We're almost at the conclusion! I will be finishing up the story this week itself, so please look forward to it ^_^
Jean wakes up to Connie's toes dangerously close to his nose, and he can't wake up any happier. It had been too long since he could unwind with everyone, making him nostalgic of his time on the boat with them. These couple of days had flown by, which meant that the end was also nearing equally quickly.
The day ahead was already planned. They would all pay a visit to their departed friend's grave – the one indirectly responsible for bringing all of them together in spite of their adversarial stances, with the Queen herself and her daughter in tow. They would then head to said Queen's small little banquet that she was throwing for them - after they're successfully done with round three of the negotiations.
He catches Mikasa coming down the stairs, all dressed and ready for the day. He feels his nerves prickle as he remembers who she was rooming with. He had no real reason to worry, but he was aware that Pieck tended to have loose lips and that was something he could imagine his private woman wouldn't appreciate. "You alright? Hope it wasn't too awkward?"
She stops at the last step to reply to him, now perfectly at eye-level to one another, "Not at all. I actually enjoyed speaking to her. We had quite a bit of pillow talk. I could see us becoming friends for real."
"See, that makes me a little worried. What did you talk about?"
She smirks at him playfully, like she enjoyed torturing him, dragging out his apprehension, "Apparently you're quite horny."
"What the fu- are you serious?" He grabs wildly at his hair, his fears being realised. "There is no way you entertained such talk. Or did you tell her about-"
"-I didn't say anything. Don't worry, I protected your honour," she smiles sweetly at him, and he feels like he has seen the sun with his naked eye. He quickly brushes away such thoughts though, the minute he feels his mind drifting into forbidden territory.
"That's my girl, thanks," he says appreciatively, his earlier indignity having calmed down.
Their flirtatiously saccharine conversation is interrupted as the other occupants in the house come alive too, their little cottage bustling with the varied personalities of their friends.
They come together in the hall, a couple of them holding on to the picnic baskets Mikasa had kindly prepared for the occasion. The sun was blazing, but they were all keen on sitting under the shade of the large tree beside the headstone and making a lazy afternoon out of the occasion.
Such visits were never easy for Jean. It took him back to the days when Eren was still there, their heads butting constantly over one non-issue to another. He sometimes admitted to himself that he didn't always enjoy going there either, his mind making him question all his decisions, spiralling into indecisions and regrets. He had struggled to come to terms with the fact that everyone had done what they thought was best at the time, and considering none of that could be changed, he had no choice to reconcile himself to it. He waited for the day he would be genuinely content and satisfied with all he had done, and perhaps, doing; working for the Yeagerists had thrown him into another hurricane of conflict to tackle.
Going there with his friends though, would give him the much-needed sense of reaffirmation and solidarity he needed to be able to stand proudly there. He anyway had not visited him in a while, even though it was regularly on Mikasa's and his schedule at one point.
He exits the door with his friends, the heat of the sun soothing the chill that visiting Eren brought about. He searches for Mikasa, knowing she of all people could relate to his feelings, but he does not see her up ahead. He slows down his pace and turns around, and peculiarly, she is standing at the door, just staring blankly at the scenery ahead of her, rooted to her spot.
He frowns, walking back to her. Visits were particularly difficult for her, but usually, she would be the first one to race up the hill regardless, the most enthusiastic among them to ensure everyone greeted Eren. While their first visit together was painful for him, over time, his love for his friend overshadowed whatever petty feelings of envy and jealousy he felt for his long-gone friend whenever he looked at his grieving life-partner. For several months now, they hadn't really visited together for whatever reason.
"Aren't you coming?" He asks her once he catches up to her back at the cottage.
She shiftily looks away and steps into the cottage, half-heartedly saying, "No, I think I'll stay here, sort out the place in preparation for Historia and little Ymir's arrival." He watches her grab a broom, as though she were trying to prove her conviction.
He steps inside, knowing it was a ruse. She likely hoped that no one noticed her not joining them in their activity, but she underestimated just how much he watched her, even at the stage they were in. "The place looks clean enough to me already. You don't need to stay back for this."
"No, I mean, she is the Queen. Why don't you just go ahead? You're missing out," she doesn't look at him, insisting on sweeping the already clean floor that all of them had pitched into clean earlier that morning itself.
He could sense her conflict. Something was eating at her and she wasn't ready to talk about it. The biggest giveaway was how she didn't look at him at all. This was a trial testing the bounds of their relationship. He had to learn how to let her be while at the same time, showing her he cared about her and would be there for her always, in whatever capacity. It was a toss-up between doing too much and too little, rarely being able to see the middle ground he ought to take.
He forms a fist, channelling his rationality, as he taps her on her shoulder, gently willing her to look at him. Her mouth was formed in a straight line, but her eyes conveyed a deep sadness that he could tell went much beyond the issue of just visiting Eren. "Listen, I'll be there with you the whole time, if that helps. Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"
She shakes her head lightly, her troubles and melancholy more clearly visible on her face now. Her head is lowered, and she speaks softly, privately, in a way that seems intimate, as though this moment between them shouldn't be shared with anyone else, "I… just don't want to. Would that be okay?" She looks up at him, calling him to help her.
"You know I don't want to leave you here like this. I wish you'd tell me what's wrong. Would you prefer we go privately together towards the end, when they're just about to return?" He coaxes her gently, a pinch in his heart compelling him to stay with her.
"There's nothing wrong," She trails, looking up at him again, persuading him more clearly now, "Please go ahead without me? I'd like to stay here."
"You sure?" He asks seriously, trying to gauge her intentions.
"Yes, I'm sure," she attempts a smile to reassure him. It works. He believes her. Like a sign, he knew, that he had to leave her be, and that she knew how to take care of herself.
"Hey lovebirds, are you coming?" They hear Annie's distant call from outside of the cottage.
They cringe at the taunt, and let out a small laugh, dispelling the tension. He awkwardly pats Mikasa on the side of her arm, realising he needed her to come with him more than she needed him at that time. He adjusts his hat, preparing himself to leave. "I'll tell the others you're sick or something, in case they ask. You take care. Don't bother with pretending to do chores," he tells her honestly.
"Unlikely that they'll believe that, but sure, please go ahead and try," She smiles at him fondly, and he sighs out, feeling completely convinced that it was okay to trust that she would be fine, that he did not need to baby her.
"Fine. I'll say you've developed a cleaning obsession like your distant relative or something," he adds cheekily before leaving, hearing her retort light-heartedly,
"I'd prefer the sick thing please!"
As Mikasa closes the door, sneaking a last glance at Jean walking away, she feels tired, whatever little smile he had brought to her face changing back into a creased forehead and unsightly sad frown.
The exact reason for why she had decided against going was as hazy to her as for anyone else. A voice from inside her, not too commanding, not too righteous, discouraged her from going, convincing her that staying back would be truer to what she was trying to achieve. What was she trying to achieve anyway?
That's right. Getting over Jean.
What did that have to with Eren?
Everything and nothing basically. Where one existed, the other could not, and she had made her choice. No matter which choice she made, it hurt her anyway, so she picked the more comfortable choice every time, the one she was used to suffering through. Yet, somehow, the result was an ache that was duller but more all-consuming, more sorrowful, more eternal, more… just sad. And this was supposedly the easier route. At least she could get through her days fine, and in fact, good. She had to be doing something right.
Her feet take her up the stairs. She positions herself near the window of her room, watching the tiny figures of her friends making their way up the hill, spotting the light-brown of her companion trudging behind them in a relaxed pace. She traces the glass of the window along his silhouette, sighing out at the choice she was foregoing.
A soft knock and a female voice calling out her name brings her out of her thoughts.
"Historia?" She turns around to face the blonde midget that she had seen more of in the capacity of an acquaintance, a friend, more than the royalty that she was.
"Mikasa - I'm happy to see you! You didn't go with the others?" She speaks excitedly in her regular civilian clothes, infecting Mikasa into lightening up.
"No, I had some things to finish up in the house," she replies distractedly, not wanting to be caught in her awkward lie. "How come you're here? Weren't you supposed to meet us at the hill too?" She eyes her shifty behaviour suspiciously.
"Ah, sorry, I let myself in! Ymir doesn't really like it all that much there – too many sad people for a little child I guess. She's downstairs, colouring. How have you been? I feel like I'm seeing you after so long, except for those cursory glances at the orphanage," She laughs a little.
"I'm fine. How are your queenly duties?"
"Please, don't. We're not talking about that right now," she says exasperated, with her fingers massaging her temple. She brightens up in moments however, coyly saying, "I was actually hoping to speak to you about something, so this is quite perfect."
"Me?" Mikasa asks surprised. Over the years, they had grown close out of necessity, but hardly did they speak about personal matters except for casually.
"Ymir is growing in lightning speed, so naturally, she's already outgrown a whole bunch of her clothes. I've given most of them away to the orphanage children, but, I was wondering if maybe you would like to take some of them too, you know, as future planning?" She grins at Mikasa, who looks at her wide-eyed, speechless for a moment.
She regains her composure, having had practice for manoeuvring through awkward topics like this in the past. "I think you'd be better off giving them to Annie," she insists politely.
"No," she whines. "It has to be you! I've got nothing against Annie but we're not as close as you and I are. And plus, more than that, I feel invested in your relationship, you know? I feel like I've watched it happen right before my eyes."
"Because we invited you to the wedding?" Mikasa chances a guess, finding her admission strange. "You must know that we invited you as a thank you for protecting us on this Island," Mikasa adds cheekily, thinking it would dampen whatever high Historia was running on.
"Don't give me that," she protests, not taking the bait. "No offense, Mikasa, but I doubt you'd have had a wedding this fast without me," she crosses her arms against her chest gruffly.
Sure, she and Jean had started talking at the orphanage, but she couldn't seriously use the argument that it was her orphanage and hence, she made them happen. "And what is it that you did?" She asks directly, not wishing to go around in circles for any longer.
"I was hoping Jean would be singing out my praises but the man has too much of an ego I guess." She clears her throat indignantly.
"But anyway, let me remind you that I was the one who had given him that initial assignment with the Yeagerists that was supposed to last for a month. Shockingly, he himself asked for an extension after that while here I thought, that none of you would want to associate with them. I granted it though, for another six months. I found it strange that he would keep giving me progress reports at my chambers at the orphanage even though I hadn't summoned him. That's when I saw that he was of course, chatting you up!"
"I thought wow, he must be such a bother to you, finding some lame excuse to meet you ever so often. I told him straight up in fact that he needn't come to my chambers unless summoned. As predicted, I was amused to find he came by to see you anyway. I thought about rescuing you several times, or putting you on some other job, until, I saw that you had made him an extra box of food! Now that was something. The Ice Queen had somehow melted-"
Mikasa glares at the blonde.
"- is what the children, who adore you regardless, used to say. Jean's contract ended then, but he begged me to extend it again. It was honestly tough, since, while he was an excellent worker, I couldn't guarantee his envious superiors would not lop his head off in a fit of anger. He didn't care though. I wasn't convinced, but then he told me his crazy plan of proposing to you, and to give him a grace period until he heard your final response. So I gave him about three months more, after which, he was going to pack up and leave Paradis, maybe with his mother in tow. But you, you said yes! We were both shocked. After that, well, I had good reason to give him a permanent contract. The recommendations were glowing anyway. And that's how we ended up with a very married Mikasa - feel free to thank me!"
Mikasa blinks, not realising all that had happened in the background to bring them together. Here she falsely thought that it was all just based on whim and momentary fancy. But clearly, a lot of planning had gone into it, which explains the suddenness with which he had sprung the proposal onto her. It made sense in hindsight, but that naïve Mikasa would have never guessed. Stupid Jean should have been more upfront with her.
The usual guilt however, sneaks up on Mikasa. Historia's pure grin and enthusiasm for their relationship seemed genuine. She could not mislead her when she was trying to be honest in all facets of her life.
Mikasa shakes her head slowly, with a guilty expression that causes Historia visible confusion, "We're not as you'd think though, unfortunately."
"What do you mean?" The blonde lets out incredulously, furrowing her brows in disapproval, "Did Jean do something to mess it up?"
Mikasa sighs out loud. The way people immediately assumed Jean might have done something was getting on her nerves, especially when it was so obvious to her that she had the more likely personality type to cause conflict in a relationship.
Historia adds, almost jumping up at Mikasa, "You tell me if he did something. I can get you a divorce written up very easily, no questions asked!"
Mikasa recalls Jean's inopportune correction from a past moment between them, "If anything, we would need an annulment, not a divorce."
"An annulm- what?" As though a lightbulb flashed in her pretty head, she became quiet in her surprise at processing the words, before guffawing out loud, "You're kidding me! You mean, you haven't even- ! Wow, you're brutal, Mikasa! Not going to lie, I guess he could pass as hot, so I can't believe you wouldn't even once...- what in the world!" She bellows out a full-fledged laugh, taking support from the wall to steady herself, making Mikasa regret her choice of implying such an intimate detail of their relationship.
"It's not that funny…" Mikasa trails, controlling her annoyance from seeping out too harshly onto the Queen of the land. "It was a mutual decision; we decided to take a more unconventional route for our relationship," she says righteously, feeling offended that her friend was having to wipe tears of amusement from her eyes.
"Is that what you're calling it then?" Historia challenges slyly, composing herself from her fit of laughter. "That's an awful lot of trouble to go through just to proclaim you're going to be best-friends-forever."
"It is what's best for us. People have different priorities in life," Mikasa underlines curtly.
"I just always assumed you'd have a huge family since you both are so good with, and love kids so much. It's a shame honestly. I'm surprised to hear you both have other ideas," Historia shrugs her shoulders.
"We're fine, really," Mikasa looks away distractedly, turning back to the window, feeling slightly irked by their conversation, even if she meant well. Such talks continually brought her face to face with questions she feels like she has long answered, only to return again in need of solving, ad infinitum. Why did she constantly need to introspect about this issue, especially when she was largely okay with whatever decision she, no, they, had arrived at?
Mikasa looks back to a discerning Historia, who was unnaturally quiet compared to their animated conversation moments ago.
She gazes at the blonde questioningly, urging her to explain to her why she was staring at her so keenly as though she were putting on some fascinating show.
"What?" Mikasa blurts out in part-annoyance, back to staring out the window from being self-conscious, when she doesn't see the blonde let up.
"It's nothing. I just think it's strange," She says coolly, grabbing Mikasa's attention.
"What is?"
"It's strange that you're staring at him, all the while looking guilty that you're not looking at someone – no – something else perhaps," she deadpans, letting herself out of the room promptly, leaving Mikasa bewildered at herstrange words that hit her like a truck.
"What do you-"
"-I think Ymir's calling me. Anyway, I'm going to leave the clothes I've brought with Jean. I think he'd make a great dad," she trails out musically, while Mikasa tries to regain her bearings from being dumbfounded at unknowingly being caught red-handed.
The quietness of their house is stark against their ears, as they settle on the sofa at nightfall after a long few days of excitement.
"It feels strangely empty now, doesn't it?" Jean stretches out lazily, before taking out his sketch pad and charcoal from under the coffee table.
"I wish they'd stayed longer. I was getting used to them again," Mikasa says, grabbing a novel that had been lying neglected since the extra occupants flooded the house.
"I'm glad to have my bed back though – I feel like I'm getting too old to rough it out," he says light-heartedly.
Which meant that Mikasa would have her own room back too. She had no love for either room, but she just seemed to have a tough time adapting in general.
They indulge in their private time, enjoying each other's silent presence. But something was still bothering Mikasa, or rather, had gotten her curiosity bubbling. Now that they were finally alone, she takes the opportunity to broach the topic, something which she wouldn't have done freely a mere couple of months ago, "Did Historia speak to you?"
"She did," Jean replies neutrally, stroking at the paper in front him at an angle where she couldn't see what was taking up his considered attention.
Subtlety was clearly not the correct strategy here. "Did she give you something?"
"Yeah, baby clothes. It was a bit weird, but she said you both had spoken."
"I told her not to," She groans exasperatedly. What was that midget Queen trying to achieve? Those baby clothes were a grim reminder of a reality that Mikasa was never going to have, in all likelihood. "Where have you kept them? How should we dispose of them?" She asks eagerly, wanting no part in the unwanted gift.
"Why dispose of them when they're so cute and take up such little space! I've put them aside for now. We can re-gift it or donate it later if necessary," he says, sounding unduly amused even as he continues focusing on his drawing.
After a few minutes of trying to move on from the topic, she gets fixated on another part of her conversation with the Queen, one induced in her a shyness that seemed to have become a frustrating fixture around Jean.
"We spoke about something else too," She feigns nonchalantly, grasping her book tightly in front of her, trying to look as immersed in it as Jean was in his drawing. He looks up from his sketchbook, giving her the cue to continue, "She told me about the arrangement between you two, how your assignment ended but you kept pushing for it to continue to stay on the Island.…"
"She told you all of that? I'm surprised. If the Yeagerists found out about all this background information, they'd for sure cry out how she is biased towards me," He says, tongue-in-cheek.
It's like he deliberately misses the point these days. She attempts again to get her point across. "I didn't know you were on some kind of a time limit back then. It makes sense now."
He looks up at her with that intensity and conviction that has this fearless self of her squirming, "If you're suggesting that's why I proposed to you, to stay on the Island or something, then no. I felt what I felt and did what I wanted to anyway. The politics just pushed the timelines forward."
It's almost as though he is offended, desperate to convince her of his intentions. It was far from what she actually wanted to convey. She steels herself for a final time, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, determined yet feeling herself chickening out by the second, as she starts with confidence, "I meant, I though it was quite..." she averts her eyes downwards from her jitters, the last part of her sentence feeling like a thorn in her throat she needed to eject, "…romantic."
He takes a pause, building her anticipation, and she watches him go from a speechless gasp, to a stunned, embarrassed grin that he cannot conceal, to relaxing defeatedly with his head in his hands, "Why are you flirting with me, Mikasa? You just like torturing me, don't you?"
It was her turn to swallow her words, now feeling like she had misspoken on an impulse of conveying a sentiment that she should have kept to herself instead. She falls into a frown, trouble acting as a friend, pushing her back into a misery from not being able to maintain clear lines between them.
The blur of Jean's hand waving in front of her brings her out of her repenting trance. She distantly hears him call out to her, "Snap out of it. Mikasa? Hey."
She shakes back into consciousness and hears Jean say clearly this time, "I was only joking, don't worry. I don't think something like this needs to be a contentious point."
She looks at him unconvinced, "It feels like I shouldn't have said it."
"We should be able to take it easy and make jokes around one another. I like it. Plus, I find you to be unintentionally funny. I wouldn't want that to stop."
Wait, did he just say he finds her funny?
Her, funny?
Gloomy, doomy Mikasa Ackerman can be funny?
"Are you being sarcastic?"
He laughs out, "No, why would you think that!"
She eyes him suspiciously, "No one says such things about me."
"That's on them. Just gave you my honest opinion," He says with an upturn of his lips, eyeing her until she is convinced, before getting back to his sketching.
She lets the topic go with an internal sigh. He saw strange things in her, things she had never associated with herself. In her search to rediscover herself, there weren't a lot of positives she could think to list down. She will be sure to miraculously add funny in big, bold letters to that list now, giving her a giddy feeling at being acknowledged for a trait she would never have dreamed of being able to write home about.
She eyes Jean curiously, who seemed as cool as a cucumber in comparison to her, unfazed by the whole episode, as usual making it seem like what he said was the most natural thing in the world even though she still found it quite absurd, if not flattering. "What are you drawing?"
"Just a thing. There's a sketchbook down below the coffee table towards your side," he points to the book. "You can take a look, if you'd like."
She reaches for the book with some interest. From the first page itself, she was in awe. Lifelike pictures of familiar and unfamiliar people and places filled every page with an accuracy that left goosebumps on her skin. "These are beautiful," She can't help but remark, her eyes glued to the black charcoal lines finely etched on to the canvas. "I'm stunned," she adds, remembering the rough sketch of her-not-her his mother had revealed to her.
"Thanks! I think I'm improving," he says with a small laugh, with a touched lilt in his voice.
She feasts on drawing after drawing, gently tracing the lines without smudging it. She spots people they know in candid poses, as though they were frozen in time inside these pages. It made her nostalgic. There was the mess hall from their early years of training with unrecognisable postures and hairstyles compared to now, a faceless, grand portrait of Commander Erwin Smith standing proudly in salute, an urban landscape from a civilisation she had not seen, but it is the portraits of Sasha and Eren that grab her prolonged attention, each looking like they were ready to jump out of the pages at her. She lingers on the lines of the Eren portrait from their last few days in Paradis, her brain reminding her of the haunting last memories she has of him before the Rumbling.
"You can keep it, if you want," he says gently, breaking her train of thought, not having left his gaze from the in-progress drawing he held in front of him.
She flips back to the drawing of Sasha in a tizzy, almost dropping the book in her startle. She stutters out, "They look… alive."
"That's what I was going for. I wish we had cameras back then to capture them," he says longingly, seemingly lost in thought.
She flips through the remaining pages, her breath catching in her throat at each illustration she had the privilege of landing her eyes on. "How do you do it?"
He looks at her with gratitude. "I don't know. As corny as it is, I just draw whatever comes into my heart."
"Commander Pyxis has been there too, then?" She comments snidely, turning the page away from his drawing.
He chuckles. "Okay, you got me there. There are two types of drawings, I would say. One, when I just want to draw – doesn't matter what it is. And then there's the one that's like a constant bug in my head that doesn't want to leave unless I put it to paper. So sometimes, I draw to get some respite from that."
"So, Sasha, Eren… you just wanted them to leave your head?"
"You could say that. Once they're on paper, it's like a break from carrying them on my shoulders - or my heart, if we're being corny again. It's therapeutic, like I've let go of a burden almost," he says contemplatively, staring down at the mystery drawing in his hand intensely enough to pierce it.
"I wish I had something like this," she admits honestly, looking at his calm concentration admiringly. "I'm not remotely creative."
"You probably have something that's just as relaxing for you too. It doesn't have to be creative," he gazes at her in encouragement, and she shies away slightly from the amount of confidence he had in her.
"I'm good with my hands, I suppose," she says meekly, like she were admitting to a wrong. "I think I like gardening… I like building things."
"I think that suits you. You helped build this very cottage after all."
She nods, beaming at him for no discernible reason at all, feeling freer after their everyday conversation.
Jean is pleased to find Mikasa completely decked up in a light skirt, top and hat, with a picnic basket in hand – the perfect picture of summer in early winter. The Rumbling had apparently caused a novel climate change, making the weather they experienced erratic. At least it meant that they had the ideal conditions set up for them for the day he had planned.
They haven't even gotten there, yet his nerves are racing as though they were going on a date. That would never be true, however. But with each day he spent with her, he couldn't care less about that dampening fact; her company and her hidden laughs were a bottomless elixir, working every day on his soul to make him see again that it was always about her, and not about fulfilling a boyish fantasy he once held. Spending each day with her, discovering little things about her, made him cherish even more the fact that these were private sides to her that only he had the privilege of encountering. He wouldn't trade it for anything else.
"Where are you taking me this time? I hope it's not another Shiganshina-esque experience," Mikasa says sardonically as they trudge through the unkempt grass under the hot afternoon sun.
He chuckles at her remark, "You won't let that go, will you? This is more to your taste, I believe. It's closer to home too. Do you have everything?"
He stays behind her, her pace always hurried, as purposeful as a career soldier. "Yes," she looks over her shoulder. "Towels, a blanket and some snacks for good measure, just as you requested."
They pass through flat, grassy terrain from the path behind their house. He leads them towards the forest, into uneven lands marred by wide lower lands, left behind from the footsteps of the marching Colossal Titans, undergrowth and trees manually planted to even the lands into usable landscape. He catches up to her to give her support through this part of the journey should she need it, observing whether seeing the destruction caused by the Rumbling on Paradis was affecting her.
She doesn't react, having her usual straight face in check, making it difficult to get an accurate reading of her. He lightly nudges her, and she turns to momentarily look at him. It takes him seconds to satisfactorily confirm the soundness of her mental state, wordless conversations in impeccable synchronisation of their thoughts and feelings having become an ordinary fact of their strengthening bond. It went deliberately unnoticed by them in their attempt to forge a no-fuss, healthy relationship that went with the flow of things instead of any concerted effort towards reaching any particular goal. They were both comfortable in it, even if Jean couldn't deny that cracking down on all feelings for her that were romantic or lustful, was difficult, having to internally tackle it as each day comes. The best he could hope for was not to have any trials thrown his way that would surely make his heart ache and mind wander.
The clearing is in stark contrast to the dense forest they manage to come through. The immediate, wondrous look of awe painted on Mikasa's features in seeing for the first time the sparkling blue pond that had been formed from the depression in the ground, the grass crisply green and not too long, and a large tree with a rickety old swing made from wood and rope, make him heave a sigh of content relief.
"How did you find this place?" She paces slowly into the clearing, placing the basket down, admiring the scenery before her.
"We were scouting the land for developmental efforts. This area was slightly affected by the Rumbling, but there have been attempts to restore the land artificially. Most of the other foot impressions as you saw on the way, have been filled in partially, but the land here seems to have been particularly weak and continually affected by the aftershock, forming a natural water body," He explains, unpacking the blanket from the picnic basket, laying it out on the grass in a shaded area.
"The pond doesn't seem too large but I reckon it's deep," she inspects the water body from up close.
"We can try it out after lunch."
"No way," She asserts flatly, feeling the frayed ropes of the swing hanging on from the sturdy tree's branch, standing tall in front of the water. "Why is there a swing here? It seems strange for someone to come all the way here to put this up."
"It probably predates the Rumbling. I've been told there were some sparsely populated settlements nearby. Most of the settlers migrated to the cities right before the Walls came down," he sets out the sandwiches and iced tea that Mikasa had packed for them, getting it ready for their light lunch.
She scans the area around them once again - the rocks lining the pond, the still-green trees enclosing them, and the blazing sun filtering through the rightly scanty canopy. "It's nice," she declares, before settling down next to him, putting her hat back into the basket.
They eat in a peaceful silence, Mikasa seeming particularly in-tune with her surroundings, as she closes her eyes every time a small breeze picks up which plays with her neatly tied up hair, listening to the soft ripples created in the still water next to them. She follows each bird that sings over them keenly, observing the direction they fly in. She feels the velvety texture of the grass, prickling them randomly through the blanket they had laid over it. She seemed so serene in this natural paradise he had chanced upon, that he didn't want to utter a word in fear of breaking her out of her trance, letting himself have the rare opportunity of admiring her discreetly instead.
He lays down on the blanket as quietly as possible once he's done with his meal, tucking his hands behind his head, taking a moment to marvel at the blueness of sky that should have been grey by this month. He hears a rustling from beside him, tearing his attention away from one natural beauty to the one beside him. He looks at her questioningly, as she awkwardly sits half-upright beside him, her knees propped up and her hands planted on either side of her.
She looks at him unsurely, and he looks back at her fondly and reassures her, "You can lie down if you want. There's no need to ask," wondering whether he had made her overly conscious about her every move around him in fear of rocking the boat again. That would be a shame.
She complies almost immediately, lying flat and in a straight line on her back, her hands interlinked on her stomach, as she blankly blinks at the sky. Their silence pervades the atmosphere again, as they share a vision of blue dotted by the occasional bird on its way home.
The softest murmur from his companion, perks up his senses as soon as the first word is uttered, drawing his attention to face her, "These aren't the same trees and we're not on a hill. Yet, I feel like I've been here before; that I can keep coming here."
It's a strange statement she made, but he doesn't interrupt, knowing her enough to know that she was still in her head. She wasn't speaking to him so much as listening to herself. If he had to think about the implications of what she might have meant, it would be too much for him to maintain the distance between them. So he says nothing, letting the contemplative silence return, in spite of their buzzing thoughts. The stillness around them eventually makes his eyelids heavy, as he starts dropping in and out of consciousness, the light breeze fanning his running thoughts away.
As he rubs his eyes open from a dreamless nap he did not intend to drift into, he feels a muggy wetness around him from the heat that had not dissipated. He turns his head to the side and barely avoids clashing into Mikasa's, who was plunged into a deep nap herself, with her head tilted towards him, their fingers crossed in a butterfly touch in the space between them. Her mouth is slightly ajar, her hair a mess across her face and the blanket, and it's a look of peace he had never seen in her, lighting a small ember in his chest that has him smile from his eyes, the only difficult part being not giving into his urge of lovingly caressing her cheek and brushing away the hair.
As though she hears his intrusive thoughts, she stirs, frowning before snapping open her eyes to him. He reacts in lightning speed, sitting up, pretending it was beyond his notice that this was the first time in a long time that they had laid next to each other, almost close enough for contact.
"How long was I out?" She sits up, her bed-hair as hilariously, adorably, wild as ever.
"Not long. I just woke up myself," he stretches without needing to, attempting to divert his attention from her. "I think I'll go for a dip," he announces, promptly unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. "You coming?"
"You didn't ask to bring any swimwear."
"Don't need it," he throws his shirt and trousers to the blanket, standing in front of her in his boxers. "No one's around."
She stares at him incredulously, like she wants to comment, but is unable to, her mouth opening and closing.
He runs towards the water and cannon-balls into it, urgently feeling the need to cool down, relishing the cold water submerging him. He bobs back up to take in air, slicking back his hair with his fingers to wring out the excess water. Mikasa is on her haunches, staring curiously at him from the edge of the pond, making him startle out of his skin.
"The water feels great. Why don't you join me?"
"I can't," her mouth curled into a small frown.
He hums in understanding, admitting silently that he had indeed miscalculated. He ought to have asked her to bring her swimwear. He suggests regardless, "You could strip. I promise I won't look."
"Nice try."
He chuckles nervously. "I swear I didn't intend for this to happen."
She continues glaring at him, and he shrinks in her deadly aura, not feeling so confident anymore. "We'll have to be together for another sixty years or so, if all goes well. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other by accident through the years. Might as well get used to it."
She deepens her disbelieving glare. "Really?"
"I'll be turned the other way the whole time, if you want!" He raises his arms up in surrender.
She stands up, pondering his suggestion. "Fine," she says gruffly. "Close your eyes and turn around then."
He gladly complies, pushing down the immature giddiness at the prospect of being in the vicinity of a scantily clad Mikasa. He manages successfully, true to his word of being respectful of her, even if it did hurt his baser instincts that seemed like it wanted to scream out at him sometimes for unduly suppressing it in favour of matters of the heart.
He hears the splashing of the water after a few moments, until it stops right behind him.
"You can turn around now."
Mikasa is submerged all the way up to her chin, looking at him with just as much dissatisfaction as earlier.
"Er," is all he manages to bite out, panicking that maybe this was too much for him as well, after he spots her clothes neatly folded near the towels she had placed at the edge of the pond, their proximity all too real. He swims away to tackle his own apparent weakness, splashing her with water in the process.
He reaches the other end of the pond, which was not a lot of distance to cover. As soon as his head emerges from the surface of the water, catching his breath, Mikasa appears behind him, splashing a wave of water at him. "What was that for?" He yelps through the aggressive spray of water.
"You were rude. You just drenched me and swam away after putting me in this uncomfortable situation," she states matter-of-factly.
He splashes water back at her when she doesn't stop flailing water at him, still curiously blankly staring at him, her eyebrows only slightly creased. "I didn't realise you're this petty," he comments playfully in between the droplets.
She stops completely, stilling under the water ominously. "What did you say?"
"I said you're pretty," he deadpans with a straight face, knowing very well what this woman could do to him.
He fails in his cover up, as she comes for him in cold-blooded revenge, the water hitting him like needles as he tries to flop away, empathising with the titans who have had to dodge her blade. He counters after gathering some courage, reminding himself that he was once an equally capable comrade, able to stand shoulder to shoulder to her. He goes under water till he is behind her and in one quick motion that he doesn't dwell on, he grabs her by her stomach, faithfully closing his eyes throughout, and tosses her into the water, making her break through the surface of the water from above with a surprised squeal, making her get submerged in the water for several seconds as a result.
He has to be doubly careful now, knowing full well that Mikasa was capable of tossing him like a skipping stone across the water. He tries to create some space between them, but she is one step ahead as expected, grabbing him by the foot in an unpredictable speed and pulling him down with her, using his weight to push herself up to the water. He struggles underwater, still consciously trying to avoid glancing at her figure, even as he feels himself running out of breath. He takes the opportunity for payback, pulling her down by her legs again, imitating her manoeuvre.
They wrestle underwater, each trying to overpower the other, compelling a competition of endurance. They lose breath in tandem, breaking the surface together, taking full-lunged breaths. He lets out an interrupted laugh in between his heavy gasping, enjoying the afterglow of their battle in the water. She is similarly infected after seconds, letting out a rare, pattering laugh, watching him keenly.
His eyes drift to her shoulders, suddenly going beet red and blank at the juvenile realisation that it was possible that this was the first time he was seeing her upper body this bare, lined only with thin straps that were from her lady underwear, even subconsciously not daring to look below her clavicle.
She catches his stare, and reactively, in a fraction of a second, plunges herself down into the water till it comes up to her nose again, clearly embarrassed that she exposed her upper half to him in spite of their innocent intentions. She bubbles through the water, their eyes meeting for an unnecessarily awkward moment, the air between them tensing from recalling all the contact their naked bodies had made in the fray.
She says sourly through the water, "I'm getting out. Turn around."
He does as she says, grumbling to himself if he should clarify to her that he had not seen or felt anything of hers that was out of bounds, but decides against it, thinking its better not to dwell on it and call attention to insignificant musings like these.
He promptly does as she requests and feels her exit the water.
"I'm done," she calls out. She has found her way to the swing, her back to him, her hair loose and damp on her fully clothed back.
He takes a deep dip in the water to cool himself down once again, needing to compose himself if he had to face the reluctant woman who could affect him without any effort at all.
The world was indeed still a cruel place, but when, oh when did this cruelty itself become this unbearably beautiful?
Mikasa swings listlessly on the barebone swing she had plastered herself on, barely noticing the pleasant wind hitting her face, all her thoughts on the man swimming carefree behind her and all her focus on pushing such unwanted thoughts away.
It was like fate was playing a mean joke on her. All those eons ago where she had dreamt of this man and her on a warm Sunday afternoon in each other's arms, was suddenly coming true in twisted ways, but with one important exception: that they weren't allowed to touch at all. And apparently, clothes were optional in this version too, which really made things even more inconvenient than they were. A certain region of hers that she's been trying to calm down since those steamy nights seems to have come alive aggressively, and perhaps it would help if he at least put a shirt on for her sake.
But no. Instead, he has to majestically swim around with the sun in his favour, reflecting off his blonde-brown hair, and his defined muscles chiselled over every surface of his body. She was faced away from him, but it hardly helped. Their sport in the water was already etched into her mind. Every time his nearly naked body would come against hers, a siren would go off in her head, raising the alarms to cool herself off or get away from him.
To make the indecent ruminations and heat in her body worse, she hears his squelching feet against the grass, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up poker straight.
Back to frigid mode.
No, that's a negative.
He's still not wearing a shirt, his boxers are clinging to certain unseen parts of him, and his luscious hair is tracing water down through every defined ridge and groove.
She tightens her grip on the rough rope. "You're done?" She asks him stiffly.
"Thought I'd give you some company. The swing looks fun."
She jumps off the swing lithely, aloofly warning him, after clearing her throat, "It might not be able to sustain your weight. It's barely hanging on."
"Are you calling me fat? I know I'm a bit out of shape these days…" he pouts, trailing off.
It was like he had hit her with a brick to call her attention to his defined abdomen, as he feels and pats it with a mock sad face, forcing her eyes to the exact view she was trying to avoid. Apparently, she severely lacked in self-control.
"You'd be getting on at your own risk. Don't go too fast," She warns more brusquely than she had planned, overcompensating for the tricks playing on her mind. The more time she spent with him, the more she couldn't take her eyes off him. Was she always like this around him, even in their Survey Corps days? It was not like he had changed drastically, and yet, it was like she was seeing him in a whole new light, all for the very first time, perhaps from the early days they had begun sojourning at the orphanage.
She is broken out of her thoughts when she hears a thud and a groan from beside her.
Her blood runs cold seeing Jean down on the grass on his side, the swing still going back and forth wildly, with rope supporting its seat from one side, the other side seemingly snapped from his weight as she had warned.
She swiftly brings the motion of the swing to a halt, and kneels down beside him, supporting the underside of his neck, soothingly patting him down on the side that was facing up.
"Jean, are you okay?!" Her voice is panic-filled, feeling sick from worry, wishing she had prevented him from getting on the swing at all instead of being lost in her frivolous thoughts about him instead. Her mind starts moving a mile a minute, her gut knotted in a bone-chilling dread.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he winces slowly sitting himself up with her frenzied help.
"Where does it hurt?" She asks hurriedly, feeling gently over his body, her concern snowballing uncontrollably by the minute.
"My left side - I landed flat on it like an idiot, flying right off that stupid broken swing," he winces again as he moves his left arm. "I think I've hurt my shoulder and ankle."
"I'll go get a doctor -" She says hurriedly, the worry-lines on her face deepening.
"-I think I'll manage. We should probably head back-"
"You're not going anywhere in this condition," she states definitely, with an air of concerned authority that intended to bring about compliance by fear.
"You don't need to worry. We've faced way worse as Scouts. This is child's play. Let me try to-"
"No way, forget it," she repeats, biting out in an attempt to conceal her own fear.
He stares at her curiously, worry now lining his own features, making Mikasa conscious of the fact that she was perhaps not being rational, and pointlessly making him worry about his own injury more than he needed to. She was supposed to calm him down but her own anxieties were only aggravating the situation.
"Wait, at least let me make it so that you can get up safely," She unwraps her cherished scarf promptly, moving to tie it around his injured arm to immobilise it.
"But that's your-"
"Priorities, Jean," She silences his protest, knowing very well what his attention was on. But she could care less at the moment, wiping off sweat from her forehead, tying her scarf efficiently around him in full concentration.
He says nothing further on the matter, letting her help him, interrupting after a few seconds, "This reminds me of our Survey Corps days when you tended to my injuries that one time. This injury is laughable in comparison though."
She doesn't lighten up to his statement, having no memory of what he was referring to, her razor-sharp focus on mitigating his discomfort.
"Should we try to get you to stand now? Don't put pressure on your left foot. I'll support you from the other side," She stands up, directing all her strength towards pulling him up and slinging his arm around her shoulders.
"This is really not necessary. I think I can walk with a slight limp."
"This is not up for discussion," She states with finality, adjusting their positions so that most of his body weight was on her.
He sighs defeatedly, giving into her stubbornness. It was better for both of them that he adjusted to this trait of hers quickly.
"Should we gather our stuff first at least, before heading out?"
"I'll get it later. Let's focus on getting you home as soon as possible," She says softly, as they move slowly in sync. Jean seemed to be pacing forward more or less comfortably by her side, to her major relief. She was very close to having a breakdown earlier.
Attempting to lighten the air, she deadpans after she manages to slow her mind down marginally, "I do wish we could have put a shirt on you first though."
"I would have thought pants were the priority, but sure," he laughs nervously beside her, awkwardly hopping at Mikasa's every step in just his boxers and her scarf around his arm and shoulder.
"A shoulder and ankle sprain. You should be fine in a couple of days as long as we follow all the instructions of the doctor. You got lucky," Mikasa says kindly, sitting bedside to Jean, on a chair. She gets up and adjusts his blanket, pulling it up further up his chest and tucking in the sides until he was completely enveloped in it, ignoring his peculiar smile at her.
"Lucky? Yeah, right. This is embarrassing as shit. If anyone from work calls about my absence, please tell them I got injured from the strain of lifting three times my weight. Absolutely no mention of the swing," He pleads grumpily, glaring at his sling.
"You're too cut-up about this. Take it easy, direct your energy towards healing. Now, will you have some more soup or not?" She takes a spoonful of the chicken soup she had whipped up for him, inching it insistently towards his mouth.
"You don't need to do this. This would be the third bowl you're trying to force feed me," He groans with some amusement, shielding his mouth with the back of his hand from her relentless onslaught.
She frowns at him, not liking his insinuation, when all she wanted was his good health. "I've seen you with a larger appetite than that. You need the nutrition. Now, c'mon," She says sternly, without paying heed to his childish sour face, as she feeds him another spoonful, pushing the spoon through his mouth. She is pleased as she scoops out the last of the bowl, and caringly empties the contents into a cooperative Jean's mouth.
"Did you used to treat all the mildly injured like this? I somehow don't recall that," He pretends to think, tapping his finger against his chin.
"I'll be back with your medicine," His taunting goes unheard as she uses her full-speed to zip downstairs, rinse out the bowl, and bring the recommended medicines and two glasses.
"This pill is for now. Take it with water," She instructs, handing him the medicine and a glass of water. As he swallows it sincerely, she adds, "I've made you a concoction my mother used to make whenever we got sick, from memory. It should help with the pain and sleep. You can have half now. It should be enough." She switches the glasses in his hand, as he stares down the green concoction with horror.
"I'm not sick though," He states nervously.
"You could be, if we're not careful. We're not risking anything," She urges him to drink the glass she had put in his hand, pushes it upwards.
"You're-" He sighs, not bothering to finish his statement, and drinks half of the liquid, grimacing through the chugging. He gives her a gentle smile after recovering from the vile taste of the drink, as she takes away the glass from him and puts it on the nightstand beside him.
"How are you feeling? Any pain?" She tumbles out, her chest still feeling heavy with worry.
"I'm fine; no pain. It is genuinely a minor injury. You don't have to worry so much," He ends softly, his reassurance relaxing her just slightly, as she manages to smile back at him. "I hope to be fine by Saturday at least."
"That's three days from now. What's happening then?"
"Nothing really. It's the anniversary of the Battle of Trost. I used to try to visit the graveyard every year to pay my respects. This year, I finally can again," he yawns out, the fatigue of the day finally getting to him.
Mikasa says softly to his surprise, "I'll come too."
"You don't have to-"
"I wasn't asking," She says with some finality, her eyes glittering with conviction.
"Alright, sure," He gives in. Outside of Eren, he had never seen her actively mourn anyone or even make the effort to recall their past battles. He understood that it was probably in an ode to shield herself. It seemed like she was finally opening up to all sort of possible feelings, which made him swell with pride.
"You should sleep now," She pulls the blanket up to his chin, managing to fluff his pillows and helping him lie down comfortably, while trying to suppress her own yawn. Her day was just as taxing as his. She relentlessly supported him back home and made sure he got everything he needed and more, even arranging for someone to come see him in their house. The lengths she goes to sometimes is too heartening too bear.
"Good night, Mikasa. Thank you for taking care of me," he says soothingly, making her heart clench.
"No, don't say that. Good night, Jean," She switches off the lamp in the room, anxiously waiting for him to close his eyes and drift into a hopefully comfortable sleep, waiting until she could let out the breath she had been holding ever since he fell down.
Jean slowly raises his lids to the dark of the room, a slight pain radiating from his shoulder again. He turns to his nightstand testily, to drink the remainder of the disgusting but effective liquid Mikasa had lovingly prepared for him, searching through her painful childhood memories all for the sake of his health.
As he cautiously sits up to put the drink to his mouth, he notices a weight beside him, at the edge of the mattress. Mikasa had fallen asleep on the chair at his bedside, her head soundly cradled in her interlinked fingers right next to his hip, emitting a soft snore that made his heart flutter from contentment.
She really was overdoing it. He didn't say much about it to her, afraid of startling her into the realisation of the motive of her actions. He knew why. He understood why. She has a strong need for protecting others, and somehow, he had stumbled on to her list of people to protect. He had rarely seen the nurturing side of her except through tiny little vestiges that she let escape. This was the most obvious effort he had seen from her, and he knew the reason didn't stop at the tender, natural trait of wanting to protect.
Like with everything, Mikasa had a reason, a story for why she did what she did. It didn't take much to figure out why she was staring at him when he had fallen as though he had a knife through his stomach, or why she didn't seem to want to leave his side for even a minute. He didn't know whether to rejoice that she was projecting her most personal, precious feelings on to him or ache for the fact that she was subconsciously experiencing her trauma of loss all over again, manifesting in a comparatively healthier way this time instead.
He pats down her head gently. Her hair is softly kinked into small waves from not having combed out her damp hair since their outing or even having taken the time to change her clothes. He has a fleeting wish to envelop her, to thank her for taking the plunge in caring for him so much, for expressing it without wavering, for letting him feel truly wanted, for letting him see this beautiful, selfless side of hers that could see outside of herself as though he were a part of her.
He couldn't let her go overboard. As much as he loved her attention, he would never want it at the cost of herself. "Mikasa, wake up," he stirs her gently, softly whispering into her ear.
She paws at him like an annoyed cat, almost swatting his face away in her sleep. He laughs a little, and continues his stroking while calling out to her again.
"Jean…" She says out groggily, her eyes opening into slits.
They snap open when she processes his face up close, making her jump to her feet. He leans back into the bedrest, as she nearly pounces onto his chest, "Are you okay? Are you in pain?"
"I'm fine," He smiles at her through the dark, concerned at how rattled she looked. "You fell asleep here. I couldn't allow that. You should get some proper sleep too."
She stands up straight, her shoulders slumped, her mouth pulled into a sad frown. She murmurs softly, warily meeting his eyes, "But I don't want to leave. Not when you're like this."
Because she was afraid he wouldn't be there tomorrow. That was it, wasn't it?
Her pain transmits into him, as he feels her vulnerability, her irrational fear, her unadulterated care, making his chest weigh as heavily as hers must have been.
"Then," he pulls the blanket away from the other side, suggesting decisively, despite their rules, "come here."
She blinks at him, nibbling at her lip in indecision. "We agreed not to-"
"Priorities, Mikasa. I don't care," he says solemnly, looking right at her, hoping she would see that he knew that all was not okay.
Her irises flitter from the spot he opened up for her, to him, until she nods imperceptivity, almost shyly, making a move towards the other side of the bed.
"You can take that jumper of mine from the cupboard – it should be hanging right in front. There are some shorts too, if you want."
She wordlessly does as he suggested, and he closes his eyes and looks away without even being asked to, the sound of clothes rustling from where she was standing.
"You can look now," She calls out.
He follows her figure in his jumper that came up to her thighs, as he lets out a content breath. She crawls in beside him, unabashedly going under the blanket and grasping onto his uninjured arm tightly, curling into it.
He feels his heart break some more at the way she was holding onto him, her eyes shut tightly like she was trying to get rid of some unwanted images floating through her mind.
"Do you want to sleep on my chest instead?" He asks her boldly.
She looks up at him with doe eyes which have him melting. "No. I might hurt you during the night by mistake."
Her worries could not be any clearer than with that statement.
"It's just that, while I think the way that you've grabbed onto my arm is adorable, any more pressure, and I'll probably need to go in for an amputation tomorrow." She snaps her head up to him in a way that makes him realise his joke had flopped badly.
"Come up. You can lean on my good shoulder. That way you don't have to worry about crossing over by mistake," he explains soothingly instead, deciding to retire his humour for the night when his partner wasn't going to be very receptive to it.
He helps her roll onto his arm and she places her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"Is that better?"
"Yes," her breath reaches his ear, unintentionally making goosebumps prickle his flesh. "I didn't shower though, sorry."
He stares blankly at the ceiling, before letting a little chuckle escape his lips. "I haven't either. I'm glad I just about managed to put some clothes on, with your help, of course."
After a few minutes of silence when she is done settling against him, her breathing steady, tickling his neck, he decides it was better to broach the topic itching at the back of his brain. "I don't know if this is the right time to bring this up, but, you know, everything that happened to you – us - before: we may be past it. We live in times of peace – or semi-peace anyway – as hard as it may be to believe. There is more surety that what is there today, will be there tomorrow as well, unless something major happens."
"You can't know that."
"No, but we can't live in fear of an uncertainty that may not occur either."
"I just… don't do anything this reckless again," she says softly, chidingly, as though she intended it more for herself.
"I fell off a swing. I can fathom very few ways of getting injured that are stupider than that," he squeezes her shoulders lightly, hoping she would see the comedy in this situation sooner than later. He didn't want her to obsess over this incident when all she should be doing is having a nice, sound sleep together with him after so long. She deserved to feel at peace after so many years of struggle over much bigger problems.
"You were under my watch, and it still happened; you got hurt."
He tries to console her, wanting to get her out of her head, "And you weren't responsible for that. It was a tiny little accident. It happens and can happen randomly happen to-"
"You said sixty years."
"Sorry?"
She buries her head deeper into the crook of his shoulder as he stills in bewilderment. "You said we can have at least sixty years together. I won't forgive you if you do anything to jeopardise that."
"I wouldn't-"
"I wouldn't be able to take it this time."
He feels his heart drop at hearing her honest confession of vulnerability and fear articulated into words, inducing in him the very strong need to protect her through those arbitrary number of years he had carelessly suggested to her earlier in the day.
He doesn't find the right words to say to express the flurry of emotions he was feeling. Did she realise the position she had placed him at, how far she had come from when he first met her nearly five years ago on Paradis, unable to think about anything but her past?
His overwhelm makes him graze the top of her head with his lips, pressing in a kiss only when he finds her lean into his motion, a warmth spreading through his whole chest at the simple contact he hoped would convey how important she is to him.
"Same goes for me," he manages to say, feeling her relax for the first time against him, her face softening from all the creases marring it, making his own chest fill up with warmth.