The 104th Unit was to train under varying conditions.
They were to work and struggle and suffer until they could fly, arms outstretched with blades instead of feathers, until they could soar through the air, whipping and twisting as if they were born to do so.
They were soldiers in training. This was expected of them.
But when the sky began to drizzle, and when that drizzle began to pour, and when their instructor still demanded they use their 3D Maneuver Gear to return to their dorms, some still mumbled complaints under their soft breaths. The rain was heavy and cold and dark, and they were not birds. Couldn't they just walk? Some were hesitant because this certainly must have been a joke of some sort, for how could their gear function in such weather? But others jetted off without a word, for they had seen the atrocities the Titans could commit, they'd seen the blood and the fear and they knew that bad weather of all things did not stop a Titan attack.
Mikasa Ackerman flew.
She flew through the night, through the forest in which they'd been training. She raced faster, careening between dark trees without hesitation. She flew with control, with balance, with grace, with a speed unlike any other recruit. The rain was sharp on her face, little pricks that dug deeper than skin, but it did not stop her. Her hair slapped her cheeks with each twist around a tree, her eyes squinted and blinked out the rain that burned as it blurred her vision, but it did not stop her.
Rain would not stop the Titans. So rain would not stop her.
But when the sky cracked and a flash of lightning arced across the sky and a boom rumbled the forest, she did what she never thought she would do, what she never thought she could do: she lost control. Maybe her left cable slipped or maybe her right gas canister sputtered or maybe she just froze in the air because she was not a bird; she was just a girl.
Fear struck her like a bolt, and she fell. The mud inhaled her knees as she collided with the earth; it sucked her out of the sky and jerked her body down. She rolled, arms whipping as they tried to stop her momentum. But when she sat up, knowing fully well that she just needed to start off again, she couldn't.
All she could do was sit in the mud and feel the rain wash down; she could not catch her breath. She could not slow her heart.
The storm flared again, casting a forest of shadows and she could see herself for just that split-second. She was filthy, soaked. Mikasa tried to stand, but when the storm roared its enthusiasm, her knees buckled and she fell back into the mud. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, lying to herself about the storm because that was always what made her unafraid. She tried to breathe, tried to ignore, tried to forget.
Mikasa remembered how she used to hide under the covers as a child during storms. She remembered how the first strike shocked her, how the second scared her, and how the third made her cry.
The first time this happened, her mother slipped underneath the sheets with her and pressed her close and Mikasa cried against her mother's chest. She heard her father's voice above them.
"What's wrong?"
"She's scared," her mother replied.
And seconds later, the noises were louder, stronger, so close, and Mikasa shook with fright. But her mother was shaking too, for she had begun to laugh and she laughed so quietly, but Mikasa knew that she was laughing, convulsing with giggles. So Mikasa peeked out from under the covers to catch her father bounding across the floor, banging a pot and a pan together.
Mikasa smiled at her father. And she laughed. And she forgot. Whenever the fear struck her, her family would make her forget. They would dance barefoot and make music with pots and pans and slam doors and scream until the three of them were louder than the storm.
She no longer had that family.
The sky lit up again, and Mikasa saw him falling down, half-stumbling to catch his balance.
"What do you think you're doing?" Eren hissed at her. "You better not let an instructor catch you slacking off like this!" It was a race to him, a contest. It always was. But still he stopped. Mikasa stared at him, trying to make out his features. She knew them so well, even when they were blurred by the rain. His eyes were dark. Her fingers clenched and her arms shook and Eren's frustration melted as she looked at him and he looked at her because they both knew and they both remembered.
The first time she experienced a thunderstorm living under the Jaegers' roof, she began to cry. She cried without meaning to for she had not cried once since that day, since Eren screamed at her to fight and to win. Mikasa had not expected the tears to come, had not expected the mix of fear and grief that came with that first rumble.
"What's wrong?" he'd asked when he found her at the bottom step, hugging her knees, biting her lip.
"...I miss them," she said as if it were a new feeling, as if she did not miss them every day. The tears ran down against her will. "They would help me cover up the thunder. They would-"
"Stop crying," Eren said. Demanded. And it shocked her, for he said it in the same way he'd told her to fight. It was mean and commanding, sharp coming from a boy of nine, but it broke through the doubts and fears.
For when she believed that she could not, Eren made her believe that she could.
"Stop," he repeated, and she looked at him, wiping her eyes. "Just listen." His eyes stared forward, and his cheeks flushed hot, and his mouth opened up, and he sang through the storm. He sang for her. He sang to make her forget.
His voice had been soft and quiet back then. Shaky. Childlike.
But now...
Eren pulled her off the ground and wrapped her up, his arms around her shoulders, tight and strong. His lips were so close to her ear; she could feel his breath as he sang to her once more. His song was steady now, deeper. She kept her eyes closed, and the storm still raged, and she knew this, but he was here. She felt her heart slow once more, and her breaths evened out. He was here. Her family was here.
A crash fell overhead and the earth shook and his hand reached for hers in the darkness, and she was so very calm. The rain was cold.
"It reminds me of them now," Eren admitted. "It reminds me of their footsteps."
Mikasa was not the only one afraid. She wasn't.
And it might have been the rain and it might have been the dark and it might have been the fact that his song still sounded out in her mind or the fact that his fingers were so warm and strong between hers, but she found herself lifting his hand to her mouth, and she found her lips pressing against his fingertips softly, slowly.
It was a quiet kiss.
His head dropped onto her shoulder and she held him. They stood there in the storm, embracing, shaking because they were afraid, afraid because they were brave, brave because they were together.
And when they launched off the ground, and when Mikasa edged out in front of him, and when the sky lit up again and the thunder roared, she smiled and soared like a bird.
For when she believed that she could not, Eren made her believe that she could.