Claustrophobia

i. One stone

The air smelled of fresh wounds and disinfectant and, strangely, citrus. The bright oppression of artificial lighting close to her face forced her eyes closed. People came and went, their elongated forms casting shadows over her eyelids like cardboard puppet theatre.

"Get the doctor, I want a word," a man spoke. As the haze of sleep lifted off her, Mikasa wondered if she heard a foreign accent on him and why she had the worst headache of her life. The fact that she had to ask both these things in the same setting did not bode well, she thought with a note of alarm. She noticed her left thigh radiating heat. Something was tethered to it. She tried to touch it but was held back by cuffs on her wrists and a sharp lashing of pain made her stomach churn. Turning on her side, she convulsed and let the acidly bitter tasting contents of her stomach out until she could muster nothing but dry heaves. A hand came to rest on her back; another one lifted the strands of hair off her forehead.

The white light had been knocked over when she lifted her head. Mikasa opened her eyes at the sight of her own vomit. Scanning the room with barely contained wariness, ready to pounce at the first opening, the details of her situation lit up like red ink on parchment. She was in enemy territory, Liberio presumably. Captured by Marley, she lay on a hospital bed; her leg was slashed open seven inches long and finely stitched. A brace was holding it in place because her luck would have it be broken too. A military man sitting upright in a chair by the window threw his unfinished tangerine in the bin. Her heart raced fast, her mind faster. She breathed deeply, painfully, and considered both escape routes, by window and door, with or without taking someone hostage, killing everyone, lying through her teeth or playing innocent.

The military man had twin pistols on his hips, wore a mean face, and this was clearly not his first rodeo. Mikasa would have risked her chances against him, even in her injured state, had she not been physically restrained at the knees and ankles. She also knew nothing of the layout and location of the building, the terrain and the fate of her comrades. She calculated her chances of achieving something positive through early action to roughly nil. Breathe in once, breathe out long. Perhaps, if the gods were favourable, the others would have escaped and none of this would matter.

"That's all right, child," said a matronly woman in many layers of white robes. She was the one that had stood over her and puller her hair out of the way. Mikasa noticed her starched cap and calloused hands. She must be a nurse. My helpful enemy nurse. There was a roadmap of lines on her face. "You are lucky to still have that leg but it will get you in a world of pain, don't you doubt it," she said, stooping low to clean the vomit off the tiled floor with a tired sigh. "How is your head feeling?"

"Now that she is awake, I really need you to get Dr. Mann," the military man barked. Everything on him was square, his jaw and nose, his shoulders and air. "I can't very well go get him myself and leave her alone." At that, Mikasa though she heard a note of real apprehension. All soldiers were dangerous, as they had proved with their blood-drenched operation on the enemy capital, but she was more so. Did her ill fated name precede her?

"I am keeping watch," the nurse said calmly and continued to go about her business of wiping up the mess. "The young lady is hurt and cuffed and seems like a smart girl. So, don't go causing trouble now, hear?" she said to no one in particular.

"Don't be stupid. This is no young lady, it's a stinking pest," he said. He was suddenly bridling with passion, overflowing like a box someone poured all their bad mornings into. "Do you know how many innocent lives you twisted devils took yesterday? It runs in the hundreds. Thousands. "

And yours runs in the hundreds of thousands, Mikasa wanted to retort but said nothing and refused to look at him for good measure. The situation was too unfamiliar and her gut feeling and training told her to be as interesting as a drying piece of jerky. She desperately tried to gather her thoughts but there were gaping holes in her recollection of what had happened after they sounded the retreat. More importantly, her heart ached with the need to know whether the zeppelin made it out of Marley safely. She knew she should never ask. She would not show any weakness before she knew what was up, and not even then. Only when they let their guard down, when the chink in their armour would glow bright as day, she would strike and it would be clean and deadly.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the man rose, crossed the room in two long strides and struck the kneeling old nurse with a kick strong enough to send her sprawling on her back. She yelped, a shrill noise that grated on the nerves. Mikasa gripped the sheets tightly, discreetly, and through sheer force of will did not move an inch.

"I told you to get the doctor, pig! I don't know why you'd want to care for the devil that has ruined the lives of your filthy race and caused the deaths of so many noble Marleyans. I shouldn't have to ask twice. I am thinking your family should get a one-way trip to that cursed island," the officer said, spitting at his feet.

The doctor, a slight and troubled fellow, stood at the door, his mouth slightly twisted. "Koslow, it is noontime and I am here, like I said I would. Other patients need tending to. Nina meant no disrespect. She is very serious about her job and has helped us save countless brave men," he said, coming over to help her up. Nina was doubled over her abdomen, but her eyes had undergone the most significant change, gone dull like a dead rat's.

"I am very sorry, officer Koslow. I only wanted to clean up this disgusting smell for you. We are grateful for all your hard work and can only hope you will be able to squash these vermin that make our children's lives so hard. Glory to Marley! Glory to the Motherland!" she rasped quickly, leaning on the doctor first, then the doorframe. "Please don't hurt my grandchildren. They are all I have left. They will give their lives for Marley one day."

"I sure hope so," said Koslow and, in that moment, bathed in the light of his own hateful determination, he seemed forged out of ultrahard steel. Mikasa did not know what the future held, but she had an idea or two. She braced herself for impact, all kinds of unforeseeable impact, all of which she would bear easily if it could keep Eren, Armin and the others safe.

The good doctor Mann had not put up a convincing argument for her continued recuperation at the hospital. She supposed that he wanted officer Koslow and his entourage out of his hair as soon as possible and she could hardly blame him for it. They had tied, blindfolded and manhandled her onto a wheeled chair and then they were off on what Eren's reports had called a "car". It was faster than a carriage and noisier by far, but it was no longer in her nature to be perturbed by odd experiences, if it had been ever. She did not keep count of the turns. Even if she could make her way back to the hospital, it would not help her.

"It is best if you don't push her too much until her leg and head injuries are mostly healed. Someone hit her hard with a piece of debris when she was captured and she came in with a severe concussion. It was touch and go for a bit," the doctor had said before they left. "She may not remember everything at once. Likely to faint if you pull and shake too much. Godspeed."

She really did not remember everything, at least after the commencement of their operation on Liberio. She did, however, remember every little bit and piece of information about Paradis, Eren and the Survey Corps that the military government of Marley would be interested in. The doctor's disclosure could buy her some time and maybe a modicum of lenience until she figured out what to do, if she played her cards right.

When they arrived at their destination, Mikasa heard the familiar bustle of a town that was trying to return to normal after an unforeseen tragedy. A booming man's voice was calling out in the distance. "Newspaper, new issue! Newspaaaaper, our glorious Marley emerges victorious after sneak attack on civilians! New issue, two enemies captured by our brave military and warriors! Newspaaaaaper!"

Mikasa growled quietly in her throat. They had caught another one. Who was it? Was he or she all right? Would they play them off each other, hurting them in turns until they got what they wanted out of the weakest willed one? She would resist! She carefully mulled these dark thoughts over as the Marleyan officers lifted the wheeled chair and carried her down several flights of stairs. An increasing sense of foreboding mixed with the cold dampness in the air made her clothes stick to her skin, and she caught herself labouring over the mental image of hurt Eren or terrified Armin being tortured before her eyes, pressing questions boring into them, knots unravelling everywhere as she broke her silence and told them –

The blindfold was ripped off her, tossed aside along with her restraints, and she was picked up from the chair and thrown into a cell. She landed on her injured leg and bit her cheeks mournfully to keep from shouting out. This Koslow was clearly not one to defer to anyone else's advice, even the advice of a doctor. She looked at the men. There were three of them – middle-aged, probably mid-ranking except Koslow, entirely hostile.

She turned her gaze to the cell, noticed how hard it was to breathe down there as though a cool, thin goo settled over her lungs when she took breath. The walls to her back and left side were of stone, big and smooth chunks overflowing with dungeon moss. On her front and right side were tall, rusty iron bars, sparse enough for a hand to go through, too tight for a leg or head. The artificial Marleyan lights in the corridors glowed dim orange. There was no sunlight – there wouldn't be any, she guessed.

In the musty oppressiveness of this place, Mikasa had a very human thought. I don't want to stay here. Would that someone could come and help – but no. Not. She could handle this on her own, she should. For her sake and that of her captured comrade's. She was stronger, firmer than the others, better equipped…

A taut invisible string was trying to pull her throat, heart and the pit of her stomach in alignment.

"Think long and hard what it is you're going to say when Commander Magath interrogates you," Koslow growled after they were satisfied there was nothing in her reach except a wooden washbasin and some straw. "He is a man of manners. Personally, I think manners are reserved for humans only, but he may disagree. Don't mistake it for weakness." The lock on the cell's door turned with a clink and she remained still until well after the men's footsteps had faded up the stairs.

ii. two birds

Hours passed. After she picked herself up and tried to have a thorough look at her surroundings, she discovered that her leg really was in rough shape. Limping and wincing would have to do, as she was already doing her best to ignore the deafening pounding sensation in her ears every time she bent her head low or at a sharp angle.

The cell was no bigger than two cots long and wide, and that was a strange way to think about it, Mikasa admitted, because there was no cot in sight. Only straw, a layer so thin she could see through it. Some of the large rectangular stones on the wall were cracked but none seemed weak enough to be pried apart without a pick, and even if one was, there was no guarantee that the whole wall would not collapse under a mountain of debris. The washbasin water was murky and contained more than a few drowned spiders. Not for drinking, she decided. Was it for that other business then? The time would soon come when she would need to relieve herself. She preferred to do it in the water than outside.

The right-hand side bars… that was most surprising. Her cell seemed to form one half of a bigger cell parted down the middle with them. She could see little on the other side except that no one was in it. The design allowed for visibility, communication and limited contact with another detainee and made little sense to her strategically, unless the captors wanted to listen in on said communication above all else.

Not long after, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs again along with some light but persistent shuffling.

"That fucking shrimp," murmured someone with long, blond hair who came in first and opened the door of the other cell wide with a reverberating bang. "Get him in here, fast."

Mikasa watched intently as they dragged him in by scruff of the neck. He was gagged, hands cuffed behind his back, legs cuffed so that he could barely walk and visibly beaten… yet, there was no mistaking that stature or the furious eyes that peeked under his hair to shoot daggers at the Marleyan officer kicking him forward. With rising discomfort, she realized they had captured not one but two Ackermans and dealt a great blow to the manpower of their forces, knowingly or not. What had happened on the way to the zeppelin that neither Captain Levi nor she could have escaped?

"I have half a mind to keep that gag on you," the first person – a woman – said, as the officer kicked him again and he tumbled inside the cell. "You have quite the sewer mouth. It was entertaining hearing you say those things to Koslow, I'll admit." The grin did not reach her eyes. "And I'm sure you'll live to regret every single one of them."

Levi collected himself and sat on his knees as best as he could. He tossed a glance at the direction of her cell and Mikasa wondered if he could see her at all. She crept a little closer. From underneath strands of bluntly chopped black hair, he met her gaze briefly. Then he turned away, and Mikasa understood that he was already expecting to find her there. He most likely had not suffered a concussion from having his head collide with a rock; therefore he must know exactly what happened.

"Mmffmm."

"Take it off, Pieter. Watch your fingers."

The officer named Pieter took out a pocket knife and cut the rag with a sharp movement that nicked Levi's jaw. No one tried to remove his cuffs before locking him in.

"You speak a lot, little man, but you don't say the right things. We'll be back, so why don't you try harder next time? We even brought you this lovely girl to keep you company," the woman said with no emotion in her inflection. "Reiner Braun told us you've known each other for half a dozen years now, so you must care what happens to her at least a little bit, no? Or maybe you are a heartless little shrimp that would still like to "take a dump on baldy's head" even as we're pulling out her teeth. And nails. And innards, God forbid. Oh no. But maybe your comrades will strike a deal to save you both." At that she laughed and turned to leave. "The boys and I have a wager on who'll break first, you know."

Levi scooted backward and leaned against the stone wall not far from Mikasa. He tilted his head back. Under the orange fluorescence of their prison, Mikasa could not see his eyes, only the outline of his jaw and throat swelling slightly, his breath regular and calm. Calmer than hers, she'd have to admit. She tried to mimic his unruffled disposition, schooled her mouth into a line, and stripped her eyes of the spark of life. They would both need to bring their best calm game, if they were to have a single chance of getting out of this alive and with their country's secrets intact.

Levi murmured something.

"What?" the woman asked, and still he said nothing. "Spit it out!"

He turned to look at her ever so slightly.

"I said: good luck with that, bitch."

A/N: Hello, welcome, have a seat. I plan for this story to be dark, fitting with the themes of SnK/AoT and the general unpleasantness of being a prisoner of war in a universe where the only treaty between nations has a single article and that article reads "Article 1: SEND YOUR INSIDE ENEMIES TO EAT YOUR OUTSIDE ENEMIES".

If your idea of romance is all about realistic development and fifty shades of tension, not necessarily sexual, and a hundred shades of being forced to eat shit together, this story will -hopefully- please you. It *may* contain depictions of torture, trauma, yadda yadda, so if that kind of stuff troubles you, why are you even following this fandom in the first place?

Kindly keep me motivated but don't hesisate to throw your honest feedback at my stupid face. My muse is a fickle creature. I am even more of a fickle creature, but I can be bribed.

P.S. I don't have a beta for this yet so it may be a typofest still. It will be edited further. If you feel like you have too much free time on your hands and not enough money to go to a tropical island and you want to beta read, send me a PM.