May 5th, 1935. Leonhardt Farm, Oregon.
There wasn't much of a sunrise, Mikasa noticed, when the sky was overcast. None of the usual reds and oranges - just blackness fading to a dull grey, then again to a slightly lighter grey. With the light came only the ability to detect every deficiency of the derelict barn; every rickety plank of wood, every cobweb hanging above them, every hole in the roof. Mikasa had seen all this, awake and lying perfectly still next to Eren, under the moth-eaten blanket Annie had so kindly provided for them, and she'd seen it with a dullness behind her eyes that seemed to perfectly match the sky she was watching. The even, metronomic rhythm of Eren's breathing only added to the monotonous tranquility of Mikasa's morning scene. After many hours, she rolled over to look at him.
He looked peaceful when he was sleeping. Mikasa longed for him to look that content when he woke, but she knew that it was eventually inevitable that his worried glances and awkward attempts at making her feel better would return. He meant well, and he was scared too; but Mikasa wished she could simply plan for what she had to do next.
Mikasa had lost her family. And she was going to find out why.
Suddenly determined, Mikasa silently slipped out from underneath the blanket and climbed down the steep wooden stairs. Waiting for her at the bottom was a bag, inside of which were a few articles of clothes that Annie had obviously grown out of and some apples. She bit into one; it was tasteless. Only the knowledge that she needed it to stay strong stopped her from spitting the apple out onto the dusty floor.
Trying to stay as quiet as possible, Mikasa began her training. It was the usual routine - she started by stretching, before moving onto press ups and sit ups. When she first began her training with Erwin, she'd grow tired easily; despite her natural aptitude, she was pushed hard every day. She had hated the endlessness of it, how it never seemed to get any easier. But eventually it had, and Mikasa loved the burning feeling in her muscles as she pushed herself further and further, until they screamed at her to stop. She didn't.
Punch, punch. Kick. Kick higher. Drop down. Sweep her leg around. Repeat.
The rhythm created by the thudding she made on the ground as she trained became almost mesmerising, hypnotic, and it was as if Mikasa was in a sort of trance. And as she moved she envisioned those mysterious men, the men that had she had failed to protect her family from. She killed them all. In her mind, every single one of them that tried to kill her or Eren she murdered. It was a rage, but a calm rage. A rage she had under complete control, bubbling under the surface, ready to channel into pure, unadulterated energy to fight with.
"Mikasa?"
She snapped out of it when she heard Eren's voice from the top of the barn.
"What are you doing?" His voice is groggy with sleep. "What time is it?"
"I don't know." She carried on punching the air, hearing the faint whoosh of her fists. "And I'm training."
"At this time?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why? So I can get stronger."
Eren laughed as he put on and buttoned up a shirt. He came down the stairs from the top of the barn. "You don't need to get any stronger."
Mikasa didn't say anything, just kept training.
"You need someone to practice on?"
She stopped then; turned and looked at him. She felt her expression soften when she saw his face, the way his hair stuck up at all angles and his eyes were so intense.
"You want me to fight you?"
"Yeah. If it helps. You could probably teach me a couple things too."
"You don't need to learn how to fight, though."
"Why not? I want to fight them too, you know!"
Mikasa glared at him and he visibly recoiled. "No."
"But-"
"I'm here. I can fight better than anyone. And I'm protecting you, so you don't need to learn."
"I don't want to just stand helplessly on the sidelines! If we see them again, then I want to fight them with you!"
"I'm not risking it, Eren. I'm not letting them take away the rest of my family. Don't you get it?"
"Mikasa-"
"Where did I find you, Eren? Huh? You were practically begging to get caught there-"
"What are you talking about? I was fine, and I want to help protect you-"
"The fucking cops were about to shoot you-"
"-don't want to be useless, and besides, I'm not just going to stand on the sidelines-"
"I'M NOT LOSING YOU AGAIN!"
Silence.
Mikasa was out of breath, finally, and the pain of the relentless training she'd put herself through flooded into her. She could feel tears in her eyes, and she longed to sit down and cry into Eren's shoulder and run away to a safe place - but she couldn't. She didn't have a safe place. And she didn't have time to waste being weak. Eren was so important to her that she wouldn't compromise his safety by accounting for his feelings.
"Let me prove to you that I'm strong enough," Eren said, staring at her intensely. His eyes were shining brightly despite the overcast sky. She felt so much when she looked him that if she were try to describe they way he looked she wouldn't know where to start.
Mikasa pushed the tears back. Pushed the feelings back. Pushed back every tiny annoyance along with the aching of her heart, the pain of missing her parents, and the fear; the overwhelming fear.
"You want to fight me?" She said, tone sharper, eyes narrowed on him, an icy glare.
"I can take you on." His voice, challenging; always something to prove.
"Come on then," she beckoned. She was so ready for a fight. He came a little closer to her, taking in deep breaths, trying to concentrate. "You ready?"
"Yeah." Eren moved quickly, rushing her, and swung his fist, which she dodged, his arm hitting the air where her head had been a second before. Mikasa sprung back up, sidestepping to avoid him as he ran straight past her. This is too easy. But still, as it always did, the adrenaline of the fight consumed her, and her muscles begged her to go on the offensive. Mikasa wanted to, but she held back, simply moving out of the way of all of Eren's attacks.
Teeth bared, panting; Eren was becoming frustrated. He couldn't land a single hit, and she looked like this was costing her no effort at all. She carried herself almost lazily, moving like the wind had blown her in that direction. When he threw a punch, she'd catch it. When he ran at her, she'd simply move to the left. When he tried going in with his elbows, she'd force him back with ease, or move around him so quickly that he barely saw her.
He tried kicking her in the stomach, and seconds later Eren found himself on the floor, head throbbing. Mikasa was sat on his chest, one hand pushing his head up by his chin, the other mimicking a dagger at his throat.
"Dead," she said flaty, drawing her finger across his neck.
He said nothing, just stared at her, breathing heavy, eyes wide.
"And that's why I don't want you trying to help me."
"Mikasa…"
"What."
"This is all you did for six years?"
"Yes."
Eren breathed out slowly. The sun was finally coming out from behind the clouds, and it shone in a halo around her head. Her hair was falling over her shoulders, and a strand of it tickled the side of his face. He looked at her.
How terrifyingly beautiful she was.
Mikasa stood up, turning her back to him, and ran a hand through her hair. "It's too long," she said. "Where's my knife?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Erwin always told me it was too long, but my mom never wanted me to cut it off."
"Your hair?"
Mikasa looked at it, ignoring Eren. Her hair - the last link between her and her mother. When she was little, Mikasa would sit patiently while her mother braided it. The woman would tell her stories, and Mikasa would listen, and then when her hair was finished, she would run outside and it would quickly become ruined, knotted. Those memories were happy ones, and Mikasa craved happy memories like they were her drug; how else would she push away the images of her parents' bodies lying lifeless on the floor of their house?
What was more important - those memories, or the greater chance of survival shorter hair would give her? Her knife was in her bag, just across the barn. She walked over to it and grabbed the knife, feeling the coolness of it in her hand. Her heart was still pounding hard with adrenaline. Eren was watching her, unsure of what to do; Mikasa was the stable one, Mikasa was the one with the level head, Mikasa was the one that protected him. He wasn't used to this. Her were hands shaking, her face pale, movements jerky.
Mikasa's mind was racing with images of the man she had murdered, and how she had almost been the one killed. He'd grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him - if she hadn't managed to escape his grip, he could have done a lot worse. She shuddered as her mind imagined the endless possibilities, most of which ending with her throat being slit.
Eren didn't stop Mikasa as she lifted her hair into a ponytail with one hand and raised her knife with the other. He didn't grab her arm or tell her to rethink what she was doing as she slashed with the sharp edge and let her long, black hair fell to the ground at her feet. He didn't walk over to her as she knelt down and murmured something at the ground where her hair lay, and he didn't follow her as she walked out of the barn. Eren just watched her go, her hair now barely scraping her chin, cut slightly wonkily, like the arms of a tightrope walker trying to steady herself. There were tears in his eyes; he felt so helpless, and he hated it more than he hated anything in his life.
Wiping away the tears frustratedly, Eren picked up the bag Annie had left, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Mikasa, and how she had screamed at him, pinned him down, and looked at him like prey to kill. He ignored the apples and clothes, and at the bottom, he found a note that Mikasa must have missed.
Train leaves tomorrow. I'll be down later to discuss. No negotiations. - A
Eren sighed. Back on the road again. He thought about Mikasa's plan and how dangerous it was, and how they didn't have a choice. They needed Erwin - this man Mikasa had told him about, the one who'd trained her for all those years. He sounded terrifying. And, of course, Mikasa couldn't leave Saint. Not after everything that had happened to her, after everything else she'd lost.
"The train leaves at twelve on the dot. It doesn't wait around," Annie said to Eren. Mikasa had come back from her walk, sullen and silent, and was listening to their conversation from across the barn. She was sat next to Saint, feeding him apples, and letting him drink from a dish of water. She was perfecting the details of her own plan to fit in accordance with what Annie thought was going to happen.
Annie hadn't said a word about Mikasa's hair, though her perfectionism wanted desperately to straighten the lopsided cut. It infuriated her.
"What if we miss it?" Eren said, trying to catch Mikasa's eye and failing.
"Not my problem. I'm telling you what to do. Hardly my fault if you fuck it up."
Eren looked at the ground awkwardly, unable to meet her eye. He almost felt guilty for his plan to con her, but then he thought of Saint, and Mikasa. He became determined.
"Right."
"I'll be up to get you early in the morning. Four, maybe five. We need to leave before my dad gets up. I don't particularly want to explain why I have two murdering fugitives in his barn, so keep it down when we're leaving, yeah?"
"Yeah, sure." Eren thought it best to agree with her blindly. It wasn't like this plan mattered. They had their own to forge.
But would it work?
Stuck in this situation, Eren suddenly missed Armin, and selfishly wished he was with them. He'd know what to do. Exactly what to do. That was just who Armin was. He grounded them both, and Eren longed to feel calmed by Armin's presence. Annie was still talking, but Eren was only half-listening, thinking of Armin. Whatever he was up to, Eren considered it better than what he was doing. Probably playing chess or something, Eren supposed, and contented himself with the thought that one of his best friends was safe and sound, tucked away with his grandfather in their cozy New York apartment.
"Hey, brat," Annie snapped. "Are you listening to me or not?"
"Don't talk to him like that," Mikasa finally spoke, her voice quiet but chilling.
Annie turned to look at her slowly. "Why not? You got a problem, China?"
Mikasa was on her feet and across the barn to Annie in seconds. "What did you call me?"
Every inch of her was tipped towards Annie, accusatory, itching for a fight.
"I said, you got a problem, China? 'Cause if you do, you'd better tel-"
Silence fell for all but a second after the loud thud of Mikasa's fist connecting with Annie's nose.
"I'm Japanese, you piece of shit!" Mikasa screamed as she dodged Annie's fist and threw another punch, this one missing by barely an inch.
It was a slugging match - no skill involved, just brute strength, anger, and passion for the fight. Over the pounding of blood through her ears, Mikasa could make out Eren shouting at them to stop, but why would she? This feels good, she thought to herself, feeling her fists burn and she ache of a punch straight to her gut.
Annie stepped back, her hands out. Blood was dripping from her now-wonky nose. "Stop, stop!"
Mikasa paused, fist half-raised in the air. Eren was watching, ready to step in and pull them away from each other if it got any worse. Annie was panting, leaning over, her hands on her knees. She stood up, tucking her hair behind her ear, and breathed deeply. She wiped the blood from her nose on her sleeve.
"What?" Mikasa said.
"I don't fucking care where you're from. I don't have the time for this shit, I'm going. Just be up early tomorrow." She narrowed her eyes. "And don't forget that I'm the only one around here actually helping you out, yeah?"
Mikasa and Eren watched her leave in silence. Eren didn't know what to say. He turned to Mikasa. She was smiling.
"Annie's laughing now," Mikasa said, "but she won't be tomorrow, huh?"
"Mikasa, what the hell was all that about?"
"She insulted you," Mikasa said simply, walking back to Saint. Eren followed her.
"You need help. You need to talk to me about what happened so we can get through this together, Mikasa."
"I'm fine," Mikasa snapped.
"You're obviously not fine."
"What does it matter?"
"Mikasa." Eren reached out to touch her arm. "You're not alone. I'm here."
She shrugged him away.
"All I care about is making it through tomorrow and finding Erwin."
May 5th, 1935. New York.
When Armin woke up, everything was tainted by a foggy blur, and his head throbbed. His eyes opened slowly.
"You're awake," said a man.
Armin turned to where the voice had come from, and winced with the pain. He sat up slowly, vision still blurry, and touched his head.
Suddenly, everything came back to him. Jean. The men with him. He scrambled back away from the dark smudge of a person in the doorway. His hand hit the bedside table when he reached for his glasses; they weren't there.
"We're not going to hurt you," the man said. He had a thick accent. "You just have to do as I say."
"What are you talking about? Who are you? And where are my glasses?"
"I have your glasses. Here." The man walked closer and Armin could see him a little better; he was short, with dark hair and eyes, and a mean look. He passed Armin the glasses, his sleeve riding up to show intricate tattoos. There was a jagged crack through the right lens of Armin's glasses, making everything look out of place when he put them on. It made him dizzy. He felt sick.
"My name is Levi."
"Where's Jean-"
"With us."
"With you?"
The gang. This was the gang Jean was in?
"You've been out for a for a whole day. We were worried, but it's not a problem now."
"Where's my grandfather?"
"He's in his room."
"Is he alright-"
"He's fine. I'm going to have to ask you to stop interrupting me."
Silence; but Armin's mind was racing.
"Good. Now. I want you to know that we're not here to hurt you. We need a favour from you."
The man stepped forward. Armin could recognise something in his face.
"Do you remember a girl named Mikasa?"
Armin's heart sank. His mind flashed back to the night she had left; Eren had ran to his apartment, crying, and told him everything.
They were running from someone. Was this the man?
Wait.
Then… Jean was involved. This was the gang Jean was part of, after all. And what did they want with Mikasa? Was she in danger?
"Your friend was kind enough to tell us to tell us where she was, but-"
"No," Armin said, his mind, so sharp usually, foggy. "That can't be right, he - he wouldn't do that. What did you do to him?"
The man laughed. "Nothing! He told us of his own free will. But, as I was saying - we found her. But she's a slippery one, and she escaped us. Not what I was expecting, if I'm honest, but she's an Ackerman, after all.
"So we're trying to find her, and thanks to Mr Kirstein, we now know that you are the person she'd be most likely to call. You've got quite a minimal role in all this, if I'm honest, but we need you nonetheless. The plan is quite simple, and you're quite clever, aren't you, Mr Arlert? You should be able to understand. When she calls, you're going to answer, and you're going to say exactly what we tell you to. Then you can go free. Of course, we won't be leaving you unattended up until this point, so-"
"What makes you think I'm going to do that?" Armin asked. There was a churning in his stomach.
The man laughed.
"Well, Armin. If you don't, we'll kill your grandfather. And then we'll kill you."
