For the Strong

For over an hour, Jean gripped the edges of his hat with his veined hands and refused to talk. The quiet that radiated from him was not unique. Others in the room – Connie, Sasha, Mikasa, and Armin – all shared the same stony silence. They had barely escaped an attack from the military police and the gravity of the situation was slowly sinking in.

Their silence went beyond the defeat of having to slink away, hiding in corners, and taking obscure alleyways to find safety. It went beyond the humiliation of being outsmarted by the enemy. Neither was it about the exhaustion that weighed heavily on their bones, although each one of them were tired to the very core. It was the kind of silence that came from witnessing the unspeakable.

"No," Jean said. He stood up so suddenly that his chair pushed back with a loud rattle. The sound of wood scraping against wood was such a stark contrast from the previous stillness that it took on a biting pitch.

"No," Jean said more forcefully this time. "I refuse to be part of a mission that has us killing people. This is not what I signed up for."

"I can't be the only one thinking this," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm just the only one honest enough to say it."

Armin looked at him. Light from a solitary lamp cast shadows across his boyish face. He had never looked so old. From across him, Sasha grabbed Connie's hand and gave a slight whimper, a piece of bread uncharacteristically left untouched in front of her. Mikasa merely kept her eyes fixated on a single spot on the floor.

"Any order to do so is cruel," Jean spat. "It's heartless and does not deserve to be followed. These are people and we're… We are not murderers."

"We are not murderers," he repeated softly, as if no longer certain who he was speaking to.

"I am," a barely there voice haltingly said, interrupting the crescendo of Jean's anger.

"Wha…what?" Jean turned to Mikasa.

Mikasa looked at him, dumbfounded that he addressed her. Had she really said that? It was a part of her history that she rarely thought about and she talked about it even less. Although it was brought up in open court, she could not remember if her friends knew about it. "Did they not know?" she thought. The past couple of hours clouded her mind with sights and smells that she would rather not recall.

"I am," she repeated hazily. "A murderer, I mean. When I was very young."

With the speed that he rarely displayed, Armin dashed to Mikasa's side and gripped her shoulder sympathetically. Mikasa looked at him blankly. "Yes, of course. Armin knew. He always knew. He is a dear friend."

"My parents were killed in front of me," Mikasa said. "My father opened the door of our house and they stabbed him. Then they went after my mother and killed her when she tried to put up a fight."

As she spoke each word, remembering the details, Mikasa's head began to clear. The images became sharper, the sounds all the more real. "They were not robbers – they did not come for things. We barely had any. They were there to take people away, and that's what they did. To me, I mean. They took me away in order to be sold."

If Mikasa's mind had a floodgate, it was at that point that it was breached. Wave after wave, it hit her until her senses prickled at the memories she rarely, rarely acknowledged. She did not see Jean looking at her with tears rimming his eyes.

Instead, she smelled the metallic tang of blood the air. Her ears rang with the sound of human flesh being cut, so different from when her sword sliced through a titan. Human skin, when broken, sounds like a piece of linen being ripped apart. It was delicate and tore so easily.

Suddenly, she was back at her house, being ordered to run away but unable to. Her feet were planted firmly on the floor while her heart broke. "Seeing my parents die, Jean," Mikasa said softly. "It was indescribably painful. But that was not the worst part. The worst part was…"

She lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper but the crack in it so loud. "The worst part was…"

"The worst part is the feeling of helplessness," a low voice suddenly said. Mikasa did not need to turn her head to see who spoke, but she did anyway. Levi stood at the doorway, his hair still damp from the shower he took the moment they reached their safe house.

"How would you know?" Jean whispered. "It seems to me, that you are used to these situations."

If the Levi had any reaction to what Jean said, he did not show it. "Kirchstein," Levi said in even tones. "I'm going to let that go because I acknowledge that being shot at can be a traumatic experience."

Levi took a step forward and Jean involuntarily shrank back. "I also acknowledge that up to this point, you had the luxury of choosing between cowardice and bravery, between right and wrong."

"Some of us never had that. We just did what we could to survive," he continued.

Levi strode purposely towards Jean who sat back down on his chair, eyes downcast and sorrowful. From where was, Levi towered over Jean. "But I will do what I can so that you won't be put in the same position as me."

Jean's head whipped up, eyes wide. Levi glanced around the room, looking at each of his squad's young faces. They were just as surprised as Jean. Their faces also showed the mask of weariness, confusion, and fear that he had long ago ceased to wear.

"That goes for everyone here," Levi continued. "Although I cannot promise that you won't eventually cross lines you have drawn for yourselves, I can damn well try."

He briefly latched onto Mikasa's form. She, in turn, never broke the gaze. She stood up and walked to him, standing so close that their shoulders brushed against each other. Her stance was that of grim determination. "You won't be alone, Captain."

She glanced at the others, people who she called her friends and comrades. Without words or explanation,s she knew why Levi felt compelled to say what he said. She knew the horror of being left continuously cold and if others can be spared, then she will take it on.

"Levi and I," she said, "we will fight for you."

As the hours passed, Jean, Sasha, Armin, and Connie fell into deep sleep. They were not without nightmares, but for the weary, it was enough.

"What you did, Levi," Mikasa said as she handed him some tea. "It was kind."

He shrugged. "Humanity's strongest."

Levi took a sip and slid the cup back to her. "And what you did was brave."

Her features remained impassive as she said, "Worth a hundred men."

So that was how Levi and Mikasa spent that night, by sharing a cup of tea as those they knew slumbered away. They were not so foolish as to think that the morning would be any different. They both knew that there were more horrors to be faced so they steadied themselves for what was to come.

There was a heaviness in the air from having said words that they both knew the others hungrily depended on, but they were unfazed. They had all night and the night was still long. There were hours and hours of silence and darkness and occasional wisps of conversation. Most of all, they had the nearness of each other. Like gladioli that pushes forward through the muck and the entanglement of roots in order to crack the soil, Mikasa and Levi reveled in the sharp-edged but graceful presence of each other. Tomorrow was another battle; but tonight, at least for tonight, they had the comfort of knowing that strong was no longer a lonely weight, no longer a burden either of them would bear alone.