A/N: I have decided to continue with this story past this chapter. I don't know how long I will make it, but I have a bit of an idea of what I want to have happen. Thank you for following/favorites/and reviews. Feedback is always nice to hear.

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Thank You

"I think he's dead."

"Shut up, he's still breathing."

"Jean? Hey, Jean?"

Jean heard their voices, in the vague distance, threatening to pull him from sleep. He couldn't move his limbs as he hung in the space between waking and sleeping. His arm covered his face, blocking the sun from his eyes, and he knew that people were crowding around him. The last thing he wanted to do was open his eyes.

In the end, he had to force himself awake. He focused on moving and jolted himself into sitting up. It was the worst way to start the morning. He felt sore all over. His side was aching. His eyes burned with the effort of keeping them open. He had that ravenous hungry feeling that happened when he woke after not enough sleep. Though he would gladly give up his meal if it meant he could lie back down and close his eyes.

Once he was sitting up everyone dispersed and lost interest. He dragged himself to a water basin to splash cold water on his face. The shock of it made him wince, but it helped.

He was pouting when he caught his reflection in the washroom mirror. The water was still dripping down his face and he looked as wrecked as he felt. His hair was sticking up in clumps, glued together from sweating half the night and not washing it. He had a few thin scratches on his cheeks, but they weren't really that bad. They just made him look hellish.

For a second, he considered going out for the day just as he was. Just…just fuck it. I'm too tired.

But that wasn't wise. Being properly dressed and washed was important. It was the order that kept them a military unit and not just a band of suicidal sword twirlers with fancy bungee cords. So to maintain that order he squinted at his reflection and attempted to pat down his hair. He used his palm to smooth it after wetting his hands and eventually he acquired the good-enough stage. He changed his shirt, put on his uniform pants, but left off his gear harness. He could wait to put all that shit on when they were actually leaving.

He didn't feel any better, but he looked better. His hands were in his pockets, eyes on the ground because the sun was so bright it was obnoxious. It was chilly, too, the wind caught the open collar of his shirt and blew straight through him.

He trudged over the dirt, feet dragging, until a hand caught his elbow and jerked him around.

Jean spun on one foot as his direction was forcibly altered by the person pulling him. His feet moved so that he wouldn't fall, but his brain was still running on no breakfast and two hours sleep. When he recognized the head of silky black hair and he forgot food and his cheeks began to redden.

His sluggish thoughts were too busy revving up his heart rate and pumping excitement like a shot through him. He hung in a state of blissful confusion before he really understood what was happening.

Her grip on his arm was tight. Painful. Her pace was brisk and determined. She was literally dragging him as he stumbled over his own feet. Oh shit…

Mikasa stopped in front of the building he'd just left and kicked the door open. Before he could ask she threw him forward into the barracks and then turned and set a chair under the door handle to lock them inside. Jean had tripped on his way in, landing hard on his knees. The fuck is happening?

This wasn't supposed to be how it happened. First, she wasn't supposed to think he had anything to do with returning her scarf. Seriously, how'd she figure that out? Second, why was she angry and not happy about it?

Jean scrambled to his feet, catching his hands on the edge of his bed and letting the back of his legs lean on its frame for support. He was breathing heavy, hands held up in defense. Mikasa took two quick steps toward him and he retreated.

"M-Mikasa…uh…what's—"

"Why?" Her tone was clipped, making him shrink back. He glanced around lamely for a defensive position, looking for a place he might hide.

Jean swallowed some of the nerves that were making his hands shake. Fighting titans seemed like nothing compared to this. Mikasa had a way of rendering him incapable and tongue tied. And now she was angry which meant he had no way of defending himself. His mind could not form words together. "What'd you—"

"I know it was you." She was deathly quiet. Then she took in a deep breath and her stance turned a little less aggressive. "Why did you do it?" She was softer now and she managed to face him.

He didn't know what he saw in her eyes, but it wasn't anger. Her presence and her words and voice, all of that read anger. But not her eyes. They said something else.

She stepped closer again, but he remained planted, knees shaking. To be fair, part of that was due to hunger.

"It was reckless." She pinched the scarf now safe around her neck and pulled it up to cover her mouth.

It was a gesture he'd observed often, when she was thinking or when Eren started raving about how he was going to defend humanity. It was a gesture of insecurity or fear, but one wouldn't know what without knowing Mikasa. He felt guilty for causing it now.

"It was reckless and dangerous."

He opened his mouth, but then he noticed the small twine of silver around her finger. Even now she hadn't taken it off? Given her reaction at the moment, it should be at the bottom of a well or lost in the grass somewhere. But it was there and now he didn't know what to think except that he was more happy and elated than the situation called for.

"Please. Why did you do it?" Her eyebrows drew together, a pout no doubt forming on the lips he could no longer see. "Why would you do something like that? You hardly know me."

"That's not true." He cringed after hearing the words leave his mouth. He'd spoken without thinking. Damn it. "That's not true." He repeated, because he might as well commit. "I've known you for five years. We may not be…friends. But we're on the same side here." He lowered his eyes, drawing his hand up the back of his head. "Five years is a long time. To…get to know people." He was suddenly blushing, hard. He could feel the fluttering in his stomach as he spoke and he scratched at his cheek with the need to fidget. "It's the same for most of the 104th, right? We all kinda know each other a bit better than everyone else."

Her eyes were roaming over him and making him uncomfortable. What should he do with her staring so directly? She'd never paid him much attention before. "This doesn't feel like a gesture of camaraderie. This is not the same as going out of your way to assist in a fight. Or risking yourself to save a squad member in the midst of battle. This is…"

She didn't seem to know what to call it. He didn't either. What did all this say about him? What did she think this said?

"I did not ask for this favor." She wasn't trying to be cruel, but he felt his heart shattering all the same. This ache in his chest hurt worse than any past injury he could remember. And there wasn't likely to be a cure.

Mikasa could not understand.

She couldn't see any reason for him to do such a thing when, well it was funny actually, she would have done it for Eren. In a second, she would have done the same thing for Eren. And yet she couldn't fathom that someone would do anything crazy or reckless for her. And now he felt angry because someone like her should not be this shocked over someone caring.

"Were you expecting a favor in return? Is that why?"

"No. I don't expect anything." He felt defeated, drained of everything he had left inside. He was just pieces that were being chipped smaller and smaller until there was nothing left to lose. He felt empty. And worse, he felt foolish for it. "I didn't do it for any favors. Or rewards. Or anything. Okay? You owe me nothing, Mikasa."

She shook her head, refusing his explanation. "Then why? Why do something like this?" She twisted the end of the scarf in her fingers.

The pleading tone tore him apart.

Was this what if felt like…when pieces of you were ripped away, torn and hacked? Maybe he was just being dramatic and a teenager, but that's what it felt like. No one liked to give any credit to emotional pain in this world. There were too many people being literally ripped in half to worry about the broken pieces of a young soldier's heart.

Even now he couldn't bear to see her hurt. "I did it because I wanted to. That scarf meant a lot to you, so it meant a lot to me that you got it back. I didn't do it for any sort of reward. You wanted it so I wanted to get it for you. That's all."

"I don't understand." She was shaking now. Just slightly. It was barely there, but he could tell. He could always tell. With Mikasa, everything was subtle and underplayed. The depths of her were not on the surface for everyone to see. You had to be looking. Well, Jean had done nothing but look for the past five years.

She hadn't ever been truly angry with him. She just didn't understand. Maybe he'd been subtle too. In this, at least. It was strange how he'd never felt the urge to hold anything back. He'd speak his mind and fuck you if you didn't like it. But with her, he'd always been quiet. With her he always held back. How many times did he want to tell her she was beautiful? How many times did he want to hug her and spin her around after making it back safely? How many times did he want to tell her how amazing she was? More times than he cared to admit. And not one of those times did he actually speak up. Well, once he did. But was a long time ago now.

Jean's posture was slumped and as drained as his energy. He kept his gaze down, looking up out of the corner of his eyes, because even now he was just an embarrassed flustered boy with a crush.

Mikasa was trying to process, trying to put sense to what he'd said, but he could tell she was failing. Damn it. He shuffled his feet, moving closer. This was getting out of hand. Talking to her like this, being open about all this right to her face, it was terrifying. Especially given the reception it was having. Honestly, she didn't have to look like affection from him was akin to catching the pox.

"You know how you're sort of irrational when it comes to Jaeger." Mikasa looked up quickly, her eyes hardening a fraction. She had this 'how dare he mention Eren' look and, yeah yeah, he hadn't expected less. "You do reckless things and nearly die trying to help him. You'd probably be up there with Captain Levi, honestly, even at your age, if you weren't so obsessed with Jaeger." Ugh, every word was like swallowing spoiled milk. It just…didn't sit well. But this was how she would understand. "Well, that's why I did all that for you. Same thing."

You make me reckless. You make me stupid. You make me want to live and yet I would probably die for you. What a fucking irony that is.

Whoever decided that love was a good idea had never felt it. Because it was not a good idea. It was fucking dumb. So ridiculous and unreasonable and it did not make any fucking sense.

"I guess I…" Her demeanor had changed and now she was the shy one. She pulled her shoulders up to her cheeks and looked at her shoes. "I knew that you liked me. My face. My…hair. But…that was just…" She retreated further into the scarf, her eyes focusing on some distant memory that he had no way of understanding. He wanted to. He wanted to know every memory, even the ones that would make her look so stricken, but that wasn't his place. "But it was just about my appearance. Wasn't it? Because I look different you wanted me?"

He laughed. He hadn't meant to and he sucked it back in as soon as the sound left his mouth. Because how simple would that be? If all he wanted was her looks? If he only saw her as a pretty face he wouldn't be standing there right now half dead from fatigue, starvation, and various injuries, while fighting the urge to throw up because she was too amazing to even be talking to him. If this had started with her differences making his heart stop in his chest after one look then it had certainly evolved into something much stronger.

Mikasa's eyes narrowed and he clapped his hand over his traitorous mouth.

"This is funny?"

He shook his head violently.

Mikasa kicked at the ground again, the flash of anger dissipating. Jean felt all those fluttering nerves returning. She looked away as she spoke, "I'm sorry. I should have thanked you before…yelling. Thank you."

He nodded loudly.

"Thank you." She repeated quietly, only this time she was pinching the ring on her finger and twisting it. He wanted to reach out to her, but he had nothing to offer. They weren't friends so he couldn't hug her. They weren't a couple so he couldn't hold her. They weren't…well they were sort of teammates but what options did that leave? A pat on the back?

The silence that stretched between them after that was excruciating. He could hear every faint breath even though his heart was beating loud in his ears. The mood had shifted in those seconds. He hadn't realized it before but in the silence he could feel it. How had they ended up like this? Was she always standing so close? He could smell her in the air, feel the heat from her body. He tugged at his collar.

"This ring." Mikasa continued to twist it absently on her finger and Jean tried not to look. His throat was so dry. He hadn't had anything to drink and now he was regretting it. "You gave this to me. Was it for the same reason?"

"Uh…" Was it getting hot out there? The sun must have been pounding on the roof outside, cause the air was stifling. In answer to her question, he let his head move up and down. He wished he didn't blush so easily. That was always such a giveaway.

"I see." Mikasa reached out to him, fingers light on his chest. He nearly jumped out of his own skin. She moved so soundlessly, fluidly. The toes of her boots had tapped against his. If this was how he died, then, well, it was better than being eaten. Much better.

Every single muscle was straining with the effort of keeping still. He'd never fought so hard not to move in his life. He wasn't breathing. Mikasa's hands moved from his chest, gliding along his shirt, to his back. She leaned with her arms, resting her head just below his neck. "Thank you."

"N-n-no…" he swallowed thickly. "…p-problem."

He supposed that it was just a simple hug. Nothing to get excited over. And yet, he still had to mantra his thoughts to keep blood from rushing below his waist.

Mikasa seemed so small, her hug gentle and reserved. He wanted to put his arms around her but he had no experience with this and suddenly he wasn't sure if there was a right or wrong way to hug someone.

Seconds were passing him by and if he didn't move she was going to let go and then he'd really hate himself. Screwing up his nerve, he bent his head, marveling in how her hair felt against his jaw, his cheek. His arms moved to her back, closing down lightly. And once he had moved the shaking in his limbs stopped. His muscles relaxed. He let out a breath. His eyes closed and he dared to pull her tighter. Mikasa tensed, but did not pull away at first.

It had been worth it. Even with how he would feel immediately after she left, which would be like shit, and with her initial anger, him probably missing breakfast, all of it was worth it.

Just for this. For a few minutes where he didn't feel so empty and alone. The world wasn't going to hell, the future wasn't something to fear, for a few minutes, he was fine with the here and now. He felt good.

Mikasa pulled away, moving enough of a distance to leave a cool shadow in her wake. She wasn't looking at him and she backed away. He wanted to say something, but given his record, he thought it best to shut up. With each moment of silence, she took a step backward.

She moved the chair over and opened the door, glancing once over her shoulder before leaving him behind.

-oOo-

Jean was a dramatic figure in the empty barracks. His fists clenched, eyes shadowed. He felt the hunger twisting his stomach and his throat was crying for water and his eyes were on fire, bloodshot and rimmed with fatigue. Yet he did not move for the longest time.

He was staring at the door, now cracked to the open air, and trying not to forget. If he moved it might erase the pressure of her arms on his back. The tickle of her hair on his face. If he moved he would forget.

"Whoa, Jean, are you just getting up man?" Connie strolled through the open door, hands behind his head and bread crumbs on his cheek. He went to the bed he had slept in and started fastening his harness over his shirt and pants. "Hey, we're moving out. Wha…hey. Are you okay?"

Jean's neck strained with the weight of his head as he turned. "Fine."

Connie looked side to side, "Sure…you just…well, you look like your soul fell into a meat grinder."

Ha, that's kind of what it felt like. "No. Just my heart."

"What?" Connie laughed as he threw his jacket on and headed for the door. "You're pretty weird sometimes."

"Just leave, Springer."

"Okay. Okay. Yeesh. Dramatic?" Connie was about to leave, but turned again. "And seriously, we're all leaving." He ran from the room following Jean's harsh glare.

Now left in quiet, Jean got dressed as his mood mellowed. He wasn't at all up to his normal caliber, he was too drained.

A hug from Mikasa, while the most thrilling experience of his seventeen years, also left him craving what he couldn't have. Now he knew what she felt like, how holding her could feel, and it made him want more. More that he couldn't have.

He moved without much thought. Walking with the flow of people, grabbing a horse and hoisting himself up. He did as he was told or ordered without comment, or even, caring. He just wanted that day to be over so he could get some real sleep.

They split into units as they rode back toward the Wall Rose, assuming the tradition formation of different units split up and spread out. Tonight they would be inside and then he could sleep in his proper bed at HQ. They would ride a steady pace unless they faced trouble, saving the horses' energy. Jean was in a unit with Sasha, Amber, Connie, and a seasoned soldier named Wagner. They rode on the middle right of the formation.

Jean had managed to drink from the flask on his horse, but he was starving. It was becoming too much for him to concentrate on anything else. He brought his horse next to Sasha.

"Hey, what kind of food do you have on you?"

Sasha balked. "I don't know what you mean?"

He gritted his teeth at another painful twist in his stomach. He was going to pass out any second. "I know you've got something on you somewhere. Come on, I missed breakfast."

"Okay, okay." Sasha glanced over her shoulder, but Wagner was looking elsewhere, his thin blue eyes scanning their surroundings. She reached into a pocket and pulled out some bread and handed it to him.

He stuffed bite after bite clumsily into his mouth, trying not to choke as he rode while swallowing. Then she handed him a second handful of bread, which he took and ate. She twisted and rummaged in the saddle bags, pulling out a square of cheese. She handed that off as she bent backwards and came up with a full bowl of the oatmeal they'd been served for breakfast.

She grinned shyly as she handed it all over to him, but for once, he wasn't out to criticize her for risking punishment over extra food. At least his hunger was dealt with now.

"Are you two done with your feast, cause we got a red flare." Amber pointed over their shoulders to the unit behind them. A red flare had gone up and far in the distance two titans broken the horizon. She pulled her gun from her belt, blew the hair from her eyes, and fired it straight up.

Wagner charged up as they all broke into a gallop. Another glance behind them and Jean saw the titan swat a horse into the air, its rider flying high and then toward the ground, where she was caught in the second titan's hand. Jean looked away as the spray of blood darkened the blue of the sky.

Wagner was at his side, staring at him hard. The man was older, a bit older than most willing to venture outside the walls. His eyes were still a crisp, intelligent blue though his brown hair had begun to grey.

"Keep riding."

Jean didn't know why this was helpful, but it made him focus on what he needed to do. And that was to keep the formation so more didn't have to die. Jean turned once more, but the titans were down. He breathed out in relief as he could still see two horses with riders galloping hard.

Far to their right was another cluster of trees. Jean eyed it warily, his eyes focusing for an instant on the definite forms taking shape behind the trees. He looked forward. The Wall was in sight. Another two or three miles.

Their horses were being pushed to their limits as three titans broke the tree line and started running straight for them. The riders from the unit behind were crossing as they rode, trying to keep out of the titan's path while still riding forward.

Jean knew nothing but the constant thunder of hooves and the hard crashing of titan footsteps. He was focused on the wall. He'd never really gotten into that whole 'the walls are gods' mentality, but right now they looked heavenly. Divine. He just had to reach the walls and then he could stop running.

The group spread over the grass as they rode. Wagner was in charge of their unit so Jean focused on his goal only.

The rest of the units were converging, a mad dash to get to safety. When he was close enough to see the gate, Jean paused.

Everyone was riding hard for the same point. They were crashing and bumping into each other, titans converging from other directions. Jean looked over his shoulder; the titans from the trees were gaining ground on the two survivors of the broken unit. Nearly all of the squad was safely through the gate now. Sasha and Amber were smaller riders and their horses pulled ahead of him. Once again, Jean considered turning back to help.

"Look forward, soldier." Wagner put his horse behind Jean. "Eyes on the gate. Don't look back."

Jean felt a flare of hatred.

Wagner's face was impassive, stern. Jean bent his head, knowing that the gate was close. Close enough to make his will to turn around weaken. Sasha, Amber, and Connie were inside. He closed his eyes. It still didn't feel right to leave anyone behind. Why was his life so special that he should be safe and not them?

When he opened them the shadow of the gates was over his face. He slowed his horse in the cluster of riders pouring through and then the outside world was behind him. He looked at his hands. He was supposed to be killing titans and yet, more often than not, he felt like he was running from them. Running while others were left behind.

Wagner met him on the inside, looking solemn. "Years don't make it any easier."

Jean was bitter, his eyes flashing. Fuck this old guy. He was the one who'd told Jean to stay behind. And yeah, maybe Jean didn't have to listen to him and that fact made him feel even worse. "Seemed easy enough for you."

"No easier than it would have been to lose you too. And I was in charge of you, not them."

"I'm nothing special—" Jean's grip on his reins was strained. He still felt the blood in his veins, the adrenaline. He still saw the frantic riding of the unit behind them and shutting his eyes didn't make the image fade.

"No. You're not. None of us are. But when you are in charge, the lives lost under your command carry more weight than the ones you leave behind." Wagner might have been trying to sound sagely, but it was nothing that Jean didn't already know. He'd been in command before. Not officially, but good soldiers had died at his orders. And yes, they carried with you more heavily than the rest of the fallen masses. Because you felt responsible.

But what did the weight that he felt matter?

Fuck how he felt. He needed to do what was right.

"If I was in charge, I wouldn't let that happen. I wouldn't let anyone just die, whether I was in charge of them or not. It doesn't matter if I how I would feel, because I would try to save anyone that I could. Cause their life is just as important." Jean's temper was flaring. He should be keeping his mouth shut with this guy who could potentially ruin his career, but he didn't care. He was being irrational, even in the back of his mind he knew that. You can't save everyone. Would risking more lives to save a few be any better? If Jean had died with those two soldiers, then there would be three dead instead of two. Or maybe they would all be alive right now. Or maybe just Jean would have died.

"Those are bold words, spoken from someone with little experience."

"I have plenty experience." He was too fatigued to really consider what he was saying. Later he would. For now, it felt good to lash out. "I've seen friends die. Sometimes it's been my fault, sometimes people who believed in me…people I was giving orders to. Like those soldiers back there, that was my fault. Whatever you told me to do; I was the one that left them behind."

Jean felt justified at least. He felt that he was right. He felt it very strongly. He didn't buy any of this sacrifice for the sake of the whole. If they couldn't save everyone, what was the point? Maybe he was just young, but he couldn't help the rage of frustration that filled him.

Wagner sighed, looking sad. "If that is how you feel, then you'll destroy yourself before the titans do."

Jean didn't know what he meant, so he just let his glare be an answer. Wagner rode away without another word. Jean hopped off his horse and pressed his forehead against its neck. He needed to catch his breath. His heart was struggling to keep up.

This isn't how it should be. They shouldn't have to suffer so many sacrifices. This wasn't how they would win. He saw Marco's face suddenly, and it shook him. Tears burned in his eyes as he walked his horse with the rest of the squad.

The slow defeated walk back to HQ. Always they returned decimated. There had to be a better way. A way that brought them home with victories instead of defeat after defeat. He didn't know how they could accomplish that. Maybe, at some point, every truly seasoned soldier walked these streets after a mission thinking the same thing as him. Guilt ridden over friends they couldn't save, frustrated that so many had to die under the pretense of saving everyone, and craving change. And maybe by the end they all sounded like Wagner.

Everyone's head was bowed as they walked. No one wanted to catch the eye of disappointment. Jean didn't know how far he had walked. He was just putting one foot in front of the other. Silent. Brooding. Broken. He doubted there had ever been a time where he felt worse. And then...

And then, he felt a hand in his palm, fingers stretching out to twine with his.

He looked up, catching the bowed profile of Mikasa.

M-Mikasa?

Jean's mouth fell open as they walked, hands clasped. Her fingers were slender, smooth against his skin. But even the good feeling of Mikasa wasn't enough for him to forget the guilt and anger seething in his soul. But it helped. He squeezed lightly, looking back at his boots as the crowd jeered and called and threw out accusations and blame.

Holding her hand did not make his problems go away. But he felt, at the very least, he could bear them now.


A/N: Again, any name misspelling, I'm sorry. It's hard to find a real spelling for them. Second, I have not read the manga, so I don't know anything that happens (aside from a few spoilers) after episode 25 or the anime. I hope I still capture the spirit of the show and that it reads in character. I fully intend to develop this Jeankasa thing into a full blown romance soon, but I have to get the characters to that point. They need time and I'm going to do it how I think is most believable.

NOTE: (Feel free to skip this) I don't plan on writing from Mikasa's point of view, but I have a few thoughts on her that differ from what I've read in fanfiction so far. You'll see as the story goes on and hopefully it will all be good changes.

NOTE.2: This chapter went through some revisions, thanks to the beta-ish/comments of Adventure Span.

Thank you for reading. ^_^