Mikasa’s hips jolt from her orgasm and until Mikasa is rasping for breath, panting like she ran days worth of marathons. 

And judging from the way Mikasa practically collapses beside Annie on the mattress, eyes closing shut even after she attempts to keep them open, her chest leveling into easy breathing as the blonde massages her damp scalp, her lips parted and body still glistening from their passion, Annie knows that she ended up winning their secret competition.

——————

December 24th, 1856, 06:45

—

Annie’s body is sore beyond comprehension. 

The bedroom is silent, with the lingering scent of sex and burned wood. But nothing in Annie is beating with satisfaction, even if her body is satiated beyond relief. 

It was morning. 

Mikasa isn’t beside her, and her clothes and harnesses are gone where they should’ve been discarded. Annie tries her best to swallow the dryness in her throat, to quell down the erratic nerves she feels, and pulls herself from the bed.

Slipping into her uniform is ridiculously difficult, she blames her taunt and aching muscles from the-admittedly- mind blowing sex, but she knows it’s her anxiousness that fogs her capabilities to perform proficiently. 

She makes sure not to forget her gifted horse. As Mikasa’s bird was absent, and it was now a crucial reminder of something Annie will forever be haunted with.

She finds Mikasa already packed away, the supply bag of Paradis that they had found hooked over her shoulders with her uniform neatly cloaking her figure, while her expression is sullen. She gives Annie a half smile, as if the mere action itself is painful. 

“I split the rations in half.”

The other soldier gives the blonde a cloth bag, its ends tied tight enough for its contents to not spill. Annie swallows but takes it from the woman’s hands, “Thanks.”

Mikasa nods, but her gaze is avoidant. No other words are exchanged, even if Annie’s heart constricts and her intestines twist in despair. Mikasa is trying hard to keep her composure, her face remains neutral but her shoulders are trembling.

No words are said, and no gesture or act of final goodbye is traded. Even when they’re outside, staring out into the horizon with the biting cold causing unpleasant shivers, Mikasa only gives a curt nod at the blonde who swallows and turns away to look at the opposing end. There was nothing more they could say, anything that was allowed at least , even though their bodies have incorparted eachother’s touch into every independent tissue like muscle memory, as if the burn of their love wasn’t printed on their skin. After today, they would return to the expected animosity, return to the frontlines, and they would make up for the time lost through the triggers of their rifles.

After today, Annie Leonhardt would become the proficient shooter that she is, discarding Paradis’ troops like a child flicking pointed stones at birds, essentially wounding or killing them, and Mikasa Ackerman would return to the perfect, refined soldier that she was and always will be through everyone’s eyes.

So they walk, Annie’s frame becoming smaller as she leaves in the opposite direction without a singular glimpse at the woman she so desperately wants to run back to, and Mikasa walks with firm and composed steps, but her knees begin to give out after minutes.

It is nothing compared to being informed of the ceasefire. A wave of intense nausea rolls into Mikasa’s stomach and she rushes to the nearest tree, hunching over and vomiting. She didn’t eat any of her rations, spitting out bile and clear fluid as a result and hissing in agony. Her head presses against the frozen bark, and she weakly slides down into a crouch, an intense headache piercing her temples like a million glass shards, prompting her to grab a fistful of snow and clamp it in her hands. Choked muffled cries  escape her lips, and out of pure hurt , she whimpers, her skin hot, prickly, and numb. It’s an immeasurable pain when her heart is leaking internally and her chest is so tight it feels like it’ll burst at any given moment. 

In order for Mikasa to tend to that internal wound, she would have to rip her chest open to stitch it together.

Chapter Text

December 24th, 07:55

—

Mikasa doesn’t know how much time has passed. 

She had been mindlessly walking since her departure from Annie, brisk steps that equate into nothing but an empty stroll. Trost would take hours to appear at the pace that she was going, but she didn’t care enough to quicken her stride. 

Not when there’s a sour taste in her mouth and her body aches. Not when the lack of questions or remarks is painfully obvious, or the silent steps of her own feet aren’t accompanied by another pair of boots. 

How strange, she thinks, it is to grieve someone who still breathes. 

She’s so deep in her hollowness, she almost misses the large vehicle with a cluster of soldiers that passes by her and stops right in front, forcing her to stop her walk. A man with a messy beard and a pipe jumps from the truck’s passenger, approaching her at a respectable distance.

“Where’re you headed, soldier?”

“Trost District.”

Mikasa’s voice is thick and her stomach twists. The older soldier eyes her cautiously, an unkept eyebrow raised with an unmerciful expression, that is, until his eyes slowly widen, “Hm, well bloody hell! You’re Levi’s rascal aye? Paradis’s savior!” 

Mikasa almost feels like she’s going to throw up once more right there and then. 

“We’re distant relatives sir.”

“I can’t believe it!” The man laughs, an actual laugh of relief and joy, one that has the cluster of younger soldiers peeking out to see, all of whom murmur words of surprise and some even murmur prayers of thanks to their god. “You’ve been dead for weeks kiddo. You truly are something.”

“So I heard.” 

The man nods, but his momentary smile diminishes until he is sporting a look of grave desperation, “You’ve risen from your grave in the worst time yet.” 

Mikasa doesn’t need an explanation to know what he’s referring to.

“Should’ve stayed in the ground if I were you.” He says, taking a deep drag of his pipe before exhaling the smoke, “Hitch on, we’re headed that way as well.” 

Her reluctance is only brief, the soldier eyes her with rising annoyance so Mikasa’s response is jumping into the vehicle with the rest of the rookies. The younger crew of men eye her with wonder, some even humorously attempt to ask her if she is some sort of war saint, and she glares at them until their whispers die down and they simply reside to watch or ignore. 

The truck comes to a dry stop eventually at an area that is beyond familiar, it quite literally has Mikasa blanking. It had been weeks since she last saw the essence of Trost, weeks since she had rotted away in the cavities of the trenches. Her eyes immediately flicker in search of familiar faces, but in the mass of injured and confused soldiers, she cannot make a single trace of familiarity. 

Well, that is until she sees the joy and wonder that is Levi Ackerman. 

The man stands in front of her with semi-wide eyes. It’s the most expressive Mikasa has ever seen the midget be, but even then she was not looking forward to seeing him at all. 

“Well fuck me.” 

Levi’s voice is still as rough and low as ever, Mikasa is almost reassured to know that she wasn’t dreaming of his presence. Almost. 

His sharp eyes give her a very critical inspection, his scowl deepening, “You have risen from your tomb huh?”

“I was alive this whole time.”

Levi snickers, “For being alive you look like complete shit.” 

“Thanks.” Mikasa scowls. She glares at him, already feeling a simmering boil of distaste piling in her body. She’s had a long morning as is. Levi isn’t at all amused, “And you come back with a lack of understanding for respect too. What, did you spend your time with Marley’s forces?”

Mikasa’s stomach nearly drops. 

“My apologies, sir.”  

Levi doesn’t make any indication that he noticed the sudden shift in Mikasa’s voice or the way her body tenses. Mikasa for once is grateful that her hair is the length that it is, for her ears are hot in a burning reminder and a liquid form of what she can only assume is shame crawls in her spine. 

“Well, freshen up. I’m sure there’s soldiers who will be more than happy to see you.” 

——————

“Everyone, please welcome commanding officer Mikasa Ackerman back. She journeyed a fair amount of miles to return to us.”

Armin and Eren stare deeply at one another, trying to confirm that their ears were in fact, not deceiving them. The atmosphere is tense, and slowly, the men turn their heads to the direction of the voice. 

The first thing Armin notices is that the soldier that is present, who is the supposed Mikasa, has very familiar features to the latter. In fact, she’s nearly identical . She wears the signature paradis uniform and the red scarf around her neck, stands with a strong demeanor, and bears the exact grave stare that Mikasa always sported. 

The second thing is, that this person was indeed different from Mikasa. Her eyes are more solemn, more tired, as if a whole different world of uncertainty was etched into those cold irises. Her dark hair frames her face, her bangs are thicker that brush along the curve of her eyebrows, and the layers of hair flare out slightly in the back of her neck. 

“Mikasa.” Armin murmurs quietly, walking towards her with urgency. Eren follows right behind him. 

Mikasa’s frame is also undoubtedly different, muscles taunt and hard underneath the attire. They squeeze Armin’s frame, the blond sinking into her arms as he tightens his hold, almost believing that she would disintegrate in his arms if he didn’t hold her firmly. She smells of clean clothes, of a faint trace of citrus, of lavender, of Mikasa , and his eyes swell with tears that he allows to fall. 

“You’re here. You’re real .”

Mikasa doesn’t respond, only answering through a big squeeze. When they pull apart, it’s because Eren’s loud sniffles disrupt their bubble of reunion. 

“Eren.”

Mikasa’s voice is different too, Armin notices. It’s softer, raspier, a tad bit deeper. As if her vocal chords are slightly fried from continuous hours of loud shouting. It’s similar to the way a guitar immediately sounds out of tune when exposed to cold temperatures. 

Eren breaks down in a sob there. 

Mikasa holds him just as deeply as he holds her. She rests her cheek against the broader shoulder, staring at the ground, the man’s bigger, calloused hands cradling the back of Mikasa’s head like a father holding a newborn child’s skull. His green eyes shed big fat tears, and eventually he pulls back to place a hand on Mikasa’s cheek, staring deeply into her eyes. 

“Is this really you?”

Mikasa gives a small smile, “I think so.” 

Eren manages to break a laugh despite his sobs, “God, Mikasa. I thought-“

“I know.” 

“You have no idea how hard it has been.” Eren cries, pressing a kiss on the woman’s forehead. It perplexes her, Eren was never the affectionate one, always avoidant. While the brunette continues his embrace, Armin takes the chance to fully inspect Mikasa. There’s something distinctly different about the woman.

He sees it then, a pale thin scar on her lip and even though Mikasa’s hair is thick, Eren accidentally brushes it to the side slightly, exposing another scar that is fairly thick on the woman’s eyebrow.

“Your lip.”

Armin is more concerned than anything else, even if his voice has a slight accusatory tone that immediately makes Mikasa stiffen in place. 

“Armin, what are you-“ But before Eren could finish his sentence, he catches sight of the pale scar on Mikasa’s bottom lip and he spots the healed eyebrow. His teary eyes immediately harden, but Mikasa doesn’t budge. 

“Who did that to you, Mikasa?” Eren inquires, but Mikasa shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter.”

Armin can see the flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, the hint of a phenomenon that clearly matters. 

“Mikasa.”

“I’m fine.” Mikasa says defensively now, body beginning to stiffen. She breaks away from Eren’s hold, shifts her gaze from the brunette to Armin, and releases a breath in surrender, “I fought someone.”

“A Marleyan soldier?” Eren immediately questions, tone sharp and angry. Mikasa winces but she glares at the man, “No. A woman.”

“A woman?”

There’s silence, Mikasa pulls the edge of her scarf over her nose, looking everywhere but the men. She looks devastated, even more distant, the grimace on her face lets Armin know everything and nothing at the same time. 

“I think we should let her settle down, Eren. It’s been…”

Too long. Very long.

“Ah yeah, right!” The broader man murmurs in agreement and slight puzzlement, but he remains reluctant by Mikasa’s previous statement. Nonetheless, he ushers Mikasa forward, guiding her to the tree that they've favored since her supposed date of death.

Armin watches, and he speculates. 

——————

One thing that Armin catches onto, is that Mikasa is absent in a world of her own. He can see the flashes of memories being played behind the woman’s retinas, and each time Mikasa’s gaze becomes even emptier, like she’s given up on a physiological test rather than failing it. 

Eren and Jean are arguing between themselves again, their bickering growing in its volume which is reinforced with a bottle of stolen whiskey, but even through the chaos of the men and their audience of peers, Mikasa is pensive with a sorrowful expression gracing her pale face, staring at the fire with such sad eyes, Armin begins to worry. 

“Mikasa,” Armin begins to say, “Can we talk?” 

The addressed blinks, like she is finally hearing her surroundings properly and she swallows tensely. “What about?”

“You.” 

Mikasa frowns, giving Armin an unamused stare, “What about me.” 

It’s not a question, her tone levels that much of a bite. Armin is beginning to grow uneasy, “What really happened at the river, with the sniper?”

Mikasa stares at him, silent for a moment before she diverts her attention to the fire once more. Her eyebrows furrow in a way that expresses uncertainty and despair, and Armin hurts for Mikasa. What could she have possibly experienced to cause such a reaction?

“I did awful things, Armin.” Mikasa begins to say, voice strained, “Things I cannot fix, and it-“ She stops herself with a deep breath, face hiding behind the scarf around her neck once more, a nervous habit. 

“She’s alive. I couldn’t perform my duty.” 

Armin allows the revelation to sink in. Carefully pondering his words, “You can only do so much, right? Mikasa, you can’t always beat yourself up for being human and having humane morality.” 

He doesn’t plan when Mikasa turns to him, and her eyes are brimming with unshed tears. 

“I’m paying the consequences in full for what I have done and couldn’t do.” She says with a crack in her voice. It prompts her to clear her throat, looking away at the flames once more, orange hues dancing on her face. 

When the woman talks, her voice is weak and quiet, “I don’t think I have enough strength to keep paying it off.”

Armin wasn’t a mastermind or a genius, perhaps in the world outside the walls and inside the massive barriers, some other individual existed with better insight of the way of things.

But he wasn’t blind or deaf to Mikasa’s confession. 

Mikasa Ackerman had given up.

——————

December 25th, 1856, 20:00 

—

It’s Christmas. 

In times of crisis, Christmas is merely an event of tense peace. The Survey Corps commanders set up a private table of wine, cider, whiskey and food for the small group of soldiers.

Through drunken minds, a lot of sober thoughts are spilled with zero remorse. 

It begins with Eren’s statements. He’s recounting experiences and obviously exaggerating certain details to the newer rookies. Mikasa is beside him, eyeing the group with clear discomfort but she does not excuse herself from the man’s side, occasionally sipping from her can of wine. Armin still cannot get used to Mikasa’s presence, the longitude of hair is appealing and admittedly, a refreshing change, but the woman looks far more… unwelcoming. 

Her hair and the scars remove the essence of what made Mikasa, well, herself. 

But the atmosphere shifts vastly when Eren begins to include Mikasa into the conversation.

“The bastards won’t know what hits them! Not now that we got Mikasa back! We’ll get their asses for what they’ve done to us all.”

The group of men cheer, raising their deteriorating cans of whiskey and wine up in the air. Armin sees Mikasa freeze in place, and she firmly speaks, “Eren.”

But the man is all deaf ears, he laughs and continues his speech, “We’ll blow them to pieces! Fuck those shit eating monsters-“

The place becomes silent when Mikasa crushes the can in her hands and stands with sudden anger, “Shut up .”

Eren and the group blink in bewilderment, Armin prepares to speak, but Eren beats him to it, or at least tries to, “Mikasa I-“

“I don’t want to hear another word from you or anyone else.” She hisses, “So shut it.”

“Hey what’s this about?” Eren asks in bewilderment, standing up. “Calm down, won’t you? I was only-“

“You have no compassion or respect.” Mikasa interrupts, “They are people too. They have lives, families. The only thing that serves to differentiate them and us is our uniforms.”

“Mikasa.” Eren says in surprise and mainly humiliation. “You can’t possibly think that. Remember what they took from us? The attack against Shiganshina?” 

When Mikasa doesn’t answer, Eren begins to burn in rage, “My parents were killed by those bastards goddamnit!”

“Eren!”

Everyone stands when the brunette, in his drunken anger, marches towards the impassive woman and grips her by the collar, forcing Mikasa to stand on her tiptoes. Armin immediately stands to dislodge his friends, but Floch grabs him firmly and gestures at him to stay where he is. 

“Eren.” Mikasa says gravely, “Let go.”

“They took everything from us.” Eren hisses, gripping the fabric further and prompting Mikasa to swallow hastily. Her hands grip the man’s wrists, and grey eyes lock with green hues. “Let go of me.” 

“How could you possibly say such things about the enemy. ”

“Let go of me!” Mikasa shouts, shoving the man away, causing him to release his hold. Eren clenches his fists, and for a moment, Armin thinks he’s going to hit her. 

“Mikasa, you saying those words are worthy of suspicion. Are you with the enemy? Have you been conspiring with Marleyan forces all this time in your absence?”

No further words are spoken; everything happens in a flash. A loud slap rings against the tense silence, and Eren is flat on his back against the ground. 

“How could you say that?!” Mikasa snaps, hovering over the man and grabbing him by his uniform’s collar, “I did things to be here with you. How could you say that to me?”

Mikasa shakes him roughly, and Eren grits his teeth, “I hate you!”

Mikasa slaps him again. 

Eren rubs the tender cheek, but Mikasa grabs the scruff of the man’s neck and drags him forward, “Hey! What the hell, let go of me!”

All the men gasp when Mikasa hurls the brunette against a trench wall, knocking the air out of him. She’s breathing intensely, albeit controlled, but her gaze is solid on Eren’s collapsed form. 

“You’re a slave to Paradis.” Mikasa murmurs, “This country has no love for you, or anyone else present here. So, stop and learn to respect or die as a slave to the freedom you are not promised.” 

——————

Armin finds Mikasa vigorously cleaning her rifle in her post. Her brows are scrunched in forced concentration and evident frustration, and metal pieces of the weapon are gleaming silver from the strenuous cleaning. 

“I know what you’re thinking.”Mikasa mutters when Armin doesn’t say anything. The blond only sighs, “Mikasa.”

“I don’t need you to reprimand me, Armin.” The woman scoffs, stopping momentarily to give Armin a sharp glance before returning her attention to the gun. 

“No, you don’t.”

When Mikasa realizes that Armin will not leave, she sighs. “How is he?”

“Oh you know him.” Armin shrugs with his arms crossed, “With wounded pride, he can’t stand being second best.”

“Hm.”

“What about you? How do you feel?” 

Mikasa stops her chore, a grimace shaping on her face. “Fine.”

She doesn’t continue her task after that, although Armin can tell that the woman has a lot that she would rather spill. Whenever she was ready, she would say what had been troubling her, so the blond merely nodded. “Very well. I won’t force you to tell me anything that you are not ready to share. But you know I am always willing to listen.”

He uncrosses his arms and rolls his tense shoulders, heading towards his corresponding post and considering sleeping in the crowded dugouts, but Mikasa’s voice stops him from advancing. “Wait.” 

Mikasa’s face is twisted in conflict and uncertainty, “Armin, I…”

Armin walks towards the woman, leaning against the trench wall and waiting patiently. Mikasa’s fingers twist the fabric of her red scarf in unease, “There was someone I was with on my time away. Someone that I…”

She murmurs her words in sudden shyness, averting her eyes from the blond to the ground. Armin raises an eyebrow, but the woman murmurs something else that completely has her red on the face. 

“We did things together.”

Armin blinks, knowing full well what those words implied, “I-“

“She’s…” Mikasa trails away, her expression twisting, “She was the sniper. I slept with the sniper.”

There’s stillness for a moment, and then- “You slept with a soldier from Marley.” Armin blurts out, furthering Mikasa’s tension. “Mikasa. How… how does that come to be?”

“We fought.” The woman murmurs, like it was a solid explanation. “I told her to be of use to me or else she would have been killed. I wanted to kill her, Armin. For the first time since my parents were murdered, I felt fear for my well-being. She tried to do the same countless times, but neither of us succeeded.”

Armin blinks, unconvinced, “And that leads to you two… sleeping together?”

“I was afraid to fight her, I knew some sort of line would be crossed if I did so, but I indulged.” Mikasa says, giving Armin a glance before looking away to the horizon, where Marley’s trenches were dim. “I wanted to prove my strength, but she didn’t yield as easily as I would have liked. I was close to sending her over the edge of the roof but… she looked anything but a soldier to me at that moment. I couldn’t do it.”

“Isn’t it… stockholm syndrome?” Armin questions firmly, “You had her hostage, maybe she-“

“No.” Mikasa says sharply, “She had her chances, as I had mine. It would have been unrequited otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

Armin frowns, “Not necessarily. It’s a survival response, you as the captor and hers as the victim.”

“I didn’t have her captured, and she wasn’t a victim either.” The woman clarifies, “We avoided as much interaction as possible, but silence never did well for her. She spoke to me at times, I entertained it. We grew to respect one another as soldiers and people.”

The blond swallows thickly, “I see.”

There’s a ton of inquiries that swim in his mind. They march like a rumbling of massive footsteps in his consciousness, such as what compelled Mikasa to indulge this woman at all? It was so unlike her to think twice before killing. 

There had to be something significantly deeper to slip up, and Mikasa seems to read his thoughts like they’re written on paper. ”My worth to Eren and everyone else here is nothing but a beacon of hope… but they dehumanize me into a weapon of destruction.” 

A deep breath of exhaustion escapes the woman’s lips. “She made me feel different. She spoke to me for me, Armin. She wanted to know foolish things that not even I could remember about myself.”

“She made you feel seen.” The blond murmurs, feeling an indescribable guilt bleed through his body. Maybe he was at fault for Mikasa’s affair being rooted to the minimum forms of acknowledgment. 

“We understood each other and had a deeper connection. I think that is why I found her opposition threatening, but I grew to like it.” 

That is what makes Armin realize the truth. It wasn’t the fact that Mikasa was acknowledged for anything else but a skilled soldier, it was the fact that this opposing soldier was unique and undoubtedly strong just like his friend. She had fit well into Mikasa’s complexity, like a missing puzzle piece finally found after the picture was almost complete.

”It all makes sense now.”

Mikasa blinks, “What?”

“Since you arrived. There was something peculiar about you that I could not place. It was like the impressions of someone else had been molded into you, the way you acted, the way you even spoke.” Armin pauses, giving the woman a glance and nodding to himself as if reassuring himself of his realization, “The scars on your face, the way you would get defensive about anything that was related to Marley’s forces. It makes perfect sense now.”

“I-“

“But of course, it was very subtle things that only people like Eren or I could notice.” The man cuts through, “Everyone else believes that you have witnessed something horrible that led to this shift, but I knew it was something far more deeper.”

“You cannot tell anyone about this. Much less Eren.” Mikasa harshly whispers, “He can never know.” 

Armin hums in agreement, and the two soldiers stare out into the horizon, at the fire smoke that rises from Marley’s distant forces. He glances at the woman beside him, seeing the distant look in her eyes, the almost longing expression adorning her features. 

“I cannot say that I agree with what you have done.” He says cautiously, “But Mikasa, whatever affection you have for this woman, you cannot embrace it. Not now. Not like this.”

“I know.”

“I wish things would have been different.” Armin whispers, the flame of fire in the distance grows slightly, and Mikasa’s soft yet raspy, defeated voice speaks beside him. 

“Me too.”

——————

January 1st, 1857, 09:00

—

“Any communication and neutral contact with the enemy remains prohibited at all times throughout the life of the battle. All hostilities on the entire front will cease this morning, January 1st at 10 O’clock, and further conflict will be reduced into quiet silence after the bells have rung. When that time comes, all troops are to return to their respective stations and wait for further action…”

The rest of the speech becomes white noise in Mikasa’s ears. They had traveled days on horseback, her dappled grey nearly white in the snow, and they had reached Stohess to aid their weakened troops. Before then, Mikasa had managed to squeeze in a session of tidiness, allowing herself to bathe in the cold water. 

The marks and imprints on her skin were fading into nothing, the last traces of Annie’s physical presence on her body were gone. She didn’t think much after that, grabbing the scissors and cutting her hair, back to zero, and frowning when the blonde’s words in regards to it faintly came to mind.

But here she was, in Stohess. A change in scenery and location but the destruction is all the same. They had announced that the armistice was signed today, but before they could relish in those news, they were told that another battle would be held to finally mark the end of the war. 

She’s at the frontlines now, awaiting the signal to advance.

Mikasa tunes back in when a sharp pain in her head snaps her out of her trance. General Erwin is before them, looking wild from anticipating battle. 

“Does that mean our lives are meaningless?” The man shouts, walking back and forth, “Does that mean that there was no point in our being born? Would you say that of our slain comrades? What about their lives? Were they meaningless?”

Every soldier mumbles between themselves, genuinely thinking, and Mikasa is attempting to even make sense of his words, but she doesn’t have time to process what the man had just said when Erwin shouts with a strong voice, “They were not!”

The mumbles snap back into silence, Mikasa watches intently as the older man continues, “Their memory serves as an example to us all!” 

Beside her, Eren and Armin grip their weapons tightly, “The courageous fallen !”

Mikasa swallows in looming anticipation.

“The anguished fallen !”

Past his looming presence, Marley’s troops are beginning to form their lines. 

“Their lives have meaning because we, the living, refuse to forget them!”

The general’s wild look in his eyes did not falter once, “And as we run to certain death, we trust our successors to do the same for us!” Erwin says, turning around and facing the opposing forces. Mikasa feels goosebumps rising in her skin and her throat tightening from spiking adrenaline. “Because my soldiers do not buckle or yield when faced with the cruelty of this world!” 

Her blood runs hot where her skin runs cold.

“My soldiers push forward!”

Mikasa takes a solid step forward, rifle tightly held in her hands.

“My soldiers scream out!”

Erwin begins to quicken his pace, his troops following after his steps, “My soldiers RAGE !”

Everyone breaks into a full sprint, most of the soldiers screaming in a chant of glory, but Mikasa keeps her vocals intact by staying quiet. Immediately, a deafening explosion rocks the ground, sending a wave of debris flying overhead and causing soldiers to collapse from the hit. 

Marley does not hold themselves back. They open fire, bullets whizzing past like angry hornets with fatal, penetrative stingers and Molotov cocktails fly to ignite flames and smoke. Paradis has their own set of weapons, firing thunder spears left and right with careful precision.

Mikasa finds a barrier and crouches just as a thunder spear goes flying overhead. She closes her eyes as another massive blow lifts the ground and tramples unfortunate soldiers in its direction. 

The sudden sobs next to her have her snapping her attention towards the noise. A young soldier is pressed against the ground, rifle tightly in her hands as she shakes vigorously. Mikasa drags herself to the crying girl until her hands firmly grab the young woman’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath.” She shouts over the artillery noise, “This isn’t time to be emotional. Stand up .”

The girl blinks her tears away but is still dazed. Mikasa gives her a sharp shake until brown eyes begin to seem more conscious and aware, and she pushes the woman forward. 

She fires at least 6 shots, and each one pierce a fatal blow into a Marleyan soldier. She doesn’t wonder what lives they had and what families are awaiting their return, her only priority is ending this whole ordeal once and for all. 

“Mikasa heads down!” 

Sasha tackles her to the ground just in time for a bolt to fly deadly close above.

“Sasha you need to get a clean shot!” Mikasa shouts, “Dismantle their top shooters!” 

Sasha’s expression deepens, “Cover me.”

Soon enough, Ymir, Jean, Connie and Armin approach the women, bodies stiff and faces grave. Ymir has gashes across her cheeks, an obvious wince gracing her freckled face while Jean’s long mullet is disheveled and bloody. They provide essential reinforcements, so much so that soldiers begin to direct their attacks towards the group. 

“We’re overwhelmed!” Connie exclaims, “What do we do?”

“No matter what you do, keep covering Sasha!” Mikasa hisses, shooting her rifle. “She’s the only person who matters!”

“You heard the general.” Ymir snaps back at the bald man, firing a shot that immediately kills a young male soldier with short dark hair that is swept back. “My soldiers do not buckle or yield or whatever.”

“Not the time.” Mikasa snaps, “Focus.”

Ymir frowns but obeys. 

It becomes a hellish frenzy, their ammunition was running low and Sasha was diligently dispatching soldier after soldier with her sniper rifle. Mikasa manages to ignite a Molotov and tosses it far into the smoke-filled atmosphere, setting aflame two more soldiers. 

In the distance, General Erwin leads a charge forward with a group of men, but they get blasted with artillery by a blond man with a thick beard and strange glasses. It’s the revolutionary point in the battle, as Paradis quickly continues forward despite the lack of their leader. Erwin’s killer immediately gets struck down by Captain Levi, who out of rage, fires multiple rounds of gunfire and quickly disposes of a group of men. 

Commander Hange attempts to move forward, but they’re completely overwhelmed by a Marleyan squad of flamethrowers, igniting them in a blazing shower of flames. To the other end of the scene, Commander Nanaba and Mike both are fighting tooth and nail, but Mike gets trampled by an approaching cart-like vehicle with a machine gun perched above it. That same weapon obliterates  Nanaba into pieces. 

The heavy losses of commanders and even their general makes Mikasa sick with rage and nerves. Paradis was being overwhelmed quickly and alarmingly. Her squad continues their fledged attack, with Armin pressing the trigger to his rifle, the bullet connecting with a tall and buff brunette man next to an equally muscular blond. It’s a clean headshot and the soldier collapses swiftly. 

Mikasa can see a look of recognition and horror in Armin’s eyes, and a rain of gunfire falls before them almost immediately, forcing them to hide behind the barrier.  

“Holy shit, Ymir!” 

Mikasa turns to see the freckled woman pressing her chest tightly, blood immediately soaking the fabric in different places of her chest. It didn’t take a genius to know that she had taken bullets to the lungs.

“The bastard with a slick back.” Ymir coughs, breathing heavily and broken. “It was him.” 

Mikasa braves a peek, seeing a man that looked nearly identical to the man Ymir had previously killed. 

“It won’t stop.” Armin shouts in panic, pressing the wound with shaky hands. “It won’t stop!”

Ymir’s breathing becomes laborious, her complexion quickly losing its color. “Give this to Historia.” 

“Ymir.” Jean snaps, “You won’t die. The armistice is less than an hour away!”

“Do it.” Ymir hisses, shoving the letter into Jean’s hands. Jean cannot say another response, as Ymir’s eyes immediately fade away and her chest stops rising and falling. Mikasa closes her eyes, trying to regain her composure. None of her close-knitted comrades had passed other than…

She swallows just as thickly.

She raises her gaze in time to see Ymir’s killer try to dispatch another soldier, so she shoots at the man’s knees until the bullets shatter his knee caps and he falls to the ground in agony. She sees Eren fire a singular bullet farther ahead, which blows the man’s jaw away. He collapses limply against the ground. 

Eren turns around to make eye contact with the woman, giving her a nod, but through the fog, Mikasa sees a little glimmer of light.

“Sasha-“

Mikasa ducks in time for a loud explosive sound to rupture through the chaos. A large bullet flies by and kills a soldier immediately next to her, watching in horror as the bullet practically decapitates him. 

Her team sees the carnage, and Mikasa realizes grimly the truth. 

“Marley has new weapons!” She shouts, “We split in two groups, Sasha and Armin come with me, the rest of you rush to Eren and fight with everything you got!”

They advance forward, the gleaming scopes of the opposing forces reinforcing the adrenaline in Mikasa’s body. Purposefully guiding her group into a cavity in the earth, Mikasa has Sasha perched against the edge of the hole, firing away in retaliation at the snipers perched in the opposite trench. They were so close to the source, so much that Mikasa could see the sharpshooters clearly. 

There’s no sight of her . 

Mikasa fought hard against the nauseating nerves, there was no sight of blonde hair and bored eyes, and it reassured her to a degree. 

She tries to take a breath, but a loud bang pierces the noise, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Olou Bozado, A member from Levi’s skilled unit, fall dead against the ground. 

She recognized that noise. It was a sound particular to a…

Bolt action.

With a gasp, Mikasa looks everywhere above the trenches, searching for the woman, but the only indication of her presence is another powerful bullet that kills Levi’s right-hand man, Eld Jinn, and soon a final bullet connects cleanly with Petra Ral’s skull, killing her instantly. Captain Levi is standing in utter disbelief over his dead comrades, and Mikasa can hear Eren’s screams of despair.

“I’ll kill you all!” The brunette rushes forwards blindly in rage, somehow avoiding getting hit by stray gunfire as he goes. Mikasa shouts at him to retreat, but amidst his fury, nothing but demolishing the enemy matters to him. 

Sasha begins to fire blindly in response, and Jean with Connie come back to the crater to look at Mikasa with dread. “Sasha, dispatch of that sniper.” 

“On it.” 

No.

Mikasa sits there pathetically, choking back tears. It couldn’t be this way, it could not end this way. 

“I have sights on her!” 

The officer clenches the wet cold dirt in her hands, Armin eyes her critically. 

“You can’t be serious, it’s a young girl!” Sasha suddenly says, “She can’t be older than 18!”

“Strike her down!” Jean snaps, “Do it!”

“I can’t!” 

“I’m rushing in.”

Everyone turns to look at her, “What the hell did you just say?” Jean questions, “Mikasa, stop and think about what’s at stake.”

She shakes her head, “I’m rushing in and nothing you say will change my decision. Cover me!”

Against their will, they do. They do it because Mikasa is already sprinting ahead without waiting for another rejection, and they do it because Mikasa dispatches many soldiers as she goes, paving a way for other soldiers to follow. 

Marley’s trenches are vaguely reminiscent of Paradis's own paths. Mikasa impales a man through the chest with her rifle's knife, removing the weapon and firing at an approaching soldier. She ditches the rifle when she runs out of ammo, so she sticks with her dagger instead. There’s no sight of Eren, so she travels through with hurried steps, avoiding oblivious soldiers and killing aware ones as she goes. 

She comes to a sudden stop when a fire begins in front of her from a stray Molotov, and a familiar face is seen at the other side of the dancing flames.

There, in all her glory, Annie Leonhardt stood. She’s breathing deeply, and her icy stare loses its intensity when she makes eye contact with Mikasa through the fire. The world becomes static, everything in Mikasa’s peripheral vision is blurry and she drops the tainted blade in her hands out of sheer overwhelming force. The only thing that is crisp and clear in her vision is Annie’s disheveled form. 

Communication with the enemy was prohibited, orders were orders. No matter how much Mikasa wanted to break them. A crackle of thunder above the sky and piercing droplets of cold rain snap both women out of their senses. The flame dies down almost instantly in response to the water, and Annie doesn’t hesitate to retrieve her blade from her belt. She regarded Mikasa with cold blue eyes, and the taller of the two met her gaze with unwavering resolve.

What had to be done, had to be done no matter what.

Annie lunged, her movements swift and lethal. They held no form of gentleness, no sense of self control. A kick aimed at Mikasa's head was narrowly avoided, the force of it splashing the mud beneath. Mikasa retaliated with a flurry of punches, each one carrying the weight of her grief and determination, her dagger long abandoned on the ground. 

It is jarring how proficient Annie had become in such a short time. The fight becomes a whirlwind of fists and feet, a brutal dance of death as Mikasa shoves Annie against the mud, the rain falling in blinding sheets and prompting violent shivers. Fueled by adrenaline, Mikasa presses her advantage, forcing Annie onto her back as Mikasa takes hold of her throat, pressing her fingers deeply into the flesh. 

Annie instinctively grips Mikasa’s wrists tightly, and her legs kick and flare around the ground below Mikasa who only responds by tightening her hold. The blonde even attempts to launch her off by lifting her hips upward, but the ravenette does not release her grip once. 

That is, until Annie reaches for the blade that’s slightly far from reach and slashes it across Mikasa’s face. 

That’s when Mikasa lets go, and that’s when Annie gasps and coughs violently but hurriedly crawls away from the woman. 

A searing betrayal. It’s a sharp, stinging sensation, like a microscopic razor blade has just sliced through her skin, but then comes the throbbing, burning pain that expands all over the right side of her face. That pain flares up with the rain, an electric shock that has her reaching up and touching her new injury, wincing when she pulls back her fingers to see crimson staining her skin. 

Annie is looking at her with wide eyes, like she too can’t believe what had just occurred. 

Mikasa doesn’t think twice. She circles Annie carefully in the tight space, waits when the blonde advances towards her again and dodges the charge in the last second only to grab the woman’s arm and disarm the blonde. Annie immediately turns into that unique but deadly stance, so Mikasa responds with a stance of her own, now equipped with Annie’s stolen blade.

Annie’s preferred approach was always going to be kicks. She had strong legs, perfect momentum. What she lacked in physical form she made up with strength and agility. Mikasa is soon pressed against the trench wall with Annie’s arm firmly pinning the woman’s throat. She can’t breathe, finding that she is tethering close to a loss of consciousness, and her hands weakly pat against her attacker’s chest. 

She sees Annie’s merciless eyes, and a small glimmer of silver strapped on her hip. 

It was a spare blade, and Mikasa pulls the knife free from its sheath to plunge it deeply into Annie’s front shoulder, who groans sharply from the invasive pain and releases her hold. Mikasa allows herself to slide down against the wall, sitting on the wet ground with heaving gasps as she watches Annie who shakes from the unbearable pain. She feels herself nearly passing out, but her instincts snap when she sees Annie retrieve a small handgun from a dead body nearby and sluggishly makes an effort to face the woman once more. 

Immediately raising herself up, she tackles the blonde who shoots but misses in the last second as they both go tumbling down a staircase of a dugout, eventually collapsing against the hard floor. 

Neither don’t get comfortable on the ground. Both Mikasa and Annie stand quickly and face one another again. Their bodies are about to give out, their expressions are wild with remorse and will power, but they don’t advance. 

They can’t. 

But it doesn’t matter, as suddenly, a voice interrupts their bubble of silent staring. 

“Mikasa, get out of the way.” 

The Ackerman slowly turns around to see Eren on the doorway. He’s coated in blood and his jaw is clenched tightly. In his hands, there’s a bloodied knife that drips profusely. 

His eyes are casted hatefully towards Annie, who returns the glare deliberately. She’s wounded and her hand is pressing against the bleeding injury, the knife still engraved, but Eren sees it as nothing more than an opportunity. 

Mikasa snaps. 

“No.” 

She turns around fully and positions herself in front of Annie protectively, obstructing Eren’s path towards the blonde. The man’s eyes widened, but his voice was grave and full of spite, “So I was right.” 

“Eren, it does not have to end this way.” Mikasa warns, “Let her be. She’ll die from that wound.” 

She tries to reason, but Eren denies, “She killed Levi’s squad. If you won’t do it, then step aside and let me.” 

“No!” Mikasa shouts. The brunette shifts his green gaze from Mikasa to her hands, sees the way the blonde hides behind the woman and he bristles in rage, “You either choose between our oath, our country! Or you choose her and betray us!” 

“Eren.” Mikasa says, dangerously low. She wields a backup blade from her belt, having its point face the man. Eren looks at it, analyzes Mikasa’s erect posture and realizes that the woman was serious. 

“Why, Mikasa?”

His voice is thick with hurt and betrayal, and Mikasa’s throat tightens in guilt. “I betrayed our forces long ago.”

“What are you saying?” He murmurs, his eyes wide. He looks like she stabbed him deeply in the back. Mikasa takes a deep breath, “I traveled with this woman. I survived because of her. She’s the reason I found you.”

“She tried to kill you.” Eren cries, but Mikasa quietly says, “So did I.”

Mikasa turns around and meets Annie’s eyes. They are looking back at her with unease and natural distrust, but she can see a ghost of appreciation in them and that is enough. 

“This is bullshit!” 

Mikasa turns her gaze away from the blonde to meet Eren’s stare, “She did something to you! Fucked your mind over! Mikasa, move out of the damn way!” 

“Eren stop!”

Suddenly, a piercing sensation erupts in Mikasa’s lower abdomen. The whole room becomes eerily quiet, with Eren’s eyes widening in realization. Her grip on the man’s uniform tightens briefly, her eyes flickering between the man’s green gaze as the adrenaline pulses through her veins rapidly. Slowly, she allows her gaze to fall from Eren’s eyes to the source of the pain, where the dagger is embedded deeply into her abdomen and blood immediately pools from the wound. 

And like a cruel joke, the bells marking the end of the war, ring with melancholic intensity. 

“Mikasa-“ Eren begins to say with panic, removing his hands and with it, the knife. It’s the worst thing he can possibly do, as blood weeps out of the injury and drops against the floor with a loud sound. Mikasa only staggers back, the searing pain so intense that she collapses instead with a loud groan. 

“Ackerman!” 

That voice. Mikasa knows that voice. She heard every octave and every pitch of that soft-spoken voice. She tries to focus, only being able to see Annie’s face for milliseconds as her vision gives out and in. Annie is hovering above her, bloodied hands pressing firmly against a bleeding wound, and at one point, she sees the shorter woman commanding Eren to move from his frozen position. 

“You’re Yeager, right?!” Annie snaps, pointing at the engraved name with a bloody finger. Eren doesn’t even respond, still struck. “Hey! Snap out it! She’s losing a lot of blood as is, don’t waste time!”

“I killed her.” Eren murmurs weakly, falling to his knees. “I killed her.”

“Fucking help me!” Annie’s frantic wails make Eren’s tears fall in an anguished cry. The blonde blinks, but she quickly returns her attention to Mikasa.

“Mikasa. It’s okay, I’m here with you. Stay awake, don’t sleep.” 

“Annie.” Mikasa murmurs weakly, crying out in pain when Annie’s hands apply a substantial amount of pressure on her wound. “I know, I know.” The blonde herself winces from the impending knife still wedged in her shoulder, but at the moment, she doesn't care about its blistering anguish. She was in a better position than Mikasa anyway.

“I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

A bloodied hand coldly cradles Mikasa’s jaw, and Mikasa closes her eyes when Annie hovers over her and plants a soft barely felt kiss on her forehead. “Stay awake.” 

Mikasa tries, but her whole body becomes numb, and she tries her best to keep her eyes open, to soak in Annie’s features, the crease of worry in her eyebrows, the tears bordering her eyes. 

She closes her eyes and tells herself that she’ll rest them, ignoring Annie’s panicked pleas. 

And soon, the world goes silent.

Chapter Text

January 1st, 1859- Two years later 

—

“Today, we honor the lives that have perished in the great war. The brave soldiers that have fought for our freedom, and the veterans that are here with us to tell their stories. Everyone, please respect our faithful veterans today and honor their sacrifices. We owe our liberty to them.”

The large memorial stands proud against the usual pale skies of winter. Historia is before it, facing the audience with a serious gaze. She had left the harsh conditions of the trenches when she discovered that she was biologically related to King Reiss. He had pulled her away from battle after all his legitimate heirs had perished, leaving him no other choice to name Historia as the new heir. 

He had been killed, unbeknown by who, so Historia was crowned queen of Paradis and had made her first act of duty be the act of ending the war for good. It paid off, although too late. 

Ymir’s name is engraved on the marble of the memorial, and it hurts her vastly. 

She had granted the freedom of many, but at the cost of many others.

And she will live to regret her late action forever.

—

“Good morning, roomie.” 

Mikasa raises her serious gaze from her letter to see Hitch approaching the small kitchen. The woman eyes her sleepily, yet the usual mirth is present in her green irises. 

The ravenette only raises her cup of tea and takes a deep sip, eyeing Hitch warily which earns a frown from the latter. 

“Ease up, won’t you? It’s too early in the morning.”

“It’s well past twelve.” Mikasa retaliates after she swallows her tea, setting her cup down against the wooden table and focusing her attention on the letter in hand once again. Hitch rolls her eyes, trying to engage her in a meaningless conversation, “What are you reading?”

“A letter.” 

Hitch snickers in obvious annoyance, “Dammit Ackerman. You’re making me miserable.” 

Mikasa hums, but her focus remains entirely on the letter at hand. It’s not necessarily interesting, just a card expressing the events that would be held in respect for veteran’s day. It was recommended for past soldiers to wear their uniforms with their honorary ties today when attending ceremonies for civilians to personally honor. 

Hitch had received one as well, as she too was a veteran from the Military police branch. The ending of the war had been anticipated by most that were not actively fighting in the frontlines, and Hitch’s duty at the rear simply meant that she wasn’t there for the most part. She didn’t share the experiences that fortified Mikasa into the person that she was now. She wasn’t aware of the scarring reminders that lingered on Mikasa’s skin, and Hitch certainly did not know what it was like to live with the ghosts of the world you had always known. 

In other words, Hitch was conservatively unaware of when fighting for your life, fighting for the lives of others and fighting for honor and freedom overlapped. 

She wasn’t her first choice of a roommate, rather she wasn’t a choice at all . Mikasa had been living in solitude for a while, at least a good two months, maybe three. Perhaps going insane through the eyes of her peers that urged her to live with someone of a more extroverted nature, but she had always ignored their wishes and suggestions. That was, until Hitch had stopped by on her doorstep requesting for assistance. She worked at a local bar nearby and a group of creepy men had followed her around after her shift was due. 

Mikasa allowed her inside, and even offered the woman to spend the night to avoid any further trouble. The men immediately turned around when they spotted her, maybe assuming that she was Hitch’s partner of some sort, who knows. The next morning, Hitch had compensated for the chivalry act- or so she says- with her exceptional cooking skills. To say that they were poorly trained was one thing, but Mikasa had been too tired to care then.

What she did care about was that the stranger had seemingly mistook Mikasa’s sympathy for a permitting entry. Ever since, Hitch would find her way at her doorstep almost every night without fail, it got to the point that Mikasa had simply told the woman to move in at that rate. 

Hitch took that literally too. 

And here she was, suffering from her own ambiguity.

Hitch was not a company that Mikasa was fond of. Rather a company that she was simply living with. No one could force her to do something she did not want to do. And Hitch’s company didn’t equate at all to certain companionships that she was forced to entertain… or grew to like. No. Hitch was like a cancerous sore that she could not remove.

And well, right now, the woman’s voice makes the headache that is beginning to fester in Mikasa’s skull pulse with a bit more intensity. 

“Your hair is beginning to grow out again.” 

Mikasa’s hold on the letter tightens, a large sense of Deja vu unfurling in her chest and spreading to her mind. She thinks she can actively feel her pupils dilate from that remark alone, even if they were not the exact words she faintly recalls, or that they were spoken by a much irritating voice rather than the bored decibels that she remembers. 

But she regains her composure almost immediately, clearing her throat and taking another sip of the chamomile tea, deciding that she would not finish reading the letter. 

“It’s been weeks since I last cut it.” 

“Weeks since you had it all grown out, yes.” Hitch confirms, as if her keeping track of Mikasa’s hair length would change the factor that she was merely doing so to press onto the woman’s buttons. “It suits you.” 

Mikasa swallows thickly and releases a deep breath, a flash of a memory long buried rising, “I’m having lunch with Armin today.” She says instead, shifting the topic completely. 

“Oh? Is he back from his travels to Libero?” Hitch inquires.

“Yes. I’ll return fairly late. Eren has the day off as well, so don’t wait for me.” 

She drinks the last of her tea and stands to wash the cup, leaving it out to dry by the sink. Hitch watches her with a look of pensiveness, which is unusual. Mikasa doesn’t stick around to question, she simply returns to her room. 

The only place that Hitch had no access to was her room. It’s the place where it keeps a lot of important and private things, a sanctuary to her unease now engraved in her persona.  Her sheets are dark grey and her pillows are black, with the walls a shade lighter of grey. It’s devoid of any white, something that had aided her from long discomforting days. There’s a night stand next to her mattress with a candlestick that is halfway melted with letters neatly placed, and a wooden bird perched next to them. 

She stares at the bird for a little, a tightness accumulating in her chest, and the scar on her cheek begins to itch as if taunting her. So she clears her throat and collects her attire for the day, also feeling faintly bitter when she spots the green and white uniform inside her closet. 

It is new and has no inkling of warfare. There’s no stains of blood, no rips or tears. It’s unblemished and merely a mockery to Mikasa’s years worth of challenge, but she will wear it to look presentable and less intimidating. 

That makes a simmering distaste rise in her stomach. 

Regardless of how she feels, she grabs the uniform along with a clean, crisp black dress shirt, and gathers everything else she’ll need before retreating to the bathroom. When she’s there, she undresses slowly, taking into account each hidden scar that is being exposed with every layer of fabric being removed. 

She’s changed a lot in two years.

With proper meals and nutrition, her pale complexion had gained color, and her body had accumulated more muscle, with some of her shirts straining over her form. She had found solace in her arduous workouts, finding that she could easily silence the static noise in her mind with physical activity. 

Her scars have healed and were matter of fact, pale too, but Mikasa’s eyes are casted firmly on the mark on her cheek, of its simplicity, of its clean settlement against her skin, and of its reminder. 

She sighs and feels that same previous headache throb acutely in her head. It’s strong and it has her hovering over the bathroom sink with her hands pressed against her temples. 

A cold bath will do just fine with that pestering ache. 

She doesn’t take long in the tub, the cold soothing the taunt of her muscles and the heat of her skin, the smell of lavender calming her naturally sharp nerves. That’s a thing that Hitch has been pestering her about. Mikasa’s alert manner was not suitable for civilized interactions, that in a way, it was a ticking time bomb. One perceived wrong move and Mikasa would snap like a snare trap closing on an assumed animal leg that was actually a stick.

When she’s out of the shower and all ready, Hitch makes a show to spray a bit of her perfumes on Mikasa’s pulse points- saying it’s for luck. The scent is musky, and when she questions the particular ingredients, Hitch says it contains the essence of cedar wood, grapefruit and bergamot. 

“It’s a sensual fragrance.” 

Mikasa scowls, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Mikasa, it smells wonderful and surely it’ll draw eyes.” Hitch defends, “Plus, with that haircut of yours, and your serious face, who wouldn’t want to look at you?” 

Mikasa rolls her eyes, “You’re strange, Dreyse.” 

She makes way for the door, but Hitch stops her halfway to place her hands on the woman’s broad chest. That was another thing about Hitch, she was ridiculously affectionate and flirty at times. 

“Your bolo ties are uneven.” 

Lithe hands adjust the honorary chords around her neck, before they smooth the fabric and pat gently against Mikasa’s chest. The woman resists the need to flinch from the touch, but she does remove herself from the proximity, reaching for the door. 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

“Bye!” Hitch answers with that deep and sultry voice of hers, a courteous wave as Mikasa stares for a while before closing the door completely. 

Their apartment was fair sized, two bedrooms and a singular bathroom, it was purchased with Mikasa’s veteran grant that the queen had funded. It helped a lot that Historia was a veteran herself, aware of things that previous monarchs who sat on their asses didn’t know about. Regardless, her grant was not of substantial value like her comrades for obvious… treachery. Historia had pardoned her from a trial and any other potential imprisonment, but she had told her to keep quiet for everything that had transpired. 

“You know for what you’ve done, I must punish you one way or another.” 

Mikasa wasn’t afraid, and the guilt and shame for what she had done with Annie meant nothing when she knew that she wanted it with all her being. She wanted it and she still yearned for it. She craved to hear Annie’s voice one more time, to feel the blonde’s body against hers again. She wanted nothing more but to know how the woman was, how much better- or worse she was doing now that the conflict was over. Mikasa is haunted by memories of the blonde everyday, so much so that it ate her sleep. She refused to murmur the words that Historia had told her to utter, for the sake of proving her loyalty to Paradis. She refused because she no longer would engage in another war for this continent or any other, and no one, not even Historia, could change her decision. 

So yes, she is living with half of the grant that she would’ve earned otherwise, but money added little value to her existence. She had lived and saw the end of the war, like she had promised, and she had experienced something very untainted to her desires and her heart, currency had no place for her. 

It’s only three in the afternoon, but the thick grey clouds above make it seem like it could be any time later. Mikasa’s breath comes out in thick smoke, but it’s not too severe. Reaching the designated spot where Armin is waiting for her, she approaches the familiar lick of blond hair. 

“Armin.” 

The blond turns to make eye contact with her, smiling warmly. “Hi, Mikasa.” 

They hug each other briefly until they both take their respective seats. She doesn’t hesitate in asking the man about his travels, curiosity rising, “How was Libero?” 

“Ah, where to start?” Armin muses, “They had a lot of establishments, Mikasa! Events where children would participate, and food stands. They have what is called automobiles too, a carriage without a horse! Can’t you imagine?”

Mikasa smiles, trying to picture all the things that Armin began to say. The man speaks of things that sound like they could be straight from a book, or some sort of fantasy. It is reassuring to Mikasa to know that at least her friends were adjusting well. 

“What an experience, truly. You should consider going one day.”

Mikasa hums, “We’ll see.”

A couple pass by the two veterans, offering a courteous nod. Armin returns the gesture with a tight smile, Mikasa looks down at her hands instead. 

“You smell really nice, by the way.” 

Mikasa scoffs, “Hitch’s doing.”

The man laughs lightly, “I bet. I’m surprised she has this musky fragrance, you know how she prefers all of those floral perfumes.” 

The ravenette shrugs, “I think she’s been scheming for a while now.” 

The blond snickers, and two young boys with a serious little girl shoot them a curious glance. 

“Anyway, how’s Eren?” 

Mikasa shrugs her shoulders instantaneously, “He’s been too caught up with the military police.” 

“Oh.” The blond taps a finger on the white silk on the round table, blue eyes caught in a pensive gleam. Mikasa wants to question, but she remains quiet. It was never like her to ask. 

“The military police is now just a separate branch on its own. No longer part of the actual military.” 

Mikasa nods. 

Armin stands more erect, “He cares for you greatly, Mikasa. No matter the circumstances now.” 

“I know.” The woman says, a little low. “Even if he has peculiar ways of expressing it.”

Armin snickers but it carries no mirth. “He’ll come around.”

The words let Mikasa know that Eren will be, in fact, ditching yet another meeting. Ever since that incident during the final battle, Eren had avoided any physical interaction with the ravenette, upset about almost being responsible for taking the woman’s life due to his uncontrollable anger. Mikasa was hanging on by a thread, a very thin one that would’ve snapped entirely if it weren’t for the desperate efforts of Annie. Armin had disclosed to her when she had fully recovered, that Annie had her pressed against her smaller frame, refusing to let go even after Paradis’ doctors had arrived. 

Even when the orders were to remain quiet after the armistice, that whole event broke many rules, and soldiers didn’t care anymore. 

“And what of you, Armin?” Mikasa asks, “Do you wish to keep away at times too?”

Armin blinks, as if the question is incredibly uncalled for. His expression becomes sour, but Mikasa awaits, quiet and serious. “Eren’s distance is enough of a punishment, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I-“

But she doesn’t finish her sentence, as a flurry of loud crackling noises ring outside and her instant reaction is to remain erect and alert. They’re fireworks being thrown by the local children, Mikasa knows that, but her body reacts differently and her mind makes the comparison of the crackles to gunfire, and she finds that they’re not too different. A switch is flicked off, because Mikasa stands immediately and abruptly, the chair that she is sitting on scrapes unpleasantly against the floor, earning eyes of question from civilians nearby.

“Mikasa.” Armin ushers nervously, standing up, “It’s okay, it’s only fireworks.” 

The blond places a hand on the woman’s shoulder, but Mikasa doesn’t take to the touch well. She flinches, hard, and she takes a few steps away from Armin. The man watches helplessly as Mikasa’s hands go to her chest, reaching for a weapon that was no longer there.

“Mikasa.” Armin tries again, “Let's go home, yeah? Somewhere secluded.” 

Mikasa swallows, the fireworks are still going and the nerves twist even dangerously worse inside her body. Breathing seems to become a struggle, so the blonde guides her away from the noise and back to familiar and much quieter surroundings. 

“I don’t understand why they make those things available during a day like today.” Armin frowns, “You’d think they’d know what it does to surviving soldiers.”

“It’s fine.” Mikasa says thickly, “It’ll pass.”

Armin makes a sad expression, “You know it won’t unless you get-“

“Armin.” Mikasa gives the blond a hard stare, “Not you too.”

The blonde nods, giving up, but his expression lets Mikasa know that he won’t let it go. 

—

Hitch is pleasantly surprised to see both Armin and Mikasa at the other side of the door. She even goes as far as to shoot a glance at the clock on the wall, frowning when she reads the time. 

“You’re back early.”

It’s Armin that answers, “Fireworks.”

“Ah.” Hitch replies, understanding immediately. “You’re in time for dinner, then.” 

She opens the door wide and allows them to walk inside. Mikasa is still erratic, glancing around with evident concern, taking cautious steps towards the kitchen. Hitch and Armin share a look of trepidation and follow. 

Hitch’s soup is surprisingly tasty, Mikasa eats half a bowl despite her nerves threatening to convulse the food out. It sits well with the cold, a chicken stew with carrots and potatoes, pitched in with a slight squeeze of lemon juice. Armin and Hitch begin a friendly conversation, one of which involves occasional teasing and platonic insults or at least, from Hitch’s end. The ravenette sits at the table, hearing their bickering, realizing that they’re the closest she has to what the world deems “normal” now and feeling a pang in her chest. They’re both veterans, with Armin having a better understanding than Hitch, but they differed from herself in the form that they assimilated into society as easily as water squeezing into the cracks of broken glass. She, on the other hand, struggled to keep the line between protectiveness and paranoia. It was quite frankly, a lonely life. She feels detached to this world, always awaiting something that will not occur anytime soon. 

When Armin departs, he pulls Mikasa aside. “Tomorrow, let's meet by the bridge.”

“At noon?” 

“If that’s what you prefer.” Armin murmurs. There’s a minor pause, and Mikasa raises a skeptical eyebrow when she sees the faint urgency and discomfort present in Armin’s expression. 

“I’ll meet you early in the morning.” She says instead, understanding that whatever Armim has in mind may be a pending issue that requires urgent attention. 

“Very well. Goodnight, Mikasa, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Armin murmurs softly, giving Mikasa’s shoulder a slight squeeze. 

“Goodnight, Armin.” 

She locks the door when the blond closes it. Now, it was simply Mikasa and Hitch, the other busying herself by washing the bowls in the sink. 

But Hitch’s eyebrows are slanted in a way that lets Mikasa know she has something in mind. 

“So, fireworks.”

“Not the time, Dreyse.” Mikasa hisses defensively, but Hitch already has that certain glint in her eyes that indicates her concern. She turns off the tap and turns to face Mikasa, “There’s programs and therapies for veterans who are struggling to adjust, Mikasa.”

“I’m aware.”

Mikasa makes way to her bedroom, an act of retreat, but Hitch blocks the way almost immediately. She knew of this tactic, and this time she would not allow Mikasa to have her way. “I know you’re more introverted, but I promise you there’s people who care for what you’ve been through.” 

The ravenette gives the woman a sharp glare, daring her to remain in place. “I can adjust like you or Armin. I just need time.” 

“You say that each time!” Hitch snaps, “Time doesn’t forgive if you accidentally harm someone because of your unease. You’ve almost strangled me countless times by now.” 

That frustrates Mikasa in itself. It pisses her off because she knows that it’s true. Hitch had been on the receiving end of many sudden reactions, of some physical involvement that could escalate to very big problems. She didn’t only struggle with certain sounds, but she struggled with certain movements as well, instantly alarming her body’s fight instincts. 

“You know better than to sneak on me. It is not my fault that I react that way.” Mikasa scowls, trying to justify herself, even if it burns the back of her neck with shame at the inevitable reminder of her inabilities. 

Hitch simply sighs, “Listen, if you don’t want to associate yourself with strangers, then consider alternatives. There’s courses that’ll keep your mind off of things. Beekeeping I hear is very good for troubled veterans. Take in a stray, I don’t know. Just do something.” 

Mikasa raises an eyebrow, “Bees?”

The other woman blinks, staring at the latter like she was a strange statue. “Well you have to be tender with the bees. It conditions you to be gentler. It’s a process but you can do it,  and you gain honey as a reward, you know the amount of people who sweeten their teas with honey on a daily basis?”

“I don’t have the land for beekeeping.” Mikasa rejects, feeling the knot in her throat tighten. 

Hitch shrugs, “Purchase it. You have your veteran grant.”

“It was cut in half.”

The other woman gives the taller one a look, one that demonstrates curiosity but rousing suspicion. “Due to what?”

“It’s none of your concern.” Mikasa snaps, walking past Hitch with a deep glare that makes the woman cower. She is now standing in her room, but is yet to close the door. 

“What about a companion that isn’t Armin or me at least?” 

“I’m not getting a dog, Hitch.” Mikasa deadpans, “Give it up.” 

“Fine. Fine.” The woman ushers in surrender, “No one can make you yield.” 

That in itself, wasn’t true, and it bothered Mikasa greatly.

“Just know, I will come back for your ass if I end up getting killed by you out of all people.” 

Mikasa's stare hardens at that. 

That was another thing about Hitch. She blurted out things so volatile, they would of course sound like a far fetched lie if Mikasa were to confirm them. Like right now, Hitch had no idea that she had done just that, long, long ago. 

Mikasa merely closes the bedroom door. 

—

It’s late into the night when Mikasa wakes up in a cold sweat. 

She’s sitting upright with a heavy breath, adrenaline pulsing maddeningly in her veins and prompting every inch of strained sleep to be squeezed out of her system. Her hands unconsciously reach for anything besides the covers, searching for something that she won’t wield again. 

Her body is hot inside her night clothes, but even then they cling to her skin uncomfortably. It’s one of those nightmares that are beyond vivid, alarmingly real. It gets to the point where she isn’t sure if she’s truly dreaming a dream or living a memory. 

She takes a good minute to register her room, to look at the blank grey walls, her black pillows, the dark grey sheets enclosed around her legs. She eases up when her eyes adjust more accordingly with the dark atmosphere, taking a final deep breath and looking at the wooden bird still settled perfectly where she had last settled it. Her face contorts into a fairly pained expression. She doesn’t remember her dream, but she knows for a fact that the essence of blonde and blue was present. 

With a heavy breath, Mikasa pulls her blankets off and sits on the edge of her bed. A prick in her heart compels her to look at the circular scar on her thigh, its fibrous tissue is smooth under her calloused fingers. 

Deciding that a warm glass of milk will probably hit a spot, Mikasa stands and leaves the chill of her bedroom, heading to the kitchen. 

While the milk warms, Mikasa spares a glance towards Hitch's bedroom door. It is closed but her shoes are nowhere to be seen. It could only mean that Hitch is out, working away at the popular bar down the street. The woman had tried countless times to have Mikasa work there with her, or to at least go visit her from time to time to enlighten her night, neither of which Mikasa entertained. She had no interest to consume any alcoholic drinks, or any desire to indulge unrequited affairs. 

Mikasa accompanies the milk with a piece of sourdough bread and strawberry jam. She takes a minuscule bite, not fond of eating such  sweet jam late into the night but also not fond of taking milk on its own. 

She thinks of Annie as she swallows the first bite, of the farm house and their rations, of the way the blonde had watched her as she came down the stairs. She wonders where the woman is in the world, once again. Is she accommodating far better than she was? It was Annie after all who doubted their abilities to return to a civil society. She wonders if Annie still fights, or if she had stopped engaging in such out of fear of hurting someone. 

Then she wonders what truly happened after she had lost consciousness during that final battle. If Armin’s words are as true as he says they were, then Annie must have been clinging to her semi-lifeless frame like glue. 

Her mind runs with thoughts and inquiries, it doesn’t surprise her when she finds herself drowsy with sleep yet again, and before long, not even the short walk to her bedroom is worth disrupting her drowsiness.

——————

“Who is Annie?”

Mikasa’s fork stops moving on her plate. 

“What?”

“Annie.” Hitch deadpans, twirling her own fork carelessly between her long fingers. “You kept muttering the name in your sleep.” 

Mikasa had awoken to the clattering of Hitch’s lively presence. The clock on the wall reads 8:30, and sometimes she truly wished she didn’t live with the woman at all. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Oh don’t play me stupid, Ackerman.” The other woman bemuses. She points the fork at Mikasa, a smirk plastered on her face, “You were dreaming something interesting with the way you kept on breathing the name. Come on, share the details!”

“I don’t dream.” Mikasa snaps, but a heat pools in her cheeks and she looks down at her plate, cursing herself inwardly. She had been thinking about the blonde so much, she dreamt of the woman and their heady night together before their separation. 

“Mikasa, you’re literally red on the face.” Hitch scoffs, “This Annie girl really must be a charm. So tell me, what is she like?”

“Annie isn’t the exact topic I want to visit so early in the morning, Hitch.” Mikasa scowls, “Let’s talk about something else.” 

“You’re no fun.” The latter frowns, “Talking to you is like talking to a dog, except a dog won’t verbally respond but at least they’ll entertain me.” 

“You flatter me.” 

“Alright, then. Let’s see.” Hitch spins the fork momentarily in her hands, her mind is moving with questions that she had been dying to ask Mikasa since the day they met. Nevermind the burning inquiries of when Mikasa had met Annie, given the woman’s lack of desire to be out and about and her only sense of character is to be a commanding officer in the survey corps despite the months worth since the end of the war. Nevermind the nagging feeling that this Annie person is someone of possibly lethal prose that could potentially alter her view towards Mikasa as a whole. 

And Mikasa, of course, eyes her skeptically as the questions run through Hitch’s mind like wild horses, as if she is aware of the kind of inquiries that are swarming Hitch’s mind and she is ready to attack in case her own speculation is true. 

So Hitch speaks with evident mirth instead, feeling this admittedly dangerous tension too overwhelming for a casual morning. “Have you had sex before?”

Mikasa blankly stares at the woman, unamused and definitely annoyed, “Seriously?”

“What!? I’m curious!” 

“It’s way too early for these discussions.” Mikasa frowns, “And no. I keep to myself.”

“I don’t believe you.” Hitch immediately responds with a dramatic gasp. “With the way you carry yourself, I bet you’d have a woman undoing-“

“That’s enough!” Mikasa hisses, face red. Hitch’s smirk is full of amusement and the ravenette hates that she grants such satisfaction. 

“I have to meet with Armin.” She says instead, standing up and picking up her plate with her cup of unfinished tea. “Think of more appropriate questions to ask me while I’m gone.”

“We’ll see.” Hitch muses behind her, “This conversation may just be revisited soon.” 

“I hope not.” 

Hitch watches as Mikasa leaves the setting, washing her set of dishes before departing to the door. 

It’s when she hears the click of the lock in place that she allows a breath of relief to escape her lips. Mikasa believed her incapable, but the mere fact that she was part of the military police indicated her high skill to have been there at all. 

And her instincts were screaming at her that she would not like meeting this Annie woman if it ever came down to it. 

——————

“Have you received any word from Annie?”

Mikasa raises an eyebrow of suspicion towards Armin. The blond doesn’t meet her eye, rather he’s staring out at the river where steamboats and small ships pass underneath the bridge. Mikasa stares at the man for a while more, hoping to see if she can decipher something from his unbothered facade, but the blond is still intrigued by the boats. 

“You’re the second person to bring her up today.” She murmurs cautiously, shifting her gaze from Armin and towards a loud ship in the distance. Armin shifts slightly, “Well, have you?”

She sees the blond shift his gaze from the ships to her, meeting her eye with curiosity. 

“Does it matter?” She bites back defensively. 

Armin shrugs, “If it has you sulking like this, then I believe so?”

There’s a solemn silence, a hesitant one as Mikasa grips her elbow. “I haven’t. It’s been two years.”

Armin hums, his gaze is suddenly comprehensive and semi- calculative. Mikasa swallows tightly under his scrutiny, but she does not let it show. 

“Mikasa.” Armin begins, expression soft but voice sharp, “If this is about Eren…”

“It’s not about him.” The woman scowls, “I know he didn’t mean to.”

There’s a minor pause and an obvious change in the ambience upon the mention of Eren. It’s an incomprehensible thing, something she still can’t grow accustomed to. Eren’s absence had very much shifted Mikasa’s world completely on its axis, and now she felt like she was orbiting around an empty galaxy. 

In her empty nights, Eren’s scrutiny and disapproval keeps her awake. 

“You shouldn’t let him deter you from pursuing what you really want.”

Mikasa looks at Armin with shock. The blonde, although indirect, also didn’t necessarily approve of her involvement with Annie. He didn’t audibly voice it at times, but Mikasa could tell. She could see it in his azure eyes that were slightly too deep than the icy pales she dreamt of seeing. 

“Armin-“

“I think you've grown so familiar with his presence that it has sent you into a spiral of isolation now that he has chosen to walk away.”

Mikasa is gaping, trying to formulate a sentence, something that’ll shut him up. But she stays silent, taking a deep breath and thinking carefully of what to say. After all, Armin was more right than she has ever been wrong. 

“I care about him.“ She murmurs, “He’s all I ever had for a while. You and him both.”

Armin nods, watching her carefully before clicking his tongue, “Well then answer me this. You love Eren, right?”

“Yes of course.”

Armin continues carefully, “And you love Annie too, correct?”

Mikasa pauses, wondering if it’s a trap that Armin is setting her in, or it’s merely a genuine inquiry. Regardless, she answers honestly,“I do.” 

The words feel good when they leave her mouth. She realizes then that she’ll say those words repeatedly if she needs to. Armin’s astute look remains settled on her expression, searching for further confirmation. He smiles softly at the woman after a while, seemingly realizing something further himself, “But Eren’s absence isn’t keeping you awake at night, and you aren’t dreaming distant memories with him, right? Every time you go to sleep, who do you see waiting for you?”

Mikasa doesn’t even bother to speak. She diverts her look from the man and instead, looks forward at a ship that reads “Marley” in bold letters, feeling a sting somewhere in her consciousness. 

“You don’t even need to answer that question. Your silence is enough of an answer.”

The woman hums in acknowledgment. 

“Mikasa” Armin begins, “My point is, that it’s not Eren who you yearn for, and I know you love him platonically. But he is not the person you are burning to see, to hear. He’ll come around and you know that just as well as I do, and that in itself gives you comfort. But Annie? You don’t know where Annie is, what she’s doing, what she’s thinking. It uneases you to not know. It always has.”

“I can’t indulge in false hope.” Mikasa deflects, a thick cloud of vaporized breath leaving her lips. 

Armin frowns, “False hope? What you and that woman have done together in itself is an open door for possibilities. Her attraction for you must have been stronger than her morality, Marley would have killed her on the spot for it. Paradis would have done so too if it wasn’t Historia who was sitting on that chair now.” 

It is Mikasa’s turn to frown, “What can I do then, Armin? Seek her?” 

The blond’s eyes sparkle in sudden eagerness, “Yes! That’s exactly it.”

Mikasa merely blinks at him. 

“Look for her, Mikasa.” He says, like it’s just a simple task to accomplish. “Get the closure you need if it doesn’t go as planned, or embrace what you truly want if it does. Be selfish.”

“You sound like her.”

Although the comment is more so a sad reminiscence than an actual statement. Armin, despite it, smiles humorously at her, “Except I lack her feminine qualities, or her charm.”

Mikasa scoffs amusingly, “She was anything but charming. I think revolting is more suitable.” 

Armin snorts in disbelief, but his expression suddenly becomes one of remembrance, “Oh, before I forget.” 

Mikasa watches as Armin reaches for the inside of his winter coat, retrieving a crisp letter from a pocket. “This is for you.”

“A letter?” The woman questions, taking the piece of paper into her hands. She can’t recall anyone who would’ve sent her a letter. 

“Turn it around.” 

Mikasa looks at Armin suspiciously now, but the blonde only gestures at her to comply. So carefully, without removing her sight on the man, she flips the letter. 

There, in crisp red and finely written letters, is a name she didn’t think she’d see.

A.Leonhardt 

“Oh.” 

Her heart physically sinks down to her stomach, and she can feel the tubes of its lining pulling away as it goes.

“I really urge you to go find her.” Armin murmurs. There’s so many questions running inside Mikasa’s mind, like how the man even acquired the letter at all, but that is easily answered when she remembers his trips to Marley, specifically Libero. 

Ah.

Mikasa swallows thickly, “I don’t know… I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

“It’ll give you some time to stay away from well- all of this.” The blond says, gesturing at their surroundings. Mikasa can only stupidly nod along in response. She knows he isn’t pressuring her, merely he’s suggesting. 

Somewhere in the distant city, the 12 PM bells ring, and the blond smiles apologetically at Mikasa. “I must go, I have to give a lecture to a group of rising training cadets. A history lesson.”

“Okay.” 

“And Mikasa?”

“Yeah?”

“Please consider it.” Armin says softly, “Really. Remember the possibilities, you’re free now.” 

She waves at him as he leaves and turns around to face the semi-distant port, watching the ships and boats that dock temporarily to unload cargo. Her thumb rubs circles around the paper, hoping she can soak a bit of Annie’s presence through the parchment.