Levi's footsteps were deadened by a thick layer of dust as he walked up the hauntingly familiar steps. Gone was the honor guard lined up on the sides of the steps, heads bowed in cowed submission, searching eyes watching, filled with admiration, hate, curiosity, and more. The stool that had once rested by the steps was gone, the lingering fear of a long-departed mob boss not nearly enough to stop people from pilfering a perfectly good source of firewood. The candles that had lit up the windows, making even this cold, forgotten corner of the world seem warm and homey. He hesitated for a moment at the door, before pushing it open, holding back a wince at the creaking noise it made.
"Everybody, in." They filed into the dark, cold living room, silent as ghosts. "There should be candles on the table." Hange fumbled with a pack of matches before lighting one, a puff of dust escaping the wick along with the smoke as the room lit up. Levi wrinkled his nose, wafting his hand in front of his face, a dank, musty scent filling the air.
Hange lights a few more candles, the dull, flickering flame casting weak light over the furniture in the room. Levi bites his lip as he brushes a thick layer of dust off one of the chairs, kicking his feet onto the table, rousing a tiny mushroom cloud of grime. He looked around. Dust lined the furniture, which had been moved from the positions they'd been in when he'd left. The couch was now pushed against the opposite wall, new holes and wears in the material patched over roughly with mismatched cloth. One of the chairs lay, knocked-over, in the corner, and there was a spot where the floorboards had been smashed through, force combined with age and wear crushing the wooded fibers. His eyes lingered on the sharp, fresh and sharp, perfect for getting splinters. He distantly wondered who the MPs had evicted in order to make space for them.
"Sit down," the soldiers sat gingerly, either on the chairs, the couch, sending up clouds of grime into the air. Hange shook the match out before sitting on the ground. Finally, he spoke.
"Do you remember what I told you during the coup?" a series of nods. "Well, the same rules go down here. Do not hesitate. They won't. Things work differently down here than up there. And don't go telling anybody you're military, either – you'll likely end up with a knife in your gut. Mikasa," the girl glanced at him, eyebrow raised. "Don't tell anybody you're an Ackerman – Kenny didn't leave a very good reputation for your clan." He ignores Hange's excessive staring and eyebrow-raising. "If anyone asks, just say you're a Jaeger, or Kirschtein, or Blouse, or whatever. Clear?" She nods, and he looked over at Sasha and Connie. "Baldy – no more 'protective boyfriend' shit," he ignored the snickers and Connie's cherry-red face. "Let anybody know about any weakness, and they'll exploit it."
"Good," he nods. "Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about the mission." He sees them stiffen, sitting straighter, eyes alert. "There've been military personnel and gear disappearing from the surface. The MPs have narrowed it down to the Underground; although, with all the crime down here, it'll be impossible to find the culprits going off just that," he added in a grumbled.
"But why send us?" Jean asked. "Shouldn't this be the MPs job?" Hange looked at him pointedly and he resisted the urge to kick them.
"Good point," Levi sighed. "The MPs don't know nearly as much about the Underground as I do – the troops they have down here are all either shitfaced greenhorns or incompetent pigs who come for the brothels." A bitter taste filled his mouth. "In other words, they're lazy asses and we need to clean up their messes, as usual."
"How do you know so much about the Underground?" the words, which, coming from anybody else, would have been seeping with suspicion held only curiosity from Eren.
Levi cricks his neck, looking up at the dusty ceiling (this place was a wreck – how the hell does a ceiling get dusty?). "Don't you all spend half your time blabbing about that rumor that I was a mob boss down here?" There was an instant reddening of faces and aversion of gazes. He snorted. Figures. "Well, spoiler alert, it's true." He waved a hand around the room. "Welcome to my home, sweet home. Forgive the mess, I haven't been able to do much cleaning in the past few years." Six years. "Consider this our base of operations until we finish the mission. Do not leave, unless accompanied by me, and don't open the door unless you know for certain it's one of the people in this room." A round of nods. "Good." He glanced to the left. "There're three rooms down the hall." His voice catches, and he curses inwardly. "Take your pick. There might be rats, though." And dust. Lots and lots of dust. He wrinkles his nose, brushing at the table surface. Stupid filth.
"Sir – uh, Levi?" he glanced up at Eren. "We're not going to be cleaning?" Everybody stared at him, shocked, and Levi glanced back down.
"What, do you want to?" Eren opened his mouth, and he shook his head. "No – best nobody else finds out we're here. Besides, I'd like to get this mission over as soon as possible." And leave. He toyed with a knot in the wood of the table for a while, before looking up and seeing that everybody was still staring at him. "Well? Get going, we're going to be here for a while. Get some sleep."
The chairs screeched as they scraped against the stone floor, the excited chatter nothing but a memory as they filed out of the room, leaving only Levi and Hange. They stood, wiping their pants and sitting in the chair previously occupied by Connie.
"You okay?" Levi looked up at them, surprised to see them looking serious, for once in their life.
"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?" God, he wished he had some tea. Maybe the leaves in the cupboard are still consumable?
"Jeez," Hange sighed, stretching across the table before Levi could think about how filthy it was. "You know, there are times to be stoic and cool and stuff, but now's not one of those times." They looked up at him, brown eyes concerned. "You can talk to me."
"I'd rather not," he mumbled, tugging his revolver out of the inside of his vest, shaking the bullets onto the table as he began polishing the chamber with the hem of his cloak. "It's just. . ." he hesitated, fingers stopping. "I don't want to be here." He all but whispered.
Hange bit their lip, looking, for the first time, utterly lost. Levi sighed, sliding the bullets back in one by one, snapping the chamber shut with a click. "Whatever – it's not like we have a choice. Shitty MPs," he added as an afterthought, and Hange chuckled.
"So, what's on the schedule for tomorrow, oh Captain, my Captain?"
"I'll see if I can get a hold of some of my old contacts again; there are a few people who were loyal to a fault, I'll see if they're still alive, and whether or not that's still true." Hange stuck their lower lip out, contemplating.
"And if they're not?"
Levi shrugged. "If they're dead, there's nothing we can do. If they're feeling a little traitorous, then, well," he mimed dragging a knife across his throat, and Hange frowned.
"That's not funny, Levi."
"It's not supposed to be." He slid his dagger out from his boot, turning it over in the candlelight. "Kind of a double-edged sword, huh? In this scenario, I'm the traitor. I escaped, and got to go up to the surface, even leave the fucking walls. I wouldn't blame them if they resent me for that; god, I would resent myself for that."
Hange hummed, saying nothing. Levi appreciated that. "Will you bring anyone with you tomorrow?"
Levi put the point of the blade to the knot in the table, balancing it, one finger on the end of the handle. "I'm not sure – Jean, probably. He's probably the most level-headed person in the group, and I'm going to need that, considering where I'm going."
Hange raised and eyebrow. "Which is. . ?"
"It's –" the door of the hallway crashed open, and Levi was on his feet at once, knife in hand.
"Woah!" Connie raised his hands – well, as well as he could, seeing as he was carrying a box. "Sorry, Cap – er, I mean, Levi. Sasha was complaining about it being cold, so we found some old junk to burn; there is a fireplace, right?" Levi's eyes flew to the box, and he was across the room in a flash, grabbing it out of his hands. "Hey!"
"Where did you find this?" Levi demanded, tugging open the lid, staring down at the contents.
"It was under a loose floor board; Eren broke his ankle after he stepped through it – oh, he's fine now, it's already healed. But we looked inside, and it was just a bunch of old papers –" Connie's words died as Levi pulled one of the papers out, staring at it.
It was a simple sketch, no more than a collection of lines, but detailed nonetheless. An almost perfect rendering of Levi was glaring at nothing in particular, his scowl punctuating his obvious displeasure as a large, blond boy laughed, ruffling his hair and reaching across him, grinning, towards a small girl. She looked no older than fifteen, sitting on the other side of Levi, legs splayed, hair pulled into two short, messy pigtails. She had a hand on Levi's shoulder, the other holding a pencil and draped casually over a piece of paper in her lap, making it clear that she was the artist. Levi folded it up, tucking into his vest. Connie looked ridiculously uncomfortable and guilty, avoiding Levi's eyes.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I –" Levi ignored him, reaching back into the box and taking out a necklace – a slender cord with a simple, feminine charm hanging from it. Levi wordlessly handed the box back to Connie.
"You can burn the rest of that," he said, voice monotonous. "It's just old records – the fireplace's over there." He tilted his head, and Connie rushed forwards, face the color of a tomato. Levi returned to his seat, necklace in hand, watching as Connie clumsily lit the fire, crumpling up scrap sheets of paper, tossing them in, followed by the box, before rushing back out, determinedly ignoring Levi's gaze. He looked down at the necklace, fingering it awkwardly.
"That's the one Isabel wore, right?" He looked up at Hange.
"Oh. . . no. That one was eaten." He felt as if someone had just punched him in the gut. "But this was the one that she made herself – her first draft, I guess you could call it."
Hange watched him for a moment. "Do you need help?"
He held it out to them and they chuckled, looping it around his neck, clasping the simple hook. They all but cackled as he turned around. "You look so adorable!" He scowled, kicking at their shin.
"Go to bed," they sat back down.
"Aw," they pouted, but turned around anyways. "You coming?"
"No," he turned his head. "I'll keep watch." They stuck their tongue out at him, but left anyways, door closing gently behind them. Levi sighed, stretching out his arms on the table and laying his head down.
"Tch," he wrinkled his nose as the dust billowed up. His eyes watered, and he wiped at them fiercely. "Damnit," he sat up, shaking the dust off his sleeves. God fucking damnit.
His eyes fell on the old guitar propped up in a corner of the room, and a feeling comparable to an iron fist twisting his stomach shot through him. He dragged the heel of his hand across his eyes again, sitting up straight and taking a deep breath. Calm the hell down.
He stormed forwards, grabbing the guitar by the neck and raising it, with all the intention of smashing it against the hard stone floor. But, just before he swung, he hesitated. Memories flashed through his mind – the strums of the gentle instrument drifting through the window as business deals were discussed; Isabel pouting with frustration as the stubborn strings refused to do what she wanted; Farlan laughing as Levi struggled with the chords. He lowered it, staring at the worn, dust-caked neck.
He sighed, sitting back down in his chair and strumming the strings gently with his thumb, twiddling the tuning keys as he did.
Chairs so close, a room so small, you and I talk all the night long. Meager this space but serves us all the well. We comrades have stories to tell.
Levi bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he plucked at the strings.
And it's always like that in the evening time. We drink and we sing when our fighting is done. And it's always so we live under the burnt clouds. Ease our burden, der nacht is lang.
He grit his teeth, standing and propping the guitar back up in the corner. "I was never any good," he muttered to himself, then chuckled, shaking his head.
"Damn it all. . ."
So ist es immer makes me cry and I'm literally the least emotional person ever wtf