A/N: Levi is short, scarred, and sleepless. HAWHAW ALLITERATION
"Captain Levi," Zina says, exasperatedly. "Measuring you every two days isn't going to help."
Levi shoots a look at her from the sides of his eyes. "Au contraire, it could."
"Stop-" She huffs. "Stop speaking Frankish!"
"Non," Levi deadpans. "Well? Are you going to measure me or not?"
Zina sighs, and walks over to the scales. "Take off your boots first," she says drearily.
He was going to take them off. Of course he was.
He stumps up to the scale and hosp onto the small platform, and Zina moves over to the side. She pokes and prods his posture until he is standing completely erect (even though he was standing pretty straight already, she just does this to annoy him) and slides the top of the calliper down onto his head with a little more force than needed.
"Watch it, Bakker," he growls.
"Sorry," she mumbles, intent on getting the metal slide as close to his head as possible. "Didn't see ya there."
"Doctor..." he fumes. "Watch your mouth!"
"Yes, sir. And now..."She makes a note and lifts the calliper up. "160.025 centimetres."
He stares at her in abject despair. "I... shrunk...?"
She nods mutely, eyes tinged with fear.
"Measure me again," he demands.
Thirty minutes later, he is now 160.0276 centimetres tall.
"I told you you made a mistake," he remarks, dusting himself off primly. Zina leans against the wall, face more haggard than it was half an hour ago.
"Yes, Captain," she says wearily. "That protein diet really has been working... My colleague said it was formulated especially for sho..." She notices the sudden glint in his eye, and coughs hastily. "Vertically challenged people!"
Levi nods in satisfaction, and makes to leave. Doctor Zina has other ideas, and interjects with "Where are you going? I need to look at that cut too."
"No, you don't."He gives her a cold glare.
"Are you going to defy my medical authority more than you already have?" Zina is grinding her teeth together, and he realises that he may have pushed her a little too far today.
Levi is very good at pushing people. He tests their elasticity, see how far their will stretches, see where their temper snaps. He knows from experience that Dr. Bakker has the patience of – well, not a saint, but a Blessed person, at least.
But there has been more discord in the barracks, as of late. Erwin had announced the 57th Expedition recently, and had also announced that almost all of their budget would go to preparations for the expedition.
This didn't affect Levi, but he had seen soldiers grumbling that small beers were now miniscule, seen the cooks sigh at the ingredients they had to cook with, and even Hanji had come to him, sniffling that her experiments couldn't continue with this level of funding.
If the cuts had affected Hanji, presumably they had affected Zina as well, and especially her pet project. Levi sneaks an inconspicuous glance at the heavy leaden door. He has never been in there, as it is only in development, but the results of Zina's experiments had enthralled and frightened him in equal measure. The ability to see through flesh... and the ability to destroy it too.
He sighs heavily, and walks back to table. He scrambles up onto the bed (he has to use one of the cross-bars as a foothold) and unbuttons his shirt while Zina washes her hands. The doctor inspects the torn edges of the wound.
"You need to get those stirrups shortened," she comments absently, tracing the old scar that the new scar had opened over. "That's why you fell off in the first place."
"It isn't that bad-" he begins to say, but she shushes him.
"I don't want the old wound to reopen, and if it putrefies..." She shudders, but her shoulders perk up quickly. "Actually... you never told me how you got that old scar." The old one is ugly and wide, like a titan had taken a swipe at his stomach. The new one is not much better.
He hesitates. "I was glassed in a bar fight when I was sixteen," he admits, avoiding her accusatory gaze.
She stares at him, ashen eyes wide, and then bursts out laughing.
"What? Hey, stop - stop laughing!" he barks, face reddening involuntarily.
Zina stoops over the table, hand planted firmly on it to steady herself. "Oh, man...!" she gasps. "The old scar's from a bar fight, and the new one's from almost impaling yourself on a branch when you fell off you horse! I thought you were going to blame it on a Titan! For humanity's strongest soldier, you can be a total screwball..."
"I'll leave," he says bluntly, "if you're going to continue to treat your superior like this." He can't stop himself from adding petulantly, "And it was the rookie's fault that I fell!"
She sobers up a bit, wiping the tears from her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. "No need to get all superior on me," she tells him, ambling over to a cabinet. She rummages around in a desk and pulls out some cotton pads, ointment, and cloth bandages. She then fills a bowl of warm water, adding a little soap. "Do you mind if I wash it again?" she asks, making her way back to the table. "That iodine solution should have done a good job, but I want to make sure." He gives no response but a haughty 'humph!', and she takes that as assent. He stays quiet as she washes the wound. "No alcohol?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "Too damaging, even if it has closed," she murmurs. She swabs away the warm water, and then applies some of the aloe ointment. She bandages his stomach with a practiced hand, cloth wrapping around him like a snake. While she wraps, she speaks. "Sometimes I forget about the whole mob boss thing. I hear it from the greenhorns every now and then, but they admire you too much to ask about it."She stands back and surveys her work with satisfaction, blowing a strand of hair off her face. "All done!" she proclaims, hands on her hips, and she walks away to wash her hands again as he closes his shirt. Zina is probably the only person in the barracks who is more neurotic about cleaning than he is.
"Thank you," he says, cordially, standing by the door.
"No problem!" she responds cheerily. "But wait, one more thing – do you need more of that valerian tea?"
He can feel her eyes scrutinizing him, scanning for baggy eyes and pale skin. Levi has always had trouble sleeping. Dreams are supposedly based on what you last thought about at night, and Levi does a lot of morbid thinking, especially when it is dark. He wonders idly exactly how much blood is on his hands as he watches the moon move by, the shadows behind the cloud like a soldier wearing a cloak. His dreams are never definite. He never quite sees the titan fully, never sees the dead body, and never sees the spray of blood caused by his sword. The images are murky, undefined, and somehow that makes them all the more terrifying.
Alcohol was his go to for dreamless sleep beforehand.
Back when he was living among the refuse of society beneath Wall Sina, it had been opium.
"No," he says, and he is speaking the truth. "I've been sleeping fine recently."
A smile breaks out across Zina's face, and he almost smiles back. "I'm glad," she says softly, and he resists the urge to tell her how happy he is too, because he's sure she already knows. She clears her throat. "Well, it's time for you to get out of my office."
"Goodbye, Doctor." He salutes her and strides down the hall, only barely glimpsing her half-wave in response.
