Tom had been the first to fall. Then it was Martin, then Angelina soon after. There was so much blood; every sickening crunch of the titans' teeth seemed to bring forth another ocean of red. Trost's streets were lined so thick with the stuff you could smell it in the air; the acrid perfume of iron that was becoming uncomfortably familiar. However unpleasant the sight and scent could be, the sound of the massacre was by far the worst. The way his squad mates pleaded and begged for mercy in the face of a foe that could not possibly understand. As he filled his gas canisters, Jean could have sworn he heard their screams in the faint hissing.

That's three of them. How many more had fallen while he ran to the Headquarters, not even thinking to look back? Only the scattered few strewn around before him were still alive. So that makes one, two…at least eight? Maybe more? "Tch-" Jean swore under his breath. He could have saved them. There must have been a way to get them all out alive. A better commander would have. His scowl deepened.

He disconnected one canister for another. In the time between he gazed around the room. Spirits were high for the ones who had survived. Of course they would be, the others didn't carry his responsibility: the lives of so many comrades lost.

Marco was at his right. The raven-haired boy shared his aspirations to join the Military Police, only with much nobler intentions. He always knew what to say to resolve conflict and his skills were sharp. He had even placed higher than Jean in training. Marco was a role model, someone to look up to. He was a leader. However, Marco had thanked Jean for leading the group out of danger; who accredited him with their escape. Unfortunately, while shouldering all those deaths, Jean found it hard to shake off the sense of failure.

"I don't think I'm cut out to be a commander," Jean said, waiting for his second canister to fill. He kept his head down, focused on his work, not willing to look Marco in the eye. They were words that had been on his mind all day, only now did they leave his mouth. Jean didn't know what he hoped to accomplish in saying them. He supposed all he wanted was confirmation; so that people would no longer put their trust in him. So he would no longer have to carry this burden. He furrowed his brow. "So don't say that anymore."

Marco raised his eyebrows at first, before settling into a small smile. "There's something I'd like to tell you, but please don't take it the wrong way…" He switched filling his canisters before continuing, Jean gave him a sideways glance. "You're not strong, Jean. That's why you understand how the weak feel; and you're great at assessing the situation and coming up with the best possible course of action. You gave the right orders. That's why I could run and that's why I'm alive." The black haired boy turned to face him, offering a bright, thankful smile.

Jean stared back at him with utter disbelief. He was expecting the weak comment, but he couldn't help but feel the rest was underserved. However, there was something about Marco's earnest grin that almost had Jean convinced. A certain way the lamplight hit his freckled cheeks that made Jean believe that the end somehow justified the means. That maybe there was a place for him in the Military Police after all. The pressure in the unattended canister began to build as it finished filling up. The hose popped off the coupling, swinging wildly before Jean wrestled it under control. He could feel blood rush to his face as Jean switched off the valve. "Thanks. I guess." He muttered, staring at the stone floor.

Marco laughed, disconnecting himself from the gas line. "Don't thank me, really." He said, shaking his head. His bright smile faded, expression sober and serious. "Like I said: you saved our lives. My life." Marco's gaze was intense, the gravity of his statement apparent.

Jean blinked back surprise. His embarrassment had long passed, but the redness in his cheeks still burned strong. He turned away quickly, hiding his face as best he could. "Never mind all that, don't worry about it." He mumbled quietly.

"Alright, Jean." Marco said, his usual brightness returning to his face and his voice. "We'd better head out anyways. I'll see you over the wall."

Jean looked up with enough time to watch Marco make his way to the stairwell. He hardly realized how intently he was staring after his squad mate. It did not go unnoticed by others.

"What are you two lovebirds doing down here?"

Jean glanced over his shoulder to see Reiner, arms crossed and wearing a smug grin; Bertholdt in tow. "You're one to talk!" He snapped, nodding towards the blond and his ever-present companion. Jean was seething, he could only thank God that Marco was up the stairs and out of earshot by then. Him and Marco together? Just the thought was ridiculous. Or at least that was what Jean was telling himself, despite how difficult he found to shake the thought from his mind.

Reiner raised his hands in defense. "Hey now, I was only teasing. You shouldn't waste much more time though. That Berserker titan won't be able to hold them off forever." He said gravely. Both Reiner and Bertholdt pushed past Jean, who was still making the final adjustments to his 3D gear. "Oh, and Jean." Reiner called over his shoulder.

"What?" Jean hissed.

"You never did deny the lovebird thing."

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first fic so please rate and follow and leave feeback!