Author's Note: Because who doesn't need a dark and gritty survivor Rivetra AU in their life?

Have some warnings for this fic: drug & alcohol abuse, assault, language (though it's Levi so no one is surprised), violence, and death all around.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.

Repercussions

It was past midnight when Petra climbed up the stairs to Levi's apartment. She didn't know how he had ended up here; the walls were covered in dirt and grime accumulated since the building had been built, which was probably sometime in the 1920's, Lights flickered on and off, on and off, on and off, and the wooden bannister she gripped as her boots hit the stair treads wobbled beneath her small fingers.

A roach scurried across the back of her hand and she paused, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She hated coming here but she couldn't help herself. They were the only two left. They needed each other.

She imagined he needed her now especially. He hadn't answered any of her phone calls or text messages for the past day and a half, so, knowing exactly how she would find him, Petra stuffed some ibuprofen (a heavy dosage she had stolen from the doctor she lived above) into her bag and headed a few blocks down the street into the dreary, rat infested neighborhood where Levi Ackerman had settled down.

He didn't answer when she knocked on the door, peeling from the different colours it had been painted over the decades, and this didn't surprise her. It was locked, of course, so she slid her key into the handle and let herself in.

She was met with absolute silence and swallowing the heavy lump in her throat, she closed the door gently behind her.

"Levi?" It was a small, timid call, as if she were afraid to startle him. He didn't respond and she took a step forward, through the small hallway at the entrance and into the living room.

He wasn't there, but it looked exactly as it had the last time she had been there, three days prior. There was no furniture, save a small round table where empty liquor bottles had been arranged to the degree of an art, and a line of fresh syringes lay in wait beside a silver tablespoon.

Petra grit her teeth and fought back the tears that threatened to destroy her composure.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

She lifted her honey gaze to his steely cobalt and licked her lips, a display of nerves. "Because I'm not going to leave you behind," she replied, taking a deep breath that shuddered in her lungs.

Leaning up against the doorframe to the bedroom, Levi let out a humorless laugh before tucking his bottle of gin under his arm in order to light up a cigarette. "Give it up, babe," he mumbled, "I'm a lost cause. Going down with the fucking ship."

"There's no such thing," she replied factually stepping forward and swiping the bottle from his hands. Turning it in her palm, she glanced back to the table. "You aren't using these. . .together, are you?"

"Of course not," he bit off, "I'm not stupid."

This relieved her, if only slightly. If he wasn't combining the drugs and alcohol there was still a part of him that clung to life. There was still a chance to pull him back from the edge, back to her.

"I know what you're thinking," he teased, pushing off the doorframe and reaching beneath her black leather jacket. He pulled one of her black pistols from its holster, pressing the muzzle to his temple. "If I'm going to die, why not just do it?"

"That's not what I'm thinking," she told him, setting the gin on the table and holding her hand out, unsurprised when he slapped the weapon back into her possession. She slipped it back into its home.

"I want you to come live with me," she said, "I want you to get out of this pit you call a home and let me help you. Let me fix you."

"Why?" he asked, raising a sardonic brow, "because we're so in love?"

Though she knew he was acting out of his own self pity, drowning in his failures, Petra stood her ground.

"Yes," she replied resolutely, "because we are in love."

"That nice slice you've got says otherwise," he said, snatching the bottle back from the table and taking a swig.

Her hand wandered up to her neck where she fingered the stitches there. The last time she had come here there had been an altercation. He hadn't been in his right mind, she had told herself, crouched in his kitchen, pressing her fingers against the bloody gash he had given her in order to prove a point. He wanted to scare her away, he wanted to be alone, to waste away into nothingness, but she refused to let him.

That day, he had been anxious, jittery and volatile. He had been drinking to push away the need for his next heroin fix, to keep the desire away just a bit longer. While he wasn't above turning to the drug to forget, he wasn't ready to submit himself to it entirely. It was dirty, and fucking expensive.

"We used to be happy," she whispered softly, "don't you remember?"

She did. It was strange that they had been able to find happiness, but they had, all of them. There were ten in total, traveling freelancers, gypsy criminals if you would, and together they had made a family.

She recalled the hours she had spent in Levi's arms in the soft light of mornings on the hotel balcony of a penthouse in Paris, the thrilling rides on the back of his motorbike through the English countryside, or lazy summer days spent together, all of them, picnicking on the cliffs of the Mediterranean.

But now, of the ten, it was only Petra and Levi inside a dark, rotting apartment in the slums of Baltimore, USA. It was the worst place to be, but Europe was no longer safe for them and they had retreated here.

It's temporary, he had told her. They had rented separate apartments lest someone come searching for either one of them, and their temporary move seemed to extend and extend and extend with each new bottle of liquor Levi opened, each cigarette he smoked, and each needle he jabbed into his veins.

Their escape had turned into his guilt trip and Petra had not been invited to join him.

"We used to be a lot of things," he replied, nodding the bottle towards her left hand where a modest band of gold wrapped around her slender ring finger, matching the one he bore on his own.

"Come home," she pleaded, "you're so much better than this."

He took a drag from the cigarette, turning his head to the side and exhaling before sliding his gaze over to her. "I let them all die, you know."

"No." The word was firm and absolute as it marched from her mouth, "No you didn't."

"They're all dead, Petra. Because of the choice I made."

"It's not your fault, Levi," she protested, "there was nothing any of us could have done. You were trying to save innocent people."

"Yeah," he scoffed, taking another long drink from the clear bottle, "and I did a bangup job, didn't I?"

With her mouth turned down into a frown, Petra moved forward, yanking the liquor from his hands and throwing it across the room, soaking in the satisfaction as the glass exploded against the wall. She shoved her hand against his face, holding his chin and forcing him to look at her.

"Shut up, captain," she hissed. It was a stupid title, one they had made up for him, but she didn't care. She had followed his lead for years, she had devoted herself entirely to him and she would not stand for this behavior.

"This is not where they would want us to be! Do you understand that? Do you?"

Her grip on him was rough. It hurt, and through his drunken fog he could make out her cute little eyebrows pulled down over her eyes, those fiery amber eyes that sparked when she was angry.

"They're not where they want to be either," he drawled in response, "so I'd say it's a fair trade."

She slapped him. Twice.

"Stop acting like you're the only one allowed to grieve, Levi. I was there too. I watched my friends, my family, those kids die. Auruo died in my arms."

"What was he doing there in the first place?"

Petra let out a small huff. He was being irrational. "Saving my life," she replied, "he protected me. He died so that I didn't have to."

Levi ground his teeth, reaching for his cigarette, "I never liked the way he looked at you."

She wasn't getting anywhere with him today. Over the past seven months he had built wall after wall after wall around his soul, or at least what was left of it. It had been a mistake to leave him alone for so long this time around. Three days had been too many.

"If nothing else," she said, "if my opinion doesn't matter, you should know that Hanji would be disappointed."

She shouldn't have stooped so low, but it was the trigger he needed to feel something. Anything. And that something was fury. His hands were on her. His palms slapped against her neck and she let out a pained cry as her wound protested the action. His fingers entangled themselves in her copper hair, his blunt fingernails digging into the back of her skull, and his thumbs pressed against her cheekbones so hard she thought they might shatter beneath her skin.

"Don't ever speak her name again," he growled, pushing his wife onto her knees, falling to his own as he did so, his voice trembling as he struggled through his grief. "No one can ever speak her name again."

Through the pain, Petra waited. She could see it in his eyes, the way his eyebrows sank low over his lids, and the tears that glistened, but never fell. Hanji Zoe had been his first friend and for the majority of his life, the only person who had never given up on him. She had been thrilled when he announced his desire to wed the sweet, albeit much younger Petra and through her ridiculous antics, had fought until the very end to protect her family.

Her life had been cut short before the best of it had begun.

"Hey, Levi!"

In the lobby of a magnificent castle hotel in Vienna, Levi turned, fixing his gaze on Mike Zakarius, the tallest (obscenely so) of their crew, his skills second only to Levi's own. He was seated at the bar, and when he shook the bottle of brandy he had acquired from the bartender, Levi took a seat beside him.

"Waiting on Babydoll?" he wondered, pouring his much shorter comrade half a drink. Levi wasn't much for day drinking.

"Yeah," Levi responded, keeping his eyes focused on the grand staircase, "she's doing some nonsense with her hair."

Mike let out a small chuckle and a shrug as he took a drink. "I wanted to talk to you about something. If you've got the time."

Levi shot him a look that reminded him Petra was fixing her hair. They had time.

Brushing some of his own hair out of his eyes, Mike sat back, draping his arm over the back of his chair. "I want to talk about Hanji."

With a look up from beneath the dark fringe that fell over his forehead, Levi threw his friend a tired look. "What has she done now?"

"You're the closet thing she has to a father, Levi."

This caught his attention. Pulling his glass forward, he pulled his brows down. "A three year age difference hardly gives me father qualifications."

"Family then. We're all family, but you two…"

"What the fuck are you getting at?" he snapped, wondering what was taking his wife so long. She'd just chopped all her hair off. How long did it take her to arrange it to go out to lunch?

Reaching into the pocket of his mossy green dress shirt, Mike pulled out a velvet box and flicked it open, holding it out him.

"Flattering," Levi replied with a dull sort of humor, "but I'm already married."

"For Hanji," Mike replied, setting the box down on the bar and admiring the ring inside. It was platinum with three red stones, modest in size but perfect in both cut and clarity. They weren't rubies, Levi knew Mike better than that. He wasn't the sort of man to take half-assed measures or efforts that were simply 'satisfactory'. Those were diamonds. Red diamonds.

"You know she'll spend more time studying those rocks than actually wearing them, right?"

The corners of Mike's mouth tipped up as he put the ring back into his pocket. "Is that your blessing then?"

Levi shrugged into his drink as he took a small sip, "if nothing else, it'll legitimize all your fucking."

"I'll take care of her," Mike stated, throwing back the liquor with ease, "not that she needs it."

"Neither does Petra," Levi pointed out. To anyone else it may have seemed like an offhanded, pointless remark, but Mike understood. Each one of the ten in their group was strong, far stronger in both physical strength and mental fortitude than any of the citizens that walked the streets. They didn't need caring for or looking after. Not Hanji, and not Petra. But Levi did so anyway, purely out of love.

And now, it was Mike's turn.

"Wait," Levi told him as he began to slide off the stool he had been seated at as Petra finally made her way into the lobby, sporting half a waterfall braid (had it really taken so long to do something like that? Women.), "wait until after tonight. I can't have any of you clowns distracted."

Mike waved him off, throwing a grin to the sunny copper haired girl. "Yeah, alright captain."

Levi didn't respond to the sarcastic title, pushing the empty glass towards the bartender and draping his arm over Petra's shoulder, steering his wife from the bar. Mike and Hanji, he considered, nodding to the doorman who straightened as the suited man and his woman strolled out of the foyer. It was about time. They'd be good for each other.

But they'd never gotten the chance.

In the dampness of his apartment, the fierce hold Levi had on Petra loosened. His hands fell away from her face and his arms collapsed around her shoulders, pulling her close. She brought her own hands up around his torso, rubbing his back with long, soothing strokes.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, his forehead pressed into her shoulder, "God I am so fucking sorry."

She'd broken him, if only for a few moments, and she let out a breath of relief. He was living in a circle of emotions, a carousel of nightmares and Petra was desperate to tear the ride to pieces. He was guilty, she understood that. But it was too much for him. He couldn't cope, so he escaped. When she interfered with his misery, he lashed out, hurting her more often than not. She didn't mind fighting him; she was well versed in combat and though she loved him more than anything in the entire rotten world they lived in, she wasn't afraid to hurt him in return. When he was able to come to his senses, even just for an hour or so (three hours and twenty minutes was the most she had gotten from him), he was attacked by a new sort of grief. He would realize what he had done, how he had put his hands on her, his beautiful, sweet Petra and the cuts, bruises, and trails of eyeliner he had left in his wake. It killed him that he'd sunk to such a level of filth, and it absolutely gutted him that after all of it, she still believed that somewhere inside of him was the man she had married.

When that became too much, he would get high, and it would begin again.

"It's alright," she whispered, bringing her fingers up into his hair. It was clean and she almost smiled. He was still bathing regularly. Whether it was a good sign or simply that his cleanliness would never change, she didn't know, but found comfort in it.

"Nothing is fucking alright, Petra."

"But it will be," she pressed, keeping her voice soft and her touch gentle, "we're still alive, and we're still together. I'll always fight for you. Alongside you. You know that."

With a heavy sigh, he lifted himself from her, sitting back up against the wall. There were dark circles around his eyes, darker than she had ever seen them. He was having nightmares again.

Petra scooted along the ugly industrial carpeting that covered his floor and joined him, slipping her fingers between his and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Look," she said, holding up their hands. Running from the base of her thumb to her wrist was a tattoo, one wing, outlined in black. On his hand, the other, coloured in a steely blue that matched his eyes remarkably well. On each of theirs, at the very bottom, was one feather in the colour of the other's and when their hands were clasped together, they made a pair.

"You told me these were our wings," she reminded him quietly, "our wings of freedom. How can either of us fly with just one?"

"I was responsible for their lives," he sighed, squeezing her hand, "and I failed."

"You didn't."

"I did. I couldn't save anyone."

Her breath rattled in her lungs when she exhaled. "You saved one."

You saved me.

He wanted to say it didn't matter, what was one life? But he couldn't dismiss her like that. Of course he had saved her. Even if he hadn't, she would have been the person he tried the hardest to protect. Love had made him biased. His focus on his wife had left him unable to sacrifice himself as he should have.

"We should have died with them."

Petra swallowed, lifting her head and resting it against the wall, staring ahead at the archway that led to the kitchen. The refrigerator had been left ajar and the light cast a haunting glow on the entire space.

"We were blessed with life, Levi. To reject that would be like. . .it would be like they died in vain."

"You know what we did, Petra." He was getting jittery again. "Why they all died."

"Levi, we didn't do it. He did."

"But we couldn't stop it," he bit off, "so really what difference does it make?"

She lowered her lashes, raising their hands and kissing the place where their tattoos joined. "Shhh. . ." she murmured. He needed to stay calm.

"We blew up a high school."

"Levi—"

He turned to her and she could almost see the lump in his throat. His mouth twitched and his hand was trembling in her grasp. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, one perhaps anyone else would not have been able to hear.

"We blew up. . .a high school."

As she watched the words slip from his mouth, her lip quivered and the tears she had been holding back spilled down her cheeks as she replied, her own voice cracking at the words.

"I know."

xxxx

Author's Note: Well that was heavy. I hope you were able to enjoy reading it~

Like Honey & Spice, this was supposed to be a oneshot and then it just kept growing. I'm hoping the next chapter will complete this story, but no promises!