SNK (c) Isayama Hajime
A/N: Yoooo! Altoh here bringin' some rivetra for you guys. It's been awhile since I've written anything for this pairing. I've been neglectful :(
Tried present tense for a change! I find the story kind of flows better in present, but I'm partial to past so whatever, I'll prob be going back and forth between the two, lol. Enjoy!
He sees her again in a dream.
She looks lost, he thinks. She is wandering in an endless field, pulling at the soldier's uniform on her back as if it is foreign to her and he frowns at the sight. He catches a glimpse of her face when she turns her head to the side and sighs with relief, because her eyes are lit with life and there is no blood streaked across her face—a stark contrast to the dull, lifeless ones he would see time and time again, the image of her back collapsed in on itself haunting his subconscious for weeks.
He calls her name and she turns around, but he does not see her face light up like it always did when she caught his eye—she smiles uneasily when she sees him approach her and fidgets a bit, brushing a stray lock of blonde behind her ear. He frowns because it is not right, it's not the adoring smile he recognizes, it's not the smile he would feel on her lips as he kissed her and it feels so, so wrong.
"Hello," she breathes out when he stops in front of her, her voice shaking slightly but still as warm as he remembers. "How do you know my name?"
He freezes immediately at her words, a cold chill running down his spine at the innocent curiosity he sees in her big, brown eyes. He almost has to remind himself to breathe, not even realizing he had sucked in a breath when her words reach his ears. His body goes numb but his mind is running wildly with thoughts and he finds he can only voice one.
"Petra," he begins with the slightest of hesitations, "Do you know who I am?"
He dreads her answer, but he knows it the minute he sees her mouth turn upside down into a small pout.
"No, I don't. Should I?"
This time it is not only his body that goes numb, but his mind as well. He finds that he cannot even think, cannot even attempt to process what she just said. She is looking at him with concern and he wants to yell at her to stop, stop reminding me of the Petra I know because she isn't here.
He realizes with cold horror that she does not remember him.
She waves her hand in front his face and brings him back to this pseudo-reality, where he must remind himself that none of this is real; she is dead and he is not.
So then, he wonders, why does it feel like she is tangible right in front of his eyes?
"Are you okay?" she says, a nervous tone in her voice and it is so familiar that he feels the back of his eyes sting.
He cannot find his voice yet so he settles for a small nod, even though he is not okay in the slightest. He still manages to fool her though and she sighs with relief, though he can't understand why—he is essentially a stranger to her and yet she still worries about his well-being. Though, that is how she's always been, he realizes.
That is who Petra is.
"I don't know how you know me, but we've met somewhere, right?" she says after a moment, "Could you tell me your name again?"
He takes a second to collect himself and answers with a firm voice, "Levi."
He sees something flash in her eyes, but it quickly disappears as fast as it came. A natural smile settles on her lips this time, and Levi can feel a flicker of hope flitting in his chest.
She sticks her hand out to him and he takes it, mentally taking note of the surprising rough, calloused grooves of her palm he had nearly forgotten.
"It's nice to meet you again, Levi."
He wakes up the next morning with a start.
She shows him her scar.
The sight of it nearly makes Levi vomit. It is huge and horribly ugly, interrupting the smooth skin of her neck and does not stop until the curve of her hips. The flesh is rough and calloused to the touch, and Levi feels bile rise in his throat as he runs his fingers along the length of it gingerly, fearing that if he presses too hard he will break her.
It is his cold reminder of the harsh reality of her death, the reality he is so desperate to escape.
She doesn't hate it, she says. She considers it a part of her and, even though she has no memory of it, a memento of her time with him. He wants to grab her and shout at her that she is a fool, that she should not romanticize her death because he is the one who let her die.
He tells her this and she does not frown in anger, but smiles in forgiveness and tells him it's okay— she may not remember it but it's okay.
"I don't like your frown. I'd rather see your smile."
She tells him this in earnest and a smile of her own appears on her lips, so bright and cheerful and so Petra that Levi feels his eyes sting from the nostalgia. He knows he should try to do the same, but he cannot bring himself to do so—the guilt, despite her forgiving words, still resides deep within him, an unshakeable weight he cannot overcome.
She seems to notice this and touches his arm lightly, her smile never once faltering, "It's time to forgive yourself, Levi."
He feels a lump form in his throat and he looks away from her understanding face—he does not deserve her forgiveness, does not deserve her and he knows this. But when her hand skates across his cheek, he thinks that for the first time in a long time, he wants to be selfish. He wants to rid himself of the unbearable burden he's been carrying for far too long, the crushing weight of the deaths of soldiers he himself sent to their demise, just as he did with the woman standing in front of him. But she is looking at him with those too wide, too forgiving brown eyes and he feels his resolve crumble before her.
"Thank you," he whispers, reaching out to grasp her wrist but his hand meets only air. Alarmed, he looks at her and realizes she is fading, like a wisp of smoke drawn from the tip of a cigarette. Her lips are moving and he knows that she is saying something, but his panicked mind cannot process her voice because she is vanishing right in front of his eyes—
He wakes up in a cold sweat.
She is starting to remember.
It only comes in fleeting moments, but Levi's impeccable perception catches the flashes of recognition in her eyes, the small hesitations when she begins to address him as 'captain' before she catches herself. It is in these moments that she pauses and frowns, as if she is trying to recall a memory that is almost within her grasp but always eludes her. He does not prod her during these times, knowing it will only frustrate her more—he only watches her struggle, blindly hoping she will remember on her own.
She does, however, ask what her life was like with him.
"I was part of your squad?" she asks, looking down at her uniform and pulling at the sleeve, "That explains why I'm wearing this, then."
He nods. "Scouting Legion, Special Operations Squad. Your kill record was ten solo, forty-eight in a team."
He sees it again—that spark of recognition, but it leaves as quickly as it comes. Frowning slightly, she continues with her questions, "What were the outside lands like?"
"Brutal. Those fucking titans follow whatever human flesh they see, regardless if you're on land or in one of those big ass trees."
She brings a hand to her mouth to suppress her laughter. "Such eloquent vocabulary you have, Captain."
He stills immediately. "What did you call me?"
She frowns at the disbelief he knows is written all over his expression. "Levi. I called you Levi, didn't I?"
She is shifting in and out of her lost memories, he realizes. Crushing disappointment curls in his chest and he shakes his head, answering with a solemn "No."
Normally, she just frowns and shakes it off, already moving on to the next subject. But this time, she is pulling at her hair, her eyes wide with distress and her body is trembling so madly—Levi has never seen her so distraught.
"Why?" she whispers, "Why? Why can't I remember you? Why can't I remember anything?! It's right there, I know it is, but I ju-just—"
Her voice breaks and she begins to sob uncontrollably, wrapping her arms around herself as she doubles over. Levi is at a loss of what to do and grimaces at the sound of her agonized wailing. He reaches out to rub her shoulder but it has no effect—her body is still wracking with sobs and he realizes there is nothing he can do. It is a battle Petra can only fight alone and while he knows this, he cannot bring himself to accept it.
When she finally calms down, she sits up and looks at him with bloodshot, tearstained eyes, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek.
"Help me," she pleads, "Help me Levi—"
He wakes up late, the sensation of her hand still lingering on his cheek.
"Captain Levi!"
His heart nearly jumps out of his chest when he hears her call him. He turns cautiously, careful not to have too much hope—but when he sees her bright smile, her eyes filled to the brim with the familiar devotion and passion, he decides that maybe this time, his hope won't be lost on her.
"Petra," he replies evenly when she runs up to him and nearly tackles him to the ground. He can feel her smile against his neck and it's contagious, a small smile of his own appearing on his lips.
"I remember," she breathes into his ear and Levi shivers. "I remember you."
He knows he should be happy, yet he cannot help the sinking feeling that settles in his chest. If she remembers, then she must remember the expedition that sent her to her horrible death.
She notices this, of course—she is fine-tuned to him, knows exactly which dials to turn like an old radio, has saved her favorite stations of him, and Levi thinks she might know him better than he knows himself.
"You're blaming yourself again," she says as she pulls back to look him in the eye, "I told you. It's okay."
"I'm sorry," he manages to say, and he realizes this is the first time he is apologizing to her for what he's done. He regrets not doing so earlier; it leaves a bitter taste settling on his tongue.
But Petra only smiles at him, as if she expected as much. She leans in to touch her forehead to his as her hands find his, and she looks at him with so much longing that Levi cannot find it in himself to pull away from her sudden affection. Perhaps he didn't really want to, anyway.
"And I forgive you," she affirms softly, "I'm sure everyone else does too."
He wakes up the next morning, wishing he hadn't.
He is gravely injured.
He had been on an expedition when, in mid-spin, his gas canisters screeched with failure, signaling he ran out of gas. He lost his balance, his equilibrium throwing him off right into the hands of the titan he was aiming to kill. It squeezed him tight, tighter than he would've ever imagined—and now he is here, standing before a very angry Petra.
"You idiot," she grumbles and Levi's eyes widen slightly at her remark, "You went and got yourself seriously injured. You, the captain of the entire Legion!"
He does not respond, choosing to hold his tongue while she goes off on a tangent. "Who even knows if you can be healed! Humanity's strongest, gone just like that. Are you really okay with that? Leaving behind a legion without a captain to lead it? Why are you here?!"
"I don't know, Petra. But even if I don't live, they will be able to handle themselves. You should know we have more than capable soldiers that can take my position."
"B-But—how can you accept this so easily?" Her voice is cracking now, whether from anger or from grief, he didn't know.
He could say he is choosing to repent for all the sins he's committed in his lifetime, from his time in Wall Sina up until now, where he leads soldiers into death. He knows that isn't why, though—he is doing it for the comrades he has lost and watched die, and he is doing it for her.
He has lost her once, and he'll be damned if he loses her again.
He tells her so and she screams at him that he's being foolish, that she doesn't need him here with her—but he wants to be here, if only to escape the death cage that is the world's reality. So when she finally concedes and kisses him with those lips that taste like strawberry wine, he knows he's where he belongs.
This time, he decides to stay.
He does not wake up.
A/N: Not totally heartbreaking, right? Ha ha.../flee
This idea has been stuck in my head for weeks and I'm finally getting around to writing it now. But god, it took me forever. I kept getting stuck and distracted because I didn't exactly plan the plot out...? Like the only guidelines I made for myself was the "He wakes up" blah blah blah. I probably shouldn't do that again, lol.
I'm not sure if I'll make this the starting piece to my rivetra collection. Only because it's such a long piece and the title 'phantasmagoria' (google it! hehe) would only really fit with this story soooo... prob just gonna leave this by itself.
Please let me know what you think and drop a review! :)