Mikasa stood behind the cherry wood counter, furiously chopping away at the slab of roast, cold steel of her cleaver thudding loudly on the chopping board beneath. She was alone now, unfortunately, in the large kitchen of the family run restaurant, and the usual thumping of her cleaver wasn't doing enough to drown out the conversation earlier that afternoon. Slam. Yet another chopping board ruined, Eren wouldn't be happy. Wiping the grease from her raw hands on a damp washcloth, she sat on the barista's wooden stool, idly staring at the lazy spinning of the ceiling fan and drinking her cool coffee. Inevitably, the afternoon's conversation started replaying in her head.
"Miss Ackerman,"
She wondered how long she could go, pretending he was too short to be seen
"Miss Ackerman"
"What," she straightened, hoping to intimidate the shorter man, (though this has proven time and again to be futile) "do you want"
"A reservation, for a private dinner," Rivaille stated, glaring menacingly at his partner down the counters, who busied herself gleefully ordering one of every macaron flavour the restaurant carried. "Tomorrow night, 8pm," He continued. "Table for two".
"Tomorrow?" Mikasa asked incredulously, dutifully penning down the reservation in her black leather planner under 'Shorty" with a disgusted curl of her upper lip, business was business after all. "I have to inform you that Thursday's Eren's night off"
"That's precisely why," Rivaille stated, almost cautiously. "Also, he tells me what you write in that, Ackerman, not very professional, are we?"
Silently glowering, Mikasa scribbled over the word, and muttered, "May I know what's your last name then, sir?'
The old man was an enigma, swathed in tattoos and wrapped in inky black tuxedos daily, even in the heat of the desert where their restaurant was. Eren found him a year back while restocking for a large dinner party, riddled in bullet holes and kneeling in a red ring of corpses, clutching tightly to his chest his gun, looking every bit as though he was going to join his victims in the underworld soon and was fully prepared to take them down again. Eren, dear, sweet Eren who took over his mother's business and turned it into a Michelin-star restaurant, who took her in when he found her in a ditch half dead, predictably loaded the bleeding man into his car and got their childhood friend and patisserie Armin to patch him up the best he could before driving four hours to the nearest hospital. That stunt caused them a fortune that night, but Rivaille had paid them back by patronizing their restaurant frequently after that, much to Mikasa's chagrin.
They'd found out he was a gangster eventually, during a particularly hot day when he shed his black tuxedo to reveal a swirling tattoo behind a thin singlet. The black mamba, notorious for his swift and merciless kills.
"Well? So what is your last name?" Mikasa leaned over slightly, scrutinizing the man from behind squinted eyes when he seemed a little hot under the collar, fidgeting uncharacteristically.
"…Jaeger, if Thursday night goes well"
The implication sunk in and she'd splintered the pen and clambered over counter in a mad bid to throttle the little man, who simply reached up and pushed her effortlessly back behind the counter by her shoulders, whispering frantically, "Mikasa, please-" "Don't you fucking call me-""I know how much he means t-""You stay away from my brot-""I won't take him away"
She stilled, and only realized that she was crying when he removed his hands and pulled out a silk handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing it on her face.
It was almost midnight by the time she finished portioning, arranging, and garnishing the roast. It would have taken less time if she didn't have to pick out the wood splinters from the shattered chopping board. Armin had returned from his date and was currently in the back kitchen whisking through the batter for the next day's dessert, light tinkling of metal against bowl traveling through the hall and reverberating through the high vaulted ceilings, calming her somewhat. "Tomorrow night", she murmured, pushing the plates into their chiller and shutting it. Eren was certainly home late tonight, she mulled, noticing the way moon light reflected off the polished counter as she wiped away the remaining pieces of wood, and emptying it in the trash, where a pen lay broken from the afternoon.
"I couldn't take him away, not from the job he loves, not from the people he love"
"I come here every time I can, and I know he's here, happy, safe, and I wouldn't drag him into my hell like that."
"He's my safe harbor, Ackerman, I know he's yours too, I wouldn't take that from you"
"I just want him to know that I'm not going anywhere either, and…"
"And it'd mean a lot if you gave us your blessing"
Mikasa picked up the bent pen cartridge from the plastic shards and shakily, wrote 'Jaeger' under Thursday.
Rivaille slammed the car door none too gently behind him, flicking scraps of wrappers from Hanji's macarons off his coat. The bespectacled woman emerged from the sedan soon after, yawning from the long drive. The night air didn't have long to clasp her long fingers around the two, as they swept into a small restaurant, gleaming gold in the nightscape.
"Commander" Rivaille greeted, pulling a chair out opposite an elderly man, sharply dressed and draped with beautiful ladies, flanked uncomfortably by Rivaille's direct superior, General Erwin. "Ah, Rivaille, how have you been?" Pixis boomed, laughing raucously as he took a large swig from his pocket flask. "Come, come, let's begin!" He cried, clapping his hands. Immediately, two waiters stepped forth, placing a basket of warm, toasted garlic bread with two bowls of soup on the table. Pixis promptly spilled his whiskey, dribbling stains over the pristine tablecloth in his attempt to reach his spoon, and Rivaille shuddered, staring at the yellow splotches.
Dinner had progressed uneventfully until dessert, when the restaurant had cleared and the lights dimmed. The table was cleared and the table cloth thankfully stripped and replaced. The ladies from before had also slowly left, until only Pixis, Erwin and Rivaille sat at the small booth, each with a strong drink, and Pixis with his overpowering cigar. The uncomfortable silence was jarred when Erwin's phone rang, and he excused himself, stalking out of the restaurant into the night.
"Do you kno-""Why did you-"Pixis and Rivaille started. Rivaille fell silent and Pixis chortled loudly, waving to Rivaille to start first. "Why did you call me out here, Commander? I was sure my letter was clear." Rivaille said, breaking eye contact, opting to watch Hanji laugh with Erwin outside.
"The rationale wasn't, Rivaille" Pixis slurred, though his eyes were clear and focused on Rivaille. "Over twenty years of service, and you suddenly want to leave. For what, Rivaille, a child?" "For love, Pixis" Rivaille snapped, suddenly weary and weak, sounding very, very small indeed.
"Twenty years and what have I to show for it? A body count? A bounty for my head?" Rivaille released the glass in his hands, suddenly too cold for his liking. "My entire squad was wiped out in minutes that day, snuffed out like a candle. I thought I was gone too, Commander. Then he found me, and you know what he did? He stepped over all those bodies and pulled me up, sewed up all my wounds, fed me, took care of me. Just like you and Erwin did, all those years ago, but he didn't push a gun into my hands, oh, no, he gave me a knife instead, can you believe that? "Rivaille shook his head, smiling softly "Trusted a gangster with a knife and held my hand as he taught me how to cook, how to create something, to give something" Rivaille sighed, eyes darkening.
"He doesn't deserve someone who kills and takes and destroys like me, and that's why I'm leaving. I'm old, Commander, I know, he's just a child and that's why he believes in me. He gives me something to look forward to and Commander…"
"It'd mean a lot to us if you gave us your blessing."
Pixis exhaled, and thick smoke concealed his expression. All Rivaille heard was his grave, gravelly voice. "Rivaille, did you know, many years ago, I had a wife?" Rivaille fell silent. "Gunned down by the previous head of Titans, that hairy mongrel, you remember him?" Still, Rivaille stayed silent. "I'm just saying, Rivaille, just because you leave doesn't mean that you can start off on a clean slate." Pixis puffed another cloud of choking smoke and continued "How many wives, husbands and children do you think you killed, Rivaille? How many people do you think are out for revenge? As long as you have that tattoo, you'll always be the Black Mamba, and you'll always be a murderer."
As the smoke dissipated, Pixis had a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How was dinner, Rivaille? I do love this establishment, the cook used to be in our gang too, you know?"
Somehow finding his voice, Rivaille managed to fumble a compliment, before commenting "The main dish tasted a little bitter for my tastes. What was it? Pork? Venison?"
"A lamb's tongue and heart, a rare delicacy," Pixis smiled, "I've heard that the sauce contains some blood to, ah, unite the palate, so to speak." How was one supposed to answer to that grisly fact? The room fell silent again.
The waiter's silhouette appeared from a distance with dessert, and Pixis excused himself, "Erwin will nag if we're late for our next appointment, you know how he is," Calling out from the door, Pixis smiled again "Please don't look so glum, Rivaille. I just don't want you to feel the same pain I did, you're like a son to me, you know." Opening the door, Pixis let the icy tendrils of the night slip into the restaurant, into his heart. Pixis called again, his back a strong figure in the silver light but his shadow slithering across the carpeted floor "You'll always have a place with us, Rivaille. Enjoy the cherry sundae."
And he was gone.
The waiter placed the dessert glass on the table, and turned, striding quickly away. The clouds overhead inched away and the moon illuminated his table. Rivaille felt sick to his stomach as he looked, horrified, at his dessert.
And it looked back.
The "cherry" was a glistening orb, bleeding red life onto the white of the vanilla ice cream. Rivaille felt the "lamb" in his stomach churning violently with copious amounts of alcohol, as a shivering hand reached out and picked up the eyeball, cupping it in his hands, choking on bile as the familiar emerald tinged with topaz caught the moonlight. Eren was out that afternoon, wasn't he? Alone at the gourmet market, all alone.
Rivaille was caught between expelling the remains of his love and keeping him within his body, the only way Eren was ever to be warm ever again. He chooses the former, and Hanji finds him in the kitchen after hearing two gunshots.
Commander Pixis, feared gangster head, was found dead in the bathroom of a small hotel two hours away from the restaurant. The coroners found two indents in his neck, and concluded the cause of death as poisoning. Toxins found commonly in Black Mambas were found in his corpse.
No signs of struggle were found.
A black sedan pulled up outside the restaurant at 8.15pm, and a small man emerged, his coat pocket bulging with a small globular object. Hanji left the car, hurrying after him, pulling his face to look at her. Wordlessly, she raked her fingers through his hair, matted with dried blood and sweat, trying her best to make him presentable. "Do you want me there with you, Rivaille?" He mechanically dipped his hand into his pocket, and shook his head.
He sees Mikasa once he opens the back door of the kitchen, and fights the urge to burst into tears. He does, however, drop to his knees and slams his forehead against the grimy checkered tiles, apologizing over and over again, until he hears her say "Get up and wash up, you look like hell. You're only 15 minutes late, can the melodrama" He hears someone tripping over a table leg in the dining hall and cursing. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.
It's surreal, seeing him smiling and laughing in front of him, tearing into his steak and offering him a piece, smiling widely. Eren sits with his back facing the kitchen and the large main window, with curtains drawn to let the light of the setting sun in. He looks beautiful like this, and Rivaille imagines a future with him, but Rivaille sees both his eyes smiling at him and his heart thumps dully against his ribs and the heavy consequences of his actions sink in his stomach. He receives the offering in his mouth with his eyes closed.
When dinner is done, he does not wait for dessert. He gets down on both knees and kisses Eren's knuckles lovingly, pulling the ring from his other coat pocket and says nothing at all. Eren swoops down and engulfs him in his embrace, just like their first meeting, and Rivaille cries tears which Eren wipes away.
He hears the screeching of cars outside then, and he pulls Eren up, both hands circling his waist. "I'll get wine, love. To celebrate." And Eren nods quickly, seating back down. He kisses him, deeply, passionately, smiles, and strides to the kitchen. Seeing Mikasa's journal left on the counter, he picks up a new pen, and leaves a note, realizing bitterly that a few days ago, Pixis himself was a guest at the restaurant. Pixis must have known that this was to happen. He must have seen Eren, all that he was and could be, must have seen his eyes that shone just like his wife's did, and must have known Rivaille would react to pain the only way an animal would, by lashing out and poisoning it. Rivaille walks out into the night and grabs the revolver that Hanji, loyal Hanji is pointing at Erwin and the men that flank him. He steps in front of her, tastes the heavy coldness of gunmetal, and pulls the trigger.
Eren,
Be happy, always, Hanji will tell you anything you need to know. Not much time now, I love you. I'm sorry.
Your husband
Rivaille.