A/N: I was going through some of my older files and found this one collecting dust in a faraway corner labeled "random shortfic ideas". I decided to add in some edits, freshen it up a bit, and post it... but damn. This one really got away from me. It was originally going to be way shorter than it is now.

[btw, don't read this if you haven't at least seen the first three seasons. There will be spoilers from season 1 episode 13, season 2 episode 4, and season 3 episode 2 (and I'm aware Jean wasn't at Utgard Castle, but for the purposes of this story, he is lol) also for the purposes of this story, Eren and Mikasa are an item. It's barely even mentioned, and to be clear, I don't actually see them as a couple when I watch the anime.]

For some reason, this became a fanfic centered around Jean's character. Maybe because I had first thought he would be a fairly simple character to write about. On top of that, I don't think he is given much attention or special recognition, and I'm a sucker for writing about overlooked/unappreciated characters and giving them some of the spotlight. Also... one of the many times where I got teary-eyed while watching the anime was when Marco was shown on the screen, dead. They were going through the bodies trying to identify everyone before burning them, and Jean's face... oh, Jean's reaction was... well I just wanted to go up and hug him. That whole scene was heart-wrenching and made me feel sick (and after watching later seasons, and knowing exactly how Marco died... it made it so much worse.) I think after that point, when Jean decided to stick with the Survey Corps instead of joining the Military Police, that's when I really started to find his character more likable. So I found myself writing a little something for him.

This will be a one-shot written from Jean's perspective. It was also originally meant to be a songfic, I guess the rough draft had been inspired by Fuel's 'Hemorrhage (In My Hands)' which uses the metaphorical meaning: 'love bleeding in my hands', and in this fic, that meaning becomes much more literal.

I have loved Attack on Titan for the longest time, and the intense emotions it evokes. The universe it's set in is just so brutal, so emotionally, mentally, and physically demanding of its characters. And if I were to ever write a longer fic for AoT then it would take a lot of planning, for sure. However, it is a genre that's a bit out of my comfort zone.

It's my first time posting something so dark on here, so reviews are quite appreciated on this one. Well, they are always appreciated ;)

Thank you for reading

~ CK

Blood, Fire, and Honey Whiskey

I didn't ever want to have to go through it again. The irreparable feeling of pain, of loss.

In the days following Marco's death, every time I closed my eyes I saw a before and after picture- before, when he was alive, when his face was so familiar and his freckled cheeks were always lifted into a reassuring smile- and after, when he was dead, when his face was close to unrecognizable, his remaining eye empty, his freckles all but replaced by splotches of blood.

The gruesome sight had chilled me to the bone.

He'd been bitten in fucking half.

That 'before and after' comparison scarred the back of my mind. It wouldn't leave me alone. I realized then, how much I'd come to unconsciously care about my fellow soldiers. I realized then, that I never wanted to see another fallen comrade, a body so broken it could hardly be recognized, if I could help it.

And I could help it.

That's what made me commit myself to the Survey Corps instead of joining the Military Police.

And I stayed with the Survey Corps, risking my life, getting my hands dirty, fighting for the cause, seeing more disturbing images of people being swatted out of the air, pulled apart, bones broken, blood vessels popping as they got devoured. But us top ten recruits? We had each other's backs. None of us got devoured. None after Marco, at least.

Being ranked 6th best out of the group, I did my best just like the rest of us to keep our winning streaks alive. And my skills with the ODM gear were nothing to sneeze at. Marco had also once said that I was a natural born leader, and I'd heard several similar comments made, since then. I knew damn well how to take charge of a shitty situation, when I had to.

Seeing the deaths add up never got easier, though.

I would always be sickened by the sight of human blood splattered everywhere, the dismembered corpses, the Titan puke, the stench of decay. Yeager, on the other hand... all that seemed to really, truly sicken him were the Titans themselves. Humanity's enemy. The beasts that cause so much death, so much gore, so much pain and misery and fear. The creatures that caused every single person who witnessed them firsthand to be haunted by nightmares, plagued by horrendous images one could barely stomach, deep into the night.

I began to understand where Yeager's hatred of them stemmed from, but I always continued to despise his one-track mind on the matter. The blood on our hands and the deaths adding up never seemed to bother him as much as it bothered me and the others. Sure, I hated the Titans too, and I was committed to the cause. But Yeager took it to the utmost extreme, always acting so reckless, always having to be babysat because of it.

When the news broke out that he was able to shift into a Titan himself, I wanted to laugh at the bittersweet irony of it all. And then I had the thought that, well, at least he could be more useful to us, for once.

We needed all the help we could get. I knew this (we all knew this) and yet, whenever new cadets joined the corps I felt a wave of pity for them. And it always jolted me slightly, forcing me to recall that I used to be one of them.

Fighting the Titans at such close quarters had changed me over time. It sure as hell made me a lot less cowardly, but that's not the only thing it does to people. It drags you through the ringer, emotionally and mentally, more than anything. On a good day it felt incredibly refreshing, and so remarkably rewarding... and on a bad day, it brought you to an all time low. A lot of people died, on the bad days. And the good days, the wins we gained for humanity, were few and far in between.

On the really bad days, when I could find time to be alone with myself in the aftermath... I allowed the anger, the frustration and the helplessness to claw its way up to the surface. As the carnage from our missions played over in my mind, I allowed my tight grip on my sanity to loosen behind closed doors.

And on top of becoming just another cadet putting his life on the line, gradually losing his sanity as he gave his heart and soul to the cause- I was helplessly pining after a certain girl. Mikasa Ackerman.

I know that trivial stuff like having special feelings for someone is hardly considered important when humanity is on the brink of extinction, but... beneath my toughened soldier exterior, I was still a young man with needs. And I'd never seen a girl like her before. A girl with such pretty hair and unique features, and not to mention the fact that she appeared to be so much stronger than the rest of us, too. Ranked first in the top ten. Amazing.

She was basically the first girl I'd ever really had a crush on- I mean, I would see other girls before I met her and make a comment or two about them, but there was never any sort of infatuation. With Mikasa, oh god, there was plenty of infatuation. Almost like the sheer vision of her possessed me or something. I both hated it and at the same time I couldn't help but to enjoy it. She was a thing of strength and beauty, in a world of weak-minded people and ugly monsters.

Somewhere along the way I pulled her aside and suggested that we should, you know, at least try going out. Honestly, it felt kind of stupid to bring up, since with all the fighting we do we can't really make time for dating, but what can I say? I really liked her. And I was really, really desperate to cling to that happy spark she elicited within the core of my being.

But of fucking course, she turned me down. Explained that there was someone else she was interested in, and anyone with eyes could tell that it was that idiotic crybaby, Yeager.

It wasn't long after I asked her out that the two of them seemed to be getting closer than usual. I had only succeeded in pushing her into his arms. There was gossip going around that she and Eren were in some sort of relationship- more than just friends, at this point. And as much as I wanted to ignore it, I saw the signs well enough, and I knew it to be true.

So, that? That really sucked. On top of losing more and more cadets to humanity's enemy, I lost the girl I liked to my own personal enemy, too. I had basically hit rock bottom at that point.

And that was when she joined the Survey Corps.

I remember that day so clearly, because it was the day I began to feel like Jean again, and not just another faceless cadet who risked life and limb for the cause.

I remember every single day that I got to cherish with her in it.

I sigh, walking into the dining hall with my shoulders slouched, while my feet move heavily over the wooden floors. I feel like shit and I just want to hurry up and get over with eating so that I can go to bed. Tomorrow we have to go outside the walls, and I'm not exactly looking forward to it... but I may as well go to bed early, or try to, at least. I know I won't be able to sleep well. I never do on the nights before expeditions.

As I walk past all the tables, I can hear several people discussing simple things- how well they did in training, how scary Levi's wrath can be, how much they miss their family, how hungry they still are (I can easily guess the person who said that last bit was Potato Girl). Just as I'm grabbing a plate though, ready to receive whatever meager portion is left for me, I hear something that actually perks my interest a little bit. I think it was Connie who said in that loud sort of way of his-

"Hey, check it out! It's the newest recruits!"

In half-interest I turn my head, seeing a sorry lot of six new recruits walking through the doors after me. Most of them either look scared out of their mind, or deadly serious. And not a single one of them is a girl.

It's not that I'm obsessed with trying to find a girlfriend or anything, but it would be pretty goddamn great to see some more female recruits every once in a while. I'm just saying- there aren't many girls in the corps to begin with, and I know a lot of us are always secretly hoping for a cute, fresh new face. I mean, I sure wouldn't object to it. Especially since all of my hopes with Mikasa had gone right down the drain.

As the whispers die down and some of the new cadets begin to settle in with the rest of the crowd, I turn away and fill up my plate with dry meat and stale bread. There's some beans too, today. That's nice.

I sigh again, my shoulders slouching in exhaustion and disappointment. What isn't nice is that no one looked particularly special in that group that just walked in. It was only a bunch of little boys who don't know the half of what they're getting into, who probably won't know how to take orders very well. They might just slow us down, but it's not like we're going to turn away more abled bodies.

"Hey, how rude, leaving a fellow cadet behind like that!"

I perk up and turn around at the sound of a girl's voice. One I've never heard before. One that's sweet and full of teasing laughter.

I swear, half of the dining hall does the same as me, a few people pausing with their food in their mouths to gawk at the brand new eye candy.

She's obviously on the smaller side, somewhere between Christa's and Captain Levi's height. My eyes travel across her quickly in a long, curious sweep. Her thighs hug her uniform pants a little too snugly, her ass is plump as an apple, and her face is round and very, very cute; she looks about as angelic as Christa, too, and even though that's normally not my type…

Much like with Mikasa, it's this girl's hair that manages to catch my full attention.

It's as long as the Survey Corps will allow it to be, brushing just past her shoulders in a tumble of waves. And it's red.

I sneak a glance around the room, and it seems I'm not the only one who's noticed it. I'm not the only one whose interest has been piqued.

We haven't had a female recruit with red hair before.

I'm thankful that the sight of it doesn't remind me in the slightest of blood. It isn't anywhere near that shade, anyway. Instead, it brings images to my mind of the sky whenever the sun is rising or setting; it reminds me of the glowing, banked embers in a fire.

And it is, dare I say it, just as beautiful as Mikasa's silken, ebony locks.

The new girl is moving down the lines of tables slowly now, waving charmingly at people and smiling with her whole face- making her eyes squint up and her cheeks puff out. I keep studying her, noticing more and more things about her as she draws closer to where I'm standing.

This girl's complexion is just as creamy as Mikasa's too, except... there are freckles scattered here and there across her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, that only serves to bring Marco's face to my mind.

Marco...

Yet, I somehow can't, for the life of me, look away from her. I can't seem to stay away from her, either. I don't recall my feet moving, it has to have been on their own accord, because suddenly I'm standing directly in front of her and asking her name like a foolish schoolboy who can't hold in his excitement.

Her smile breaks whatever might be left of my heart, when she directs it right at me at its full capacity. And those wide, honey-brown eyes of hers (which, this close to her, I can find flecks of green hiding throughout) light up with an excitement of her own as she tells me her name.

"Maeve Kavanagh. And you are?"

"J-Jean. Jean Kirstein." I am blushing and I can't help it. She looks so sweet and innocent, but her mouth tilts in the most mischievous of ways, and it's unexpectedly attractive.

"Well Kirstein, you look a bit... stressed." Clapping a hand on my shoulder (with the contact startling me so much that I jump, which only proves to her that I really am seriously high strung) she starts leading me through the room, her eyes skipping about for an open table. "What do you say to sharing a drink with me? Seeing as my fellow fresh-faced recruits left me on my own." She jabs a thumb in the direction of the other newbies, who are sitting in pairs at this point, making it their life's mission to act as though she doesn't exist.

I wonder how they could possibly ignore the most interesting person among them.

"You mean, like," I give her an odd, twisted sort of look. "Alcohol?"

"Of course that's what I mean, silly!" I startle again as she pats me on the back. Her hand is small, but she really... packs a punch. She has enough energy to power the sun, it would seem- and it hits me then, that those boys might be ignoring her because she kicked all their asses during training camp. She's better than them, and they know it. "Surely they've got some here, even if it's not the best quality."

"It's definitely not."

"Eh, I'll happily take what I can get! And I believe that I can drink anyone under the table, so what do you say to a little competition?" She tilts her head to the side as she gazes up at me, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, and just like that- I feel helpless to resist. "D'you think you can outlast me, Kirstein?"

Good lord, was she even hearing herself?

"You're tiny," I reply with my usual bluntness, a smirk winding its way onto my lips as I proceed to eye her up and down once more. "I could go for way longer than you could."

"My family owns a brewery." She says with a grin. "I have a reputation to uphold."

I can feel my spirits lifting, my lips parting to let a laugh tumble out from deep within my throat. It must've been lost in there for a while. I hadn't laughed in... god only knows how long. "You're on, Kavanagh." I don't know why I accept so readily. Something about her smile, or her freckles that remind me vaguely of Marco, I guess. It feels sort of like a do-over, a fresh start. And you can't just say no to a cute face like that.

And it definitely won't hurt- the caveman part of my brain adds in- to keep her distracted from the other men in the room who still haven't taken their eyes off of her, who so clearly want to introduce themselves to her.

"Woooohoo!" She cheers and claps her hands together in delight. "You're in for it now, Kirstein! I can drink anyone under the table!"

"You already said that-"

Maeve grabs my free hand out of nowhere- slotting her fingers snugly between mine- and I am hit with the full force of the fact that she is entirely nothing like Marco. She is soft and feminine, but bold and vibrant. She is curvy below the waist, and quite girlish above it, and she has an entire face full of freckles rather than just on her cheeks.

Not to mention the fact that her hair looks like it's been spun from fire, and her eyes are the color of honey whiskey, flecked with green.

She is also far and away shorter than him, and I'd bet a week's worth of food that she is a good kisser; that her mouth is warm and soft and inviting as all hell.

"Set your plate down, here," She gestures to the table she's walked us to, the one in the furthest corner of the room. I do as she asks, hoping she didn't just catch me staring at her mouth. "Now, to the booze!" She laughs, and winks at me, and before I know it I'm being dragged by her in yet another random direction.

With the hand that isn't entwined with hers, I cover my face to avoid having anyone make fun of me for the blush that won't go away, burning almost as bright as her hair.

Maeve really seemed to enjoy holding hands. One day, when I got frustrated enough to confront her about it (because the other cadets had taken to teasing me about how she dragged me along with her everywhere she went, like a dog on a leash) she explained to me why she liked it so much.

"It makes me feel safe. Secure. Like I'm tethered to something, or like I can keep something close to me without the fear of losing it." She'd spoken plainly, but quietly, and she couldn't seem to look in me the eye while telling me her exact reasoning.

I had cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning stupidly as I asked my next question, "Is this a roundabout way of you saying that I make you feel safe?"

"Yeah, well," That was the first time I'd ever seen her blush, for once. "You asked about it, so I gave you an honest answer."

And that was also when I decided that it didn't bother me anymore, what anyone else had to say about it. I liked that I could make her feel safe, and it's not as though hand-holding was a crime. It's not as though we had to be a couple in order to do it, either. Friends could hold hands too.

Looking back on that interaction now makes me realize something, with a sudden clarity, as we're walking out of the dining hall (hand in hand) after having just finished dinner with the others. I realize that I officially see her as one of my closest friends. I realize that, perhaps even for several months now, she's been right up there with Connie and Sasha and the rest of them.

I glance down at our hands, before I catch sight of the flask of whiskey at her hip, just dangling there, waiting to be discovered by the Captain. My eyes roll at the observation. She was always just asking for trouble, this girl. I lean down and, with a fond smile on my face, tell her as much.

Maeve just snorts out a laugh, and pulls me with her into the nearest, darkest alcove. Further from the torchlight and away from any prying eyes.

"If we have to scrub the floors for a week, then so be it." She reaches down to her hip, unscrews the flask, and takes a few long sips from it. Her eyes sparkle in the shadows as she does so, her free hand squeezing mine as she giggles, "This is the good stuff, Kirstein, so it's worth it!"

My eyes fall to observe her lips, shiny from where they'd briefly been touched by the whiskey. We haven't ever kissed before. Well, she did kiss me on the cheek once, as a sort of apology for kicking my ass three times in a row at a game of cards, but that didn't count. It's been a little over five months now, since she officially joined the Survey Corps, and we had become closer at a gradual pace. I hadn't wanted to get too close too fast, feeling afraid that she'd become Titan fodder like the rest of the new recruits had during their first few expeditions outside of the walls.

But Maeve had proved herself to be different, a cut above the rest, time and time again. Maeve had always been incredibly unique. Like a flash of fire and a drop of honey, of whiskey, topped off with freckles and little splashes of green.

In the field, Maeve is small and nimble and quick as a whip. Her mind is just as quick, unexpectedly sharp actually, when she isn't drunk.

Drunk Maeve, on the other hand... is another beast entirely. I learned that our first day getting to know each other, when she had challenged me to a drinking contest. With enough alcohol in her system, the girl is damn near impossible to be around. She gets all flirty and handsy and entirely too much trouble for me to know how to deal with. I've been around her when she's like that plenty of times by now, and I still haven't the slightest idea of how to handle that side of her.

"Your cheeks are pink," I blurt out, forgoing kissing her for now. I know I only just came to grips with the fact that we're friends, but I've always wanted to kiss her. And when I finally do, I want to make it count- I want the first time I kiss her to mean something.

Without thinking too much about it, I raise my other hand to press against one of her cheeks, then her forehead. "You're way too warm, Kavanagh... I knew something was up, when you practically tripped into your seat next to me at dinner."

"I didn't trip, Jean." She uses my first name, knowing that it will make me freeze up- and it does. We hardly ever use each other's first names, even though we are close enough to do so, by now. "I perched right beside you, graceful as a fucking swan."

"Uhh, right." I roll my eyes again, that being about all I can manage to respond with at the moment. I liked hearing her say my name. I liked it a lot more than I probably should have. Her voice is the sweetest out of anyone else's in the Survey Corps, after all. A simple Jean coming from her perfect lips would always be enough to make me feel lighter than air.

Maeve giggles again, leaning forward on the tips of her toes to press her own hand against my face. "You're looking a little pink too, you know. It's kinda cute!"

I gape down at her for a moment, and then it's my turn to laugh, in utter disbelief. I don't think anyone has ever called me cute before. Irritating? Yes. Horse face? I hear that one a lot more often than I'd like. But cute? Never. "Alright, just how much have you had to drink? And where do you even get 'the good stuff' from?"

"Don't worry about it, Kirstein." Maeve's tiny hand dances within my own, her fingers wriggling as she releases her grip from mine. She places that hand on my arm, instead; trailing playful fingers across my sleeve until she pauses, and I just about choke, when she gently squeezes my bicep and lets out an appreciative little hum.

Good lord, this was definitely drunk Maeve I was currently being faced with. She had once drunkenly confided in me that, over all the muscle groups on a man, she preferred a pair of strong arms that could pick her up and carry her around, even press her against the wall, if she wanted it badly enough.

That knowledge had stewed within my brain for days, and she had been none the wiser, forgetting all about telling me that.

Her chin tips back so she can look me in the eyes (she was always reminding me of just how small she was) and her smile is far too devious for my liking. "The only thing you should worry about... is what Yeager told me yesterday during sparring practice."

Yeager was a good topic to focus on, I think, at this point. It would help distract me from the predatory look in her gaze. "What was that asswipe running his mouth about this time?"

"Well, if you must know," Maeve's grin widens, and she gestures for me to get down to her level. "C'mere, I'll whisper it to you so that no one passing by can hear."

And, because I am clearly a man possessed, I lean forward at her request. And, because I can't seem to help my baser urges (because I know she will like this), I rest my hand on the wall behind her head so that the defined curve of my arm is stretched out, straining beneath the material of my shirt, before her very eyes. I do have nice arms. I've got a nice body in general, not that it ever gets the chance to be appreciated.

I am fully aware that this posturing will have an effect on her, but even so... hearing her breath audibly hitch makes me blink in surprise. And feeling her hand grab my shoulder and pull me even closer to her, makes my breath hitch.

"Eren told me that you like me." She purrs without further prompting, allowing her lips to brush against my ear. "He personally thanked me for getting your attention away from Mikasa."

"Yeager told you... wait, he said what?" I feel my entire body go warm, my ears especially, as she whispers to me in a tone like that. Anger is the strongest thing that I feel though, running through me like a flash flood, crushing every other emotion beneath its weight. That little twerp! I was going to kick his ass the next time I saw him! I was going to punch that smug, annoying look right off of his face! He had no right to meddle in my affairs! It wasn't any of his goddamn business who I-

"You heard me." Maeve continues to speak in that low, dizzying way of hers, and I want to die, right here and now. We are way too close for my comfort, and the air is getting far too hot for me to think straight. We are slipping into some dangerous territory, here. Territory I am not fully prepared to tread just yet. It's almost like being shoved outside the safety of the walls without having your mobility gear on you.

I pull back as if the heat of the moment has burned me, bringing my hand away from the wall to cover up my reddening face instead, as well as the way I'm gritting my teeth in order to keep my cool. "Listen Kavanagh-"

"It's Maeve, silly." She says, but I choose to ignore it for now.

"You can't believe a word of what that idiot tells you. He was just trying to stir up trouble!" I try to make my voice sound even and calm, but instead it comes out as rough as gravel, and remarkably lower than hers. "He was using you to indirectly mess with me, that's all."

There is a long pause that causes me to worry, and I remove my hand from my face to look back at her.

She's wearing this sort of, defeated, expression... and suddenly, I feel all sorts of wrong about what I've just said.

"Oh." Her voice is soft, her chest heaves as she lets out a deep sigh. She takes a similar step back from me, and there is disappointment written all over in her body language. "Right. I should have known."

I don't know why I let her bid me an awkward goodnight, and watch her walk hurriedly away from me, after that. I don't know why I don't bother to stop her.

But I think that it's because, in some areas of life, I may still be a coward, after all.

"EVERYONE, WAKE UP! GET TO THE TOWER IMMEDIATELY!" Lynne's voice startles Maeve's head from its resting place at my shoulder, and I make sure to squeeze her hand within mine as I pull us both to our feet.

I make sure we are the first ones up the stairs, followed swiftly by Reiner, Bertholdt, Ymir, Christa and Connie.

"You're standing between me and a tankard of ale!" Gelgar is screaming into the night as we all reach the top of the tower.

"That man knows what's up." Maeve comments as we move to peer over the tower's edge, anxiety written into each and every one of our faces. "Sure got his priorities straight, hah." She laughs, but it's barely there- frail and short-lived- beneath all the shouting going on below.

I look from the rest of the approaching hoard, to the members of Squad Mike slashing into the Titans who had come within range of the tower, to the full moon bathing the scene in light overhead.

It doesn't make any sense.

And this is only the start. The events that follow happen in quick succession, one after the other, almost in a blinding flash before our eyes.

The castle had been breached. We only have a small knife between the lot of us. The pitchfork had been jammed into that first smaller Titan's eyes, and the empty cannon had been a miracle find to finish it off. Reiner had been injured, and the tower had gotten hit by giant chunks of rocks (I practically threw myself over Maeve, when that happened). And now that dangerous projectiles are no longer sailing through the air toward us, a fresh wave of Titans is massing around the tower, trying to get inside or topple it.

The light of the moon is mocking us, at this point.

"But... I thought..." Maeve's voice is tight, her expression one of shock, as she pushes me aside to move back to the tower's edge. I follow like a tall shadow at her back, glancing over nervously at Reiner's pained grunt- his arm is now in a makeshift sling, courtesy of our resident angel, Christa. "Titans aren't supposed to be able to move in the night..."

"Even with the moon this bright," I place a steadying hand on Maeve's shoulder as the tower shakes with the weight of another Titan ramming into it. My mouth forms a firm line, and I can feel my brow wrinkling as I try, for the hundredth time, to think up some sort of plan to get us out of this mess. I keep coming up empty, and damn if that isn't irritating. Maybe if Armin were here with us... "I feel like there shouldn't be this many."

"It's that beast Titan's doing. He's calling them here." Connie says with a waver in his voice. I look over to him, opening my mouth to offer what I hope will be words of encouragement, but...

But, right at this moment, Mike's team is dying before our eyes, their shouts are ringing within our ears. Nanaba is the last of them still conscious, being ripped apart limb by limb, screaming something about her father.

I look away, and say nothing.

Ymir grabs ahold of Christa's shoulders and pulls her aside, murmuring something about facing the end. She'd asked if she could have Connie's knife a minute ago, and I half-wonder if she's going to kill Christa, then herself.

I don't know if I give a damn about whatever plan she might have, frankly, I don't trust her. I don't even trust Christa at this point, with how close she and Ymir seem to be. I only have eyes for one person in our group, and that is Maeve- cute, small, quick-witted, cheeky, spirited Maeve Kavanagh- with her eyes lit up in terror as she forces herself to look over the edge of the tower, watching the Titans devour the last of Mike's Squad in our place.

It's been on everyone's mind for some time now, but it isn't until this moment, as I witness that look in her eyes, that it really hits home for me.

We will not survive this night.

I make a sudden and desperate grab for her, turning her to face me as my arms fold around her smaller form in a hug so tight, she squeaks against my chest. I yank her away from the edge of the tower, and sit down with her between my legs; cradling her as if I can protect her from everything happening around us.

Her hands fly up to clutch at the back of my shirt, and her voice, muffled and confused, blesses my ears,

"Jean, what are you doing?!" I may have startled her back to acting like her usual self, because she is trying to make light of the situation now, trying to call me names and act as though nothing is scaring her shitless. "G-get off, y-you big idiot- you clingy gremlin- I can't breathe!"

The guilt has me holding onto her for a few seconds more. It is my fault that we are here, after all. I dragged her into this. We should have been with the main group of the Survey Corps instead, because neither of us were under investigation. But I had wanted to find out the truth for myself, to see who couldn't be trusted within the 104th squad. Maeve, being Maeve, had jumped in to investigate with me without a second thought. She'd thought it would be a fun change of pace from the usual scouting missions.

Erwin had agreed to it easily enough. He figured with how long I've been around with our squad, and how sharp Maeve's mind is (like a steel trap, he'd stated, to which she'd beamed proudly) the two of us would be great assets to Squad Mike's investigation.

Assets, huh? I wanted to scoff at that notion now. Mike's Squad was dead. And we knew we were next.

If I wasn't so arrogant, thinking I could help with the investigation, then Maeve and I wouldn't be in this mess.

If I wasn't so caught up in my own anger, upon learning there were more Titan shifters among us... thinking I could find Marco's real killer... then...

"Jean, it's okay. It isn't your fault, Jean." Maeve gasps within my arms, my name, twice in one sitting. The sound of it, mixed with her gentle reassurance, sings through me like a reverent prayer. Her voice is heaven-sent, her words are honeyed salve on my open wounds, and it snaps me out of my inner turmoil in an instant.

I pull back to let her breathe, forcing some half-hearted apology past my lips about smothering her. She stares back at me so openly, so sincerely, and says that it's okay. She offers up the smallest of smiles, and I move to cup her beautiful face between both of my large, callused palms. Her hair looks like waves of fire framing her face, and it feels soft as the finest silk beneath my fingers. Her eyes are all squinty as she observes me, trying to figure out what's going on inside my head, and they are brimmed with unshed tears; highlighted like salty crystals under the moon.

"Maeve." I speak her name on a shaky note, my voice crumbling like the tower beneath us under the meaning of what I want to say next. I swallow the stiff lump in my throat, and I feel my own cowardice getting the better of me, yet again, when it comes to her. I am too stupidly emotional for this crap right now. I can't think straight. We are going to die, like the others already have. My friends and I are going to die and, holy shit, Maeve is going to die. It's hitting me like a ton of bricks, like those projectiles that killed Lynne and Henning. There isn't a way out of this, not that I can see, not without our gear.

Which means that it's now, or never, to tell her about how I feel. And yet... I can't bring myself to say anything but her name. Hoping that it has the same effect on her, that her saying my name has on me.

When I see the serenity enter her features, the warmth enter her green-flecked, whiskey-colored gaze, I realize that it does. It has the exact same effect.

So I lean in to say it one more time, composing my voice to a worshipful whisper. "Maeve." Before I put the rest of my feelings into an action that will speak louder than any other words I can think of.

She meets me half-way for the kiss, nearly jolting the both of us out of our skin as our lips crash into each other in beautiful synchronicity. I grab the back of her head in one of my hands, scrunching the soft flames of her hair between my fingers. I keep my free arm wrapped around her tight, pulling her up into my lap for better access. She lets out a pleasant hum, and both of her hands come to rest on my shoulders, before one begins to move down my arm, and the other moves up to brush under my jaw and against the stubbly sides of my face. Her hands feel so warm as they wander, her touch pouring fire whiskey, honey whiskey, into my soul and I will happily allow myself to get drunk off of it.

Melting into each other like this in the face of all the chaos comes remarkably easy, and it snuffs out both of our fear as if it had never been there to begin with. As her lips move against mine, returning what I give in equal fervor, I am overjoyed by the fact that they are as soft and plush and perfect as I've always imagined they would be.

She pulls away first, only for an instant, to gasp for air and look deeply into my eyes. "Jean, before we die here, I want you to know that I-"

And that is the exact moment when Ymir jumps from the tower with the knife, her roar splitting through the air as a golden light explodes outward from below.

I shut my eyes and pull Maeve tightly into my chest again, fearing we're about to be betrayed by our own comrade, mouthing fervently into her ear, "So do I."

It happens before I can blink.

Seven months from the first day Maeve stepped into the dining hall and turned me into a blushing wreck. One week since we had our asses saved by Hange's Squad at the crumbling ruins of Utgard Castle. One week since Maeve had agreed to be my girlfriend.

It wasn't something I could have prepared myself for, if I'd tried.

I was scared out of my goddamn mind, but I was trying not to show it. Somehow, facing humans felt worse to me than facing Titans ever had. Captain Levi must have caught onto this, but he had only the utmost trust in his squad, so he confidently gave the order for Armin and I to secure the wagon that Eren and Historia were being taken away in. And we had only the utmost trust in him and the others, to cover our backs.

Maeve made sure to jump into action as soon as we landed in the wagon, kicking the woman driving it straight in the face. Armin leapt forward into the driver's seat, taking up the reigns, while I pushed the armed woman to the ground and pointed one of my blades at her face. But, I forgot to follow orders. I hesitated. I didn't go in for the kill, I couldn't. Especially not with Maeve soaring somewhere above my head, watching me, making sure I was alright.

I was, decidedly, not alright. I was too caught up in a moral dilemma about whether it was right to kill another human being. And, as Levi had warned us, these people, the woman at my feet, had no such qualms about it.

"Jean!"

I hear Maeve scream my name, and that's when it happens. It happens before I can blink.

She swoops down from above, like a guardian angel, and intercepts the bullet that had been meant for me.

I watch, frozen in time, as she drops to the ground, lost somewhere behind the racing wagon. I watch as Armin turns around and shoots the member of Kenny's Squad in the back of the head. The woman I was supposed to kill before she could ever get a shot of her own in.

I had thought it was wrong to fight other humans, that it was wrong for Captain Levi to order us to do so.

But that philosophy flew right out the window the moment I saw another human being shoot Maeve- my Maeve- like a hunter might shoot a dove down, right out of the air.

It takes too long, for the world to start moving for me again. I think my mouth is open, though. I think I may have screamed.

After the gunshots ring out, Levi's voice follows. I can't hear a word of what he says. My eyes are wide open, glassy, and I am unresponsive as I see Sasha yank Armin out of the way while Levi makes a grab for me as well. They time their rescue perfectly, pulling us to safety just before three more assailants fire at where we'd been standing in the wagon, and land there in our place.

Levi dumps me in the street somewhere, and runs off to stop a desperate Mikasa from following after the other squadron on her own.

Armin is nearby, being looked after by Sasha.

Connie crouches about thirty yards away, at Maeve's side, checking her over. They're nestled on the far side of the street, and it looks like he hasn't dared to move her much. He does, however, have his cloak pressed against her gunshot wound; the green fabric already having acquired a dark, crimson stain.

I feel the breath stutter out of my lungs at the sight.

"Please, no, please... no..." I feel myself snap awake, the shock ebbing away only a little. Finally, I manage to blink. After that, I stand up and use my gear to reach them faster- crashing noisily to the cobblestones on the other side of Maeve.

This close, I can see that there is blood in her hair, too. Matting down her magnificent fiery locks.

"She hit her head when she fell." Connie explains to me, and I can barely make out the words. "Jean... Listen man, you need to calm down. Panicking about the situation isn't going to help."

I shake my head, knowing that he is right. I can't even imagine the sight I must've made- the soldier most efficient at using the ODM gear- losing control of himself and landing with far too much force beside the two of them. Crumbling to his knees. Hands shaking as they hover over Maeve's still body, not knowing what to do.

I had to keep it together. For her sake.

I blink back my emotions and start by pulling the soaked cloak away only for a moment, just to see the damage. I wince and let Connie immediately put the pressure back on the wound. There was a hole in her shoulder, and blood trickling down one side of her face. A bullet had ripped through her shoulder and she had hit her head on the stonework when she'd been shot out of the air. She was losing a lot of blood, and fast. A lot of blood.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Maeve... Hey, Maeve?" My voice is full of gravel and salt and misery, and I feel like there's a weight on my chest. Her face is as white as a sheet, her freckles standing out like tiny stars all across its surface. Sweat is collecting at her brow, and I gently move to wipe it away. "Look at me." I use my sleeve to pat away the blood on her head as well, my free hand caressing her cheek, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. My frustration builds when I don't see any sign of a response. "Come on! Work with me here!"

Her eyelids flutter, and she makes a pitiful gurgling sound, tilting her head into the warmth of my hand.

"Maeve!" I call out to her again, voice breaking. Connie nudges me slightly with his shoulder, a silent warning for me to keep myself under control.

"J-jean." Her eyelids flutter again, and she's able to crack an eye open. She looks up at me, but can't seem to focus on my face. "D-dizzy... Head...ache..."

"Y-yeah," I crack a watery smile, and move to rip off part of my sleeve. "You hit your head, let me take care of that for you." I carefully lift her head into my lap, mindful to not move her too much, and make to tie the ripped fabric of my sleeve around her head wound. "There we go-"

Her hand flutters into the air, like its trying to reach me, but she can't seem to find where I am. "Ho...hold... hand... please..."

I grab for it, entwining our fingers just how she likes without a second thought. "You're safe." I murmur, leaning down to press the softest kiss against her clammy cheek. "Just stay tethered here with me, okay? I'm here, I've got you, you're going to be alright."

"You..." Her eyes focus for an instant as I pull back slightly, passing over my face in search of something. They don't shine like they usually do. That look is far too dull for my liking, probably from the pain and the shock.

"I'm perfectly fine." I answer her unspoken question, trying to sound like I actually have my shit together. "Thanks to you and the Captain. I'm fine, Maeve."

Relief floods her features and she just kind of slumps against mine and Connie's hold, after that.

"Thank... god..." Her voice is whisper-quiet, like a prayer. Her eyes slide shut again, and her breaths start to become more shallow, more rapid.

Newfound panic drenches me through like a bucket of ice water.

"Hey, Mae, I need you to stay with me. I need you to stay awake. I need you to... I need you... I need..." I trail off, squeezing her hand tighter as my eyes catch sight of exactly how much blood has seeped into Connie's cloak by now. His hands are still maintaining a firm pressure against the wound, but they're slippery now, covered in her blood. My eyes move up to meet his, and he looks just as much at a loss here as I feel.

No. No way in hell this was happening. It couldn't happen. I wouldn't watch another comrade die before my eyes, not this one, not her.

"Shit!" I let loose a swear, my eyes trailing back to study Maeve's face. Her pallor is only getting worse and I don't have a way to fix it. I keep her hand in mine, knowing that it comforts her, and move my free hand to brush my thumb back and forth across her cheek, as if that might return some of the color to where it belongs. As if that might make her feel warmer, somehow, might bring her back to life before my very eyes. "Maeve, don't go. Don't go please, don't go, please-"

"It looks like her subclavian artery was hit." Levi crouches down on my other side, his gunmetal eyes scanning over the state of her. He seems to assess the situation all too thoroughly, in less than three seconds. His gaze turns heavy, and he slowly, slowly drags his eyes up to meet with mine. "Jean..."

There is a finality to his voice, an unspoken apology in his eyes, a very clear message that the Captain is trying to get through to me in this moment- that I do not want to accept.

And I swear, I can feel it. My heart seems to stop with hers, at the exact moment that it happens. My eyes flutter, my vision blurs, and I look back down at the exact moment that Maeve stops breathing. The rapid, shallow breaths disappear in an instant, like dust in the wind. Her chest stops rising and falling, and her head feels like it suddenly weighs a thousand pounds where it rests in my lap.

The familiar feeling of her small hand, clasped tightly within mine, goes limp.

"I... I can't..." My voice sounds foreign and far-away. I think I can feel the Captain gripping my shoulder, trying to hold me steady. "I can't... believe this happened... to her..." My throat closes up, and I have to gasp out my next words, lifting one of my arms so that my head can lean against it, so that the tears can begin to fall. "It's my fault! It's all my fault, damn it!"

"Hey, come on." Connie's voice is in my ear, trying to insist that it isn't. "You shouldn't go blaming yourself for this. She wouldn't want that. It was her choice to-"

"Shut up! If I had just followed the Captain's orders, then this never would have happened! I should have done what I had to do, then this wouldn't have... she wouldn't be..."

"Jean." Levi's voice is in my other ear, calm and controlled. "You did nothing wrong."

I slump forward hearing that, and his hand stays at my shoulder, a firm and reassuring weight. He sounds so certain of those words, but I can't understand how I did nothing wrong, going against his orders like I did. I was weak. I hesitated.

I sneak a glance back down to Maeve's face, and for a second, this all almost feels like it could be a horrible, nightmarish dream. I'd had plenty about Marco's death. I often dreamt about everyone else's deaths, too. In fact, the worst of my nightmares involved the entire squadron dying at the hands of the Titans while I was forced to watch.

Never once had I dreamt of anyone being killed by another human, though.

But this could still be a dream, right? I mean, Maeve just looks so... soft, so peaceful; like that time she fell asleep with her head in my lap while we'd been relaxing underneath the shade of a tree, back at the old Survey Corps Headquarters.

Except... this time, she wouldn't snap awake and playfully ask if I planned on counting each and every one of her freckles, and she wouldn't break out into fits of laughter as I tickled her as a form of payback.

I try to squeeze her hand again, in the hopes that she'll squeeze back. She doesn't. She doesn't move, and I know that this isn't a dream. It's far too real.

I'd never again be able to watch the way the sun turned her hair into firelight, as she spun down through the air to cleave through a Titan. I'd never again receive one of her teasing, whiskey-smooth glances, as she passed her secret flask around to all of our other friends at the table.

I'd never kiss her again, never hear her whisper to me that she loves me again. She was so shy about it every time, blushing and even stuttering when I teased her about it. I'm pretty sure that was the only thing she'd ever been shy about, which only made it feel all the more special, to me.

"Why did it have to be her?" I whisper, bringing her limp hand up so that I can place a kiss against her pale, lifeless fingers. I clench my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and try my best to steady my breathing. "I would have... gladly... gladly taken that bullet instead."

I didn't ever want to have to go through it again. This irreparable feeling of pain, of loss...

And I realize that my heart and soul are supposed to be to the cause. That it should come before anything else, but...

My heart and my soul laid to rest with her, in the end.

"I love you, Maeve Kavanagh."