A/N: Happy new year, everyone! I've been working on this piece for a while in the hopes of getting it out for last Christmas, but as you can see I'm a tad past deadline, and still with two chapters to go. Still, here is the first chapter, a taster for the rest to come and a promise that I am working on stories and still eager to get good content out to you. This is a request to a follow up for my oneshot Semantics, so if you haven't already read that please do so before reading this story. Hope you enjoy!

Levi angles his neck to the side and eases a crick out as he switches the ignition off with a grunt. Grabbing his briefcase with frozen fingers, he clambers out of his car and stamps with leaden feet through the snow towards his house, blinking misted breath from bleary eyes. Beneath the blinding glare of the porch light, he retrieves a key from his pocket and fumbles it into the lock, pushing all half-baked thoughts of half-finished reports and looming deadlines from his work-addled mind.

It's Christmas eve, and I've seen you more nights this week than I have my wife, he'd reminded Erwin. You can find me at my house if it's urgent, but I've just put up barbed fencing to contain all monsters.

External or domestic? Erwin had asked.

This jibe referred to the messages he'd found on returning to his desk at day-end.

Woke up early this morning but I still missed you. The sky outside is black. Like your soul. 6:20am

Didn't feel like having my usual coffee today so I had a bag of your deluxe earl grey. It really tasted like there was a Tudor-era noble brewed into it. 9:32am

After lunch I went to Davies' Gelato and the strapping man behind the counter offered me a free ice cream if I went out with him. I turned him down in the end, but just so you know it could have been a very sorbet affair. 12:39pm

Just got back from visiting Eren. 3:42pm

You'd better be striding in through the front door two minutes from now. 4:58pm

Is Erwin whipping you again? 5:26pm

I'm pretty tired even though it's still early evening, so I had your last bag of earl grey. Hope you weren't saving it for anything special. 6:18pm

Remember my childhood teddy bear on the windowsill, the one you said has an evil eye? Let's just say there was only one when you left the house at the beginning of the week, and when you come back there'll be three. 7:54pm

He makes a wide circle around the house to the bay windows overlooking the main road. Ernie the bear glares at him through them, leaning forward with the malicious intent to suck years of life out of any passerby with his one evil eye. But of his wife, not a shadow is to be seen. Surely then, he could count on the promise of hot food and a pair of soft, loving arms. He returns to the door and throws it open.

It takes all his willpower not to throw himself back out as a wave of hot air blasts his cheeks and the smell of burned food assaults his nostrils.

"I'm home." He calls out, but there is no reply. His eyes narrow as he remembers the words one Kenny Ackerman brayed at him every time he came home late from school to find no food in the fridge.

Never take things for granted, boy!

He steps into the flat and stamps the snow from his boots. The door swings closed behind him, stifling him within the epicurean bowels of hell. His brain, previously frozen numb from the cold, whirs noisily to action like an overheated hard drive. He glances quickly into the dark bedrooms and then enters the kitchen, pinching his nose in consternation when he spots the pot on the stove. It bubbles like an overworked demon, leaking entrails down the sides of the pot and onto the hob beneath.
He switches the stove off and strides towards the cupboard beneath the sink. He throws the cupboard open only to stare at the empty spot next to the neatly-folded pile of rags.

"Looking for this?" He whips around to see Mikasa leaning against the doorframe. A yellow bottle of bleach dangles from her finger by its spray-head.

"You didn't leave the stew boiling for me to find, did you?" He asks, keeping his features composed and his tone calm. Nothing irks Mikasa more than apathy, feigned or genuine.

"I was making dinner, but since you didn't come home on time I thought I'd let it stew." She replies, infusing her consonants with enough sass that the words jar his ears.

"It's nine o'clock."

"And you told me you'd be back by five. Today, and yesterday, and all week. And you didn't so much as leave a hair in the house. Didn't you get my texts?"

"I knew there was no point coming back early when I saw you had my last bag of earl grey. But it's a good thing I came home early enough that you didn't burn the whole house down. That, and to stop you from running off to Jaeger's."

Mikasa's brows knit into a fierce scowl.

"I drank all the earl grey, let the ice cream man flirt with me, and that's what you take issue with?"

"What were you there for?"

"He was feeling down because he can't go back home for Christmas and Armin's away. I went to see him and brought him some mulled wine and minced pies."

"You pamper him too much for your own good." It's Christmas, he knows, and he ought to be more charitable. Still, the words come out infused with more emotion than he intends.

"He's a childhood friend."

"So is Armin, and you don't treat him so precious."

"Are you jealous, Levi Ackerman?" She turns to face him, lips curving in wicked amusement. She has an infuriating way of deflecting his questions, of making him feel like he shouldn't be so petty and small-minded. Throughout their relationship, he has always observed in Mikasa a certain tendency to bend over backwards for Eren. But without any solid evidence to cry cheat, the only thing he can do is bite his tongue and push down the sour taste rising in his throat.

"Tch."

She leans in and kisses him suddenly, lips pressing in soft and real through the fog clouding his brain.

"There is no one but you." She says.

"But - "

"Not tonight." Her tone brooks no argument, and he is too tired to resist.

They sink into the couch and he lets his eyes drift closed. Spats aside, he'd missed coming home to this after a trying week in the office. The few days he'd made it home, he would take a quick shower and steal a quick hug as she slept. But in the peaceful period sandwiched between Christmas and New Year's, he would have ample time to make things up to her and remind her why she'd chosen to be with him till death do them part.

Eeeeeeee!

His bliss is abruptly shattered by the screeching of a loud engine and the skidding of tires on ice, followed by the distant shouts of a man and a woman. They are loud enough that he dismisses their welfare from his mind, and he leans into Mikasa.

"We've got competition." He whispers. Mikasa nips him, and her light giggles vibrating his ear. He climbs on top of her, straddling her waist. His heart quickens at the sight of her flushed face and parted lips.

The voices grow louder and the sound of a revving engine echoes through the house. He feels Mikasa's nails raking desperately through the fabric of his suit jacket and runs a hand down her side as he plants feather-light kisses along her jawline that cause her breaths to grow shallow and quick. But the distraction isn't enough; outside, the engine revs again, and the heated discussion begins anew.

He flicks his tongue against Mikasa's ear.

The man outside screams.

So does Mikasa.

"Dad!"

Levi leaps away from her in shock. His back hits Ernie and the teddy bear's soft head knocks against the large bay window. He turns, following his wife's gaze, to see a man with sandy blond hair glaring at him. The man's sharp nose and fat lips press large smudges into the glass, conjuring the image of a botched watercolour painting in a bad car accident.

"You better not be doing what I think you're doing, mister!" The man bellows, and a vein in his neck bulges.

Levi shuffles back hastily. Alas for him, observation from afar does not improve the picture.

"I thought Ernie's eye has the power to kill!" He yells to Mikasa.

"Ernie? Ernie! Honey, that's the name of Mikasa's teddy bear!" A woman who looks like an older Mikasa appears beside the man. Levi sees his future in the couple peering curiously at him through the window and is almost tempted to make the sign of the cross.

"Mom! D-Dad!" Mikasa exclaims, leaping to her feet and smoothing her dress. Her voice flattens faster than a blast-chilled soufflé. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Well it's been so long, your father and I thought we would pay you a surprise visit." Mrs. Ackerman says. "Will you let us in?"

Mikasa motions for her parents to go around the house to the front door. As soon as they disappear from view, she grabs Levi's arm.

"I don't want them here."

"Why not?" He asks, baffled by her ability to do one thing and say another. But as with all the other times before, she purses her lips and averts her gaze.

He'd always thought it strange the way Mikasa went silent whenever her parents came up in conversation. It didn't matter if it was a question about their professions, their preferences, or even their status in life and death; on any topic regarding her parents, her lips are sealed as tight as a clam. The untimely departure of his own parents had left him in the care of one Kenny Ackerman who he prefers to think of a convenient community uncle rather than a true blood relation, and so he had no parents to rejoice at his marriage. Still, he tells himself, he would have wanted them present had they been alive. Yet when he'd asked Mikasa to invite her parents while he filled out the wedding invitations, her face had drawn into a closed expression and she had fled into the next room on the pretense of preparing tea. After that reaction, he had relegated Mikasa's parents to the specific category of 'unfortunately deceased in mind, if not also in body'.

Therefore, his surprise at their sudden appearance is akin to the upset of a chef who has dropped a lobster into a pot of boiling water, only to find said lobster moments later menacing its way across the kitchen counter with wiggling feelers and clicking claws. This, added to the stress and strain of the working week, raises his ire.

"You're not going to tell me what happened, are you? Well, let me just point out that it's not reasonable to turn them away. Shiganshina is half a day's drive away, and all the hotels are probably all booked up right now."

"You're right. I'm sorry." She sighs, running a hand through her mussed hair. "We should let them stay, it's only a weekend anyway. But there's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

"They don't know we're married."

He barely registers the doorbell ringing.

"What?" He stares at her, daring her to break into abrupt laughter and tell him it's all a bad joke. But she doesn't. He curses, pulling away.

"Can't you just tell them now?"

"No. They don't even know about you."

The doorbell rings again, an insistent question mark challenging all his life choices.

"We can pretend for now." He relents. "But you have to tell them eventually."

Mikasa kisses his cheek and flashes him a smile that almost, almost, melts his heart, as the doorbell rings again with a strangled cry.

"I'll get the door before dad breaks it."

He hastens after her, not wanting to know what else Mikasa's father can break. Around her shoulder, he sees Mrs. Ackerman enter first. Under the porch light, the resemblance between the two Mrs. Ackermans is even more striking. The elder Mrs. Ackerman, however, is slightly shrunk with age, with a few additional lines around her mouth. Beneath her down jacket she wears a simple brown frock and thick stockings, and the taut bun pulled behind her dark head gives Levi the impression that not even the curliest strand would ever once, in its short, follicular lifespan, dare to disobey this owner.

"Mikasa! How grown up you look." Mrs. Ackerman says, stepping forward to embrace her daughter before pulling back to get a better look. "Though your face has grown longer and thinner. Are you eating enough? Food in the city is never as wholesome as food in the countryside…also, I noticed the water here tastes strange. I hope you have a filter…"

Mikasa manages a smile throughout her mother's fussing, but even that smile is fleeting as her father - a hulking bear of six foot eight with a frame sturdy enough to be Atlas' worthy successor - crosses the doorstep.

"Mikasa. It's been a while." Mr. Ackerman grunts.

"Yeah."

The room turns so cold that Levi is sure that the soup in the kitchen has frozen over and will soon be declared fit to skate on.

"Where did you come from?" He asks to break the frigid silence.

"Shiganshina." Mrs. Ackerman replies, picking up the conversation. "We're so sorry to intrude at this late hour. It's been a while since we saw Mikasa, and we thought it would be a nice surprise to visit her over Christmas weekend. So we looked her address up and drove over. We didn't expect the roads to be so winding and slippery though, I thought the authorities could afford to be more generous with their salt." She clears her throat, remembering herself. "I hope we're not intruding."

"Of course not."

Mr. Ackerman suddenly interrupts with a loud sniff with enough force to suck all the oxygen out of the room.

"What's that smell?"

"Scented candles." Levi improvises. "But we got a bad one."

"'Bad fish' in't the first thing I woulda chosen for a scent." Mr. Ackerman rumbles. "Smells like the time yer Uncle Roger got mad that you ate the last roast pork and let the stew boil over on purpose. Took us a full day to get the burned smell outta th'house!"

Mikasa's cheeks flush.

"An' as fer you, boy - " Levi jumps as two sausage-thick fingers pinch his arm, " - are a small catch, but yer got good muscle. Makes me think o' good ol' Bess at the summer fair!"

"Bess..?"

"Our prize-winning cow." Mr. Ackerman says proudly.

Levi crosses his arm. He deflects Mikasa's apologetic glance with a scowl, and then realises that there are only three people in the foyer instead of the expected four. At that moment, a polite cough sounds from behind him, and he whirls around to find Mrs. Ackerman behind him wearing a pair of cleaning gloves.

"The gloves from Latex Ladies are of much better quality, but I've made do with what I have. Go on then, check your kitchen out."

He checks; and to his amazement, finds the stove cleaned of all grime and the counters so shiny he almost has to wear his sunglasses.

"Dear, I still don't know your name." Mrs. Ackerman says as he tries to process her stealth in slipping past him and her unparalleled efficiency in cleaning the kitchen while her husband waxed poetic about spoiled stews and prize-winning cows.

"Levi Ackerman. I'm Mikasa's husband." He hazards, turning back to face her.

Mrs. Ackerman's thin smile falters and Mr. Ackerman's face turns puce. A millisecond later, he feels Mikasa's delicate fingers wrap around his arm.

"He's just kidding. We're dating, but we just happen to share our last name."

"But that ring on your finger…?"

"It's a promise ring. They're all the rage these days."

The vein in his temple throbs.

"Let me see." Mrs. Ackerman says. She bids Mikasa hold it up to the light, and the marquise diamond sparkles with the same breathtaking intensity it had shone with on the very day he'd bought it. They spend an eternity discussing its merits while he politely avoids eye contact with Mr. Ackerman, who wears an expression neutral enough to shame a poker player. At some point, something the elder Mrs. Ackerman says something that makes Mikasa look over at him with a shy smile. By the time she is ready to deliver her verdict, Levi is relaxed enough to start calculating how many times he could have cleaned the kitchen in the time lapsed.

"You are a looker, but with a promise ring like this you're ten times more attractive - "

"Mom!"

"- so I have high hopes of you when it comes to the wedding ring. But you must seek our consent first, you hear?" Mrs. Ackerman sniffs. Mikasa blushes a deep shade of crimson.

"Aye. It would be barbaric for ye to get married without us there. I'd tear the head off of any man who took my daughter without my blessing, even if he were the President of Mitras himself." Mr. Ackerman rumbles.

"So do I have that blessing?" Levi hazards, grimly calculating the cost of a potential second wedding ceremony.

"Well - "

Mrs. Ackerman suddenly gasps, interrupting her husband.

"Goodness, it's already late! You should get going, young man."

"Hah?"

"The roads! They're slippery, and it'll get dangerous driving back home as it gets colder tonight."

"I live here."

"I see - this is your place, not Mikasa's?" Mrs. Ackerman asks with a tight voice. "Strange how this was her listed address in the yellow pages - "

"No. We live here together." They look at him with such horror that he might as well have declared that they were planning an elopement. He dwells ruefully on the fact that in a way, they already had. Or rather, Mikasa had, and he had been taken along for the ride.

Mr. Ackerman lifts his arm, and for a moment Levi imagines his father-in-law will smack him out the window and six feet into the snow. But to his surprise, the man touches his forehead. His trembling hand shifts to his chest before moving to his left shoulder, then his right. Levi recognises the holy gesture for what it is: a declaration that he is Satan's spawn incarnate. If he wants his in-laws' blessing to be with Mikasa, he must fight to earn it.

Surely, Mikasa must confess their true relationship to her parents now. But when he looks her way, he is shocked to find her staring at the ground, spinning her 'promise ring' over her finger like an aimless weathervane.

And then it hits him. Whatever her bad history with her parents had been, Mikasa still wants their blessing as much as any other child. He thinks of her pinched face at the mention of her parents and the way she'd stalked into the next room to get the tea. In fact, he recalls, she'd ended up leaving him the rest of the afternoon to fill out the remaining wedding invitations alone. Without her parents' blessing, everything he'd done so far to make her happy - the wedding ring, the lavish ceremony, the back-breaking paperwork, everything - would mean practically nothing.

Levi crosses his arms and cranks his neck to a contortionist-grade angle to meet Mr. Ackerman squarely in the eye.

This is absurd.

This is insane.

And, as Kenny says, he should really know better than to take anything for granted.

A/N: Thanks for reading, if you like the story so far please follow, favourite, or review! 3