A/N:The third installment is in! Expect pea-soup thick plots, some low-down on Eren and poor Jean, and more tension in our favourite Ackerman household. Enjoy! :-)

Looking back, Levi knows there are a lot of things he could have said to distract, deter, or dissuade Mr. Ackerman. Unfortunately, the lack of hindsight in that moment does him a particularly terrible disservice.

"The bushes around this church are quite an attraction."

"I can see ye were enjoying them particularly." The man rumbles, summoning the memory of being stuck in a narrow alleyway, the only exit to which is blocked by a gang of burly thugs.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb." Mr. Ackerman towers over him, simulating the effect of an indefinitely prolonged solar eclipse. "Ye don't turn up all mass, and then I come out here lookin' fer ye, only tuh find ye emergin' from a bush one way and someone lookin' mighty like Eren leavin' t'other. If ye don't have a good excuse as to what ye were doin' in there, I'm gonna scoop yer eyeballs out an' feed 'em to the fish lurkin' in the frozen pond o'er there."

Relief saturates Levi's every pore at the realisation that the elder Ackerman had only arrived at the tail-end of his stressful exchange with Eren. Though in some way, he wishes he'd been there to see the entire event.

"Eren never came. I waited out here for him and came late into church. I saw you all the way in front, so I sat at the back to not disrupt the service. I left during communion."

"Ye don' care fer Jesus' body and blood?"

He remembers the thin wafer and the cloying taste of wine on his tongue, a ghost of a meal that died long before it reached his growling stomach.

"Kenny, why do people call this Jesus' body? Even the shelters give better nosh than this."

"Imagine how thin God is stretched, what with all the wretches in the world he's gotta fix up. So cut the big man some slack and go steal something else if you're still hungry."

"I was never one for metaphors." He concludes.

Mr. Ackerman's jaw clenches and he crosses his arms.

"Alright, Mr. Smart-cheeks. So ye came in late tuh church, left early, and then went tuh admire the bushes. If ye weren't with Eren, who were ye with?"

"A hobo." He waves a hand in response to Mr. Ackerman's skeptical glare. "I know it sounds stupid, but that's the truth. He pulled me into the bushes and begged for a couple of bucks. Wouldn't leave me alone until I did."

"A robber's more like it." Mr. Ackerman looks Levi up and down. "Yer shirt's scruffed up an' yer coat's gone. So's yer bib."

"It was a hobo who needed clothes and money." Even in his plight, he's desperate to save one last shred of dignity. "Winter can be harsh on the homeless."

"Aren't ye generous." Mr. Ackerman says sarcastically before leaning in once more and blotting out the sun. "Well whatever ye said, I'm committin' it to the codswallop bin. Mikasa's got a good heart, but she don't know half o' what's good fer her. I put out tuh see her happy, even if she don't agree with all I do. Yer in the orange, boy, and far from the clear. One more lick o' bad breeding an' I'll smack yer nose right out o' its socket. We clear?"

Every bone and fibre in his body wants to protest. Where is the bad breeding in being discreet during a mass, or in giving to a homeless man? Moreover, he's incensed at his being dubbed a 'boy'. He's sure that he is almost Mr. Ackerman's age in years, though he's quite sure that he precedes it in looks and surpasses it in linguistic ability.

"We clear?" Mr. Ackerman demands again.

"As day." He searches for an out and finds it in the bulge in his pocket. "Let me call Mikasa and see where she is."

It is a perfect distraction, since a part of him still worries that Jean might have reached her first. He leads Mr. Ackerman into the relatively warm reception area and dials Mikasa's number, eager to find some semblance of normalcy in her soft voice. Instead, the voice that fills his ear is strained and frayed.

"All the Buddha's beads in the world will not stop me from murdering my mum!"

"Calm down." He says, almost as much to himself as to his fuming wife. He steals a sideways glance and is relieved to see the older man storming the bathroom. "Take a deep breath."

"Don't need it, I've already worked up the nerve. If they're gone we won't need their blessing anymore, right?"

"That's one solution, but I don't think you'd be up to the cleaning afterward." He remarks dryly as she settles into a sulky silence. "I'm guessing your mother isn't with you right now."

"She's currently in the store she dragged me halfway through town to find."

"Weren't you visiting your grand-aunt?"

"Yes, but she fell asleep before the nurse could take her for her physiotherapy. Mum then decided she wanted to buy some cleaning supplies because she thinks the basement isn't tidy enough."

"That is your remit." He reminds her, the closest thing he can get to an 'I told you so' without earning himself a spot on the couch for a week. Mikasa pointedly ignores him.

"She's only here for a weekend, why has she got to buy household items on the one day when everything is closed?"

"Beats me." He itches to tell her about the events of the morning, but aspects of it must remain confidential, and there is too much to sift through in too short a time. Already, he can see the bathroom door quake in anticipation of Mr. Ackerman's opening it. For now, he would have to trust that Jean would not try to contact her. "We're heading home now. Are you joining us for lunch?"

A pause the equivalent length of an eye-blink passes.

"Lunch?"

It is little wonder that the city of Mitras, with its advanced infrastructure to the towering skyscrapers that belch the dreams and sweat of its hopeful residents, is dubbed 'the Titan city'. Even the area that Levi and Mikasa reside in, supposedly the 'suburban area' in the city architects' books, is dissected through with tram lines that expedite the commutes of sleepless workers to and from the city centre. So entrenched is the city in its aspiration to be better and above all that it is easy to forget that the belt of fertile land ringing its outskirts. This green oasis, also a part of Mitras, harbours the true heroes who toil tirelessly to produce food for those dream-starved office workers in pursuit of a better life deeper within the city's bowels.

On one of the farms on this green belt, at this time of year cloaked in a blanket of white, ensues a traditional scene of Christmas morning. A young woman dressed in a fresh frock with rolled up sleeves diligently places knives and forks upon the table as she scolds her younger brothers and sisters, who scamper around and between her legs shrieking in excitement at the presents beneath the decorated Christmas tree. In the neighbouring room, a man sips his cup of tea as he digest the morning news while his wife busies herself in the kitchen. She hums as she passes the perfectly-browned turkey on the counter to the oven, upon the opening of which she prods at the vegetables roasting inside. the Apparently pleased with the result, she bellows with a set of lungs that have benefited from a lifetime of fresh air,

"Food in fifteen!"

and, satisfied with the acknowledging cries of her children, removes her apron, washes her hands, and proceeds up the stairs to the bathroom to clean up. On her way there, she passes a room within which one of her daughters is in the process of expressing very un-Christian emotions.

"I hate him I hate him I hate him!" Sasha chants, grasping her head and shaking in frustration. "What am I going to do, Connie?"

"Don't be like that." Her companion says as he fiddles with a toy horse she used to love playing with as a child. "Your dad was just doing what he had to."

"He didn't have to kill him though!"

"If you think of 'him' as 'it', it won't be so hard."

"That's cruel, Connie!" Sasha whirls on him. "Wooster was my favourite turkey. I watched him grow up, and he used to follow me everywhere! Remember how Howie used to hide under the truck and tried to ambush scare me? One time Wooster found him. He latched onto his head and flapped his wings until he ran off screaming!"

"There's an idiot only a turkey could love." Connie guffaws.

"In fifteen minutes, I've got to sit myself down at the table and act as if I'm eating the best roast of my life." Sasha gulps. "The thought's almost enough to make me go vegan."

"Don't say that." Connie says, setting the horse down and considering her gravely. "You said that on our last road trip, but you survived."

They both shudder at the memory. When the leaves were just turning colour, Jean and Connie drove from their corners of the city to Sasha's house, and from there they drove all the way to the coast. It started out an ordinary trip like every other. Tossing a few back, putting down the rods Connie had brought up, soaking the remains of the annual sun into their heat-starved skin as the boat bobbed a soothing rhythm beneath their feet. Chatting with a camaraderie that no physical distance could dent, until the idle conversation turned to dating.

— flashback —

"How's it going with Yolanda?" Sasha nudges Connie.

"We broke up."

"Aw, no! What happened? I liked her. She was real fun, especially with that ball trick of hers!"

"Ain't much fun when you catch her playing it on someone else."

"That's terrible. Sorry to hear."

"Eh, it was no big thing really. We had fun while it lasted, but fun don't always mean going steady kind of fun. At least, if that's your idea of fun." Connie looks over at Jean, who leans over the railway staring out at the sea. "What are you acting so contemplative about?"

"Fun. That's what it always starts out as." Jean says, his voice too low to belong to the sun and the waves. "Man, you were right to cut your loose ends, before the fun stopped being fun and you realised you were too far in to get yourself out."

"What are you saying?" Connie asks, but Jean doesn't reply. Connie looks at Sasha and makes a face. They're used to his sulky moods, like the time he'd lost all his petty cash in a game of cards or the time the Trostian Roses football team lost the Paradis cup. But this time, there's something in his tone that catches Sasha's attention.

"Watch my rod. And no stealing from my fish bucket." She whispers to Connie before hauling herself out of her chair to check on Jean. He doesn't turn as she approaches and keeps his back to her. She only realises something really is wrong when she reaches for him only to be pushed back abruptly. Latching onto his arm, she feels the slight tremor in his frame, and looks around in time to catch a tear slipping down his pale cheek as he turns his head away.

"Jean! What's wrong?" She cries, startling Connie in his seat.

"Man, what - "

"Nothing. I'm just a dumbfuck." He says, hastily wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I got something in my eye is all."

"And you're shaking worse than a trapped rabbit." Sasha says. "I know I'm not the sharpest brick around, but I know a sad person when I see one."

"Sharpest knife, you dolt." Jean sniffs. Still, he refuses to meet her eyes. Sasha pauses as she tries to guess Jean's situation from his words.

"You didn't knock someone up, did you?"

"No!" Jean yells. "Like hell I'd do that to him!"

"Him?" It's their turn to stare. Jean curses. He runs an agitated hand through his hair, then turns to them with a sigh.

"Eren. I'm talking about Eren."

— end flashback —

"Ugh, did you have to remind me?" Sasha runs an agitated hand through her messy bun. "They've always been as compatible as oil and water. I still can't believe they're…they're…"

"Dating?"

"Can you even call it that?" Sasha pulls a face. "It's more like a death cycle of hooking up, breaking up, and making up. Honestly, it sounds worse than surviving on a diet of cheetos."

"Jean knows everything he needs to know, and we've told him as much. If he chooses to be a sucker, that's on him."

Sasha's mother yells again.

"Food in thirty!"

"Didn't she say that like fifteen minutes ago?"

"She probably forgot to get bread and is going to get some from the neighbours." Sasha grumbles. "Ma's so forgetful sometimes. At least it means I don't have to eat Wooster just yet. Screw pa."

Connie rubs his chin thoughtfully, and Sasha squints at him.

"You plotting something?"

"You can't bring the bird back to life, but you can get a little revenge on your pa."

"What? How?"

"Using this." He retrieves the alarm clock from Sasha's nightstand. At Sasha's gormless stare, he sighs in mock exasperation. "Do I have to explain everything to you? While your ma's out, we're gonna wind this up, sneak downstairs, and plant this inside the turkey. It's gonna go off while we're eating. Knowing how darn scared your old man is of sudden noises, he's gonna flip so fast the dog trainers'll give him a medal!"

"Are you telling me that I should put my own alarm clock inside of my dead pet turkey to scare the living daylights out of pa?"

"Well…" Connie scratches his head.

"Genius!" Sasha declares. "But wait."

Sasha rises to her feet and rushes out of the room. Moments later, she returns with a smaller alarm clock.

"Can't have pa belting me when he finds out."

"You're gonna get Aisha into trouble?"

"She should've thought twice before eating my beef jerky."

After debating for a while over the appropriate amount of time to set - twenty minutes would be too soon, but by the hour the clock would be more ornamental than prankish - they settle on a happy medium of forty-five. Sasha grumbles as she twists the stiff hands of the clock to twelve o' five.

"Bloody analogs. We ought to get one of those digitals."

"Don't get the hands mixed up." Connie snickers.

"What do you take me for?" Sasha snorts.

Once the clock is wound, the daring duo sneaks down the stairs. Connie goes down first on the pretence of getting a drink of water, and, on seeing Sasha's father thoroughly engrossed in a book and her siblings waxing devious in the living room, signals for her to follow. They enter the kitchen where the turkey awaits.

"Oh Wooster, you're gonna go out with a bang!" Sasha whispers, but even as tears blur her vision, she cannot help but admire her mother's cooking prowess. Her ability to transform beloved pets into mouth-watering meals is downright sinful.

She reaches for her late pet but retracts her hand at the last moment.

"What's wrong?" Connie asks.

"Th - There's only one way the clock can go in without anyone noticing." Sasha says, eyeing the bottom of the turkey with revulsion. Connie groans.

"This, coming from the girl who can hunt and skin rabbits without blinking an eye? C'mon Sasha!"

"No, I won't do it!" Sasha thrusts the clock into Connie's chest. "I won't violate him, even after he's dead."

"And you're okay with me doing it?" Connie stares at Sasha's back in disbelief, then clicks his tongue. "Fine I get it. Do no evil, see no evil, or whatever it is. You owe me big time. Keep a lookout."

He turns to Wooster and gulps as the gravity of his impending action looms large before him. Jaw clenched, he squeezes his eyes shut, and shoves.

"Yeowch!"

"What?" Sasha whips around.

"Hot!" Connie yanks his reddening fingers out. A shuffling noise comes from the living room as Mr. Braus snaps his book shut and gets to his feet.

"Chicken livers and pie, you're hopeless!" Sasha snaps. She glances around until she spots a pair of tongs sitting on the counter. Snatching them up, she grips the alarm clock. In a blur of motion, she pushes past Connie, feeds the device into Wooster's rear-trap, and rearranges some of the stuffing to conceal it properly. She drops the tongs like a hot potato and they leg it towards the door as Mr. Braus appears at the door.

"Oh, it's you two." Mr. Braus says, scratching his head. "I thought your mother came back."

"No." Sasha says in an unprecedented wave of brain. "She asked me to check on the vegetables while she was away."

"Good girl." The old man smiles, and Sasha almost feels bad for the nasty surprise in store for him. "Go on upstairs, she'll call you once she's back."

He retreats to the living room, and Sasha and Connie race up the stairs. As soon as they're back in the safety of their room, Connie lets out a stifled giggle.

"I can't believe we just did that!"

"I did that," Sasha corrects him. "You just stood around and squealed. If we'd been in the forest I'dve mistaken you for a wild boar and taken a potshot at you!"

"But I came up with the idea. You wouldn't be looking half so lively if I'd kept my mouth shut!"

Conversation turns to idler topics of Christmas plans and New Year's resolutions, but Sasha finds it difficult to reconcile the details of their hastily conjured plan in her mind. She snatches repeated glances at her clock. In ten minutes, her mother would come home. Everett always took a little longer to heed his mother's mealtime calls, and Fynn always took an extra five minutes to extract from some dusty corner of the house. Still, by her calculation that would leave a good ten minutes between the time everybody sat down to tuck in and the time the clock went off. Had they miscalculated still?

And the more she thinks about it, the worse it gets. Connie had barely been able to stick two fingers into Wooster, it had been so hot. What if the clock's internals melted before it went off?

Her heart sinks as she hears the sound of the heavy front door opening and slamming shut, followed by the faint sound of footsteps. Sasha tugs on Connie's sleeve, interrupting his grand plot to do a proper headstand.

"She's early! We've got to stall - "

A strangled cry sounds from the stairs below. Sasha and Connie exchange startled looks and fly down the stairs. They reach the kitchen to find Mrs. Braus with her back to them; the bag of bread lies, all but forgotten, on the floor. Mr. Braus, Aisha, and Elena come in behind them. Sasha's heart sinks.

"Ma, what's wrong?"

"The turkey - it's gone!"

"What?"

Mrs. Braus steps aside to reveal an empty spot on the counter where Wooster had reclined only moments before. Sasha's jaw falls open. She scans every face in the room, but each looks as confused as the last. Casting her mind back, she hits upon a period in her life when she'd moved into the city for work. Amidst the long hours and late nights, there never seemed to be enough. The food in her fridge just seemed to disappear. It wasn't until two months to the end of her contract that she'd come back home early and realised why there was never enough to eat.

Sasha throws her head back and laughs until tears run down her face.

Levi hopes that the serenity of sparkling white porcelain and the flushing of waste might instill a Zen mood into Mr. Ackerman, but all his hopes are dashed when the latter emerges from the bathroom, grouchy as ever. Shame, Levi thinks. Still, he would never have survived his childhood if he ever got cold feet from a death glare or five.

"I called Mikasa. We're going home for lunch." He says. Interpreting Mr. Ackerman's grunt as assent, he leads the way towards the car, grateful that it doesn't take much persuasion to get his father-in-law inside. But the time it takes for him to close the passenger door, walk around the bonnet, and get into the driver's seat is enough time for Mr. Ackerman to turn the car air stale with his foul temper.

The drive home is equally uncomfortable. Unable to move fast along the icy roads, they snail their way down narrow lanes caged in by the bones of bare trees. Levi feels the wheel grow progressively sticky beneath his palms while the hot air from the vents turns into needles pricking every inch of his skin. He clenches his jaw as he checks the rear-view mirror at one point and finds his father-in-law staring him dead in the eye in its reflection.

But perserverance always prevails, and Levi safely navigates himself and his stewing passenger back home just before noon. He searches hopefully for a sign of Mikasa. To his disappointment, he finds the driveway empty of other cars, and the house, still dark.

"They're shoppin', what do ye expect." Mr. Ackerrman grumbles as he disembarks. Levi consoles himself with the knowledge that Mikasa is a target shopper and that she could be no more than a fifteen minute drive to their house. But fifteen minutes turns into thirty, then thirty-three, then thirty-seven, then forty-one, and only at forty three minutes and thirty-five seconds does he hear the sound of an engine and the low murmur of voices outside. By this point, he has exhausted all the topics in his limited arsenal and is all but ready to suggest he cut off his own head and serve it on a platter to his hangry father-in-law.

"I'll go help them carry in the shopping." He offers, dashing for the door faster than Hange towards a microscope with a ready biospecimen. He throws the door open with the intent of interrogating Mikasa on her whereabouts, but the question flies out of his brain as a bag is thrust into his chest.

"You're just in time." Mrs. Ackerman says briskly. "I've gotten some supplies for you. You'll be especially glad that we found the rubber gloves from Latex Ladies at the store." Then she turns around and barks, "Mikasa! Clean all the things with the wet wipes we bought. You know how filthy store items are!"

With the uttered command she breezes past. Mikasa approaches, holding the car key as if it were a dagger. Levi prises her fingers off the imminent murder weapon and hands her the shopping. He is unable to contain himself in passing -

"Are you sure you're not adopted?"

- and earns himself a sullen glare that reminds him fondly of the first time he asked her out. He grabs her hand and gives it a quick squeeze, and only then does she relent and let him kiss her on the cheek before leading her in. They pass Mr. Ackerman on his way to 'freshen up'. Entering the kitchen, Levi notices a large dish with a silver cover on the table which hadn't been there before.

"What's that?"

"Lunch." Mikasa says simply. Mrs. Ackerman lifts the lid, revealing a golden-brown turkey with roast vegetables scattered on the sides. Levi blinks, pleasantly surprised by Mikasa's resourcefulness in scavenging a turkey on Christmas day.

"It's still warm from the rotisserie," Mrs. Ackerman announces, "but not for long. I'll carve this. Will you two clean and set the table?"

At Mikasa's behest, Levi opens the blinding pink packaging of the gloves Mrs. Ackerman bought and slips them on. To his surprise, the material slides over his arms and his hands reach in to fill the holes perfectly. He wiggles his fingers experimentally, marveling at the rubber's flex as he wrings water out of a dishcloth with the dexterity of a hyper-mobile surgeon.

"How are the gloves?" Mrs. Ackerman asks.

"Snug and tight." Levi admits, casting his mind back for the brand's name and deciding the context would be sufficient. "Latex is indeed superior."

"Glad ye think so, boy."

Levi jumps and turns around. Mrs. Ackerman has vanished into thin air, only to be replaced by one poker-faced Mr. Ackerman. He gestures helplessly at his hands, but his father-in-law has already turned tail and stalked off.

The table is quickly cleaned and set, and the turkey is placed onto it. Mr. Ackerman rumbles, and Levi can tell from the upturning end of the noise that it is the first sound of pleasure the old grump has made all day. Mikasa's shoulders have relaxed, and even the corners of Mrs. Ackerman's mouth look a little less pinched. Levi's stomach rumbles and he checks his watch. Two minutes to one. How he'd managed to last the entire morning without inhaling a single morsel, he has no idea. He reaches for his fork but is stopped by Mikasa's hand on his.

"Levi, why don't you serve mom and dad some turkey?"

"Of course." Levi says, suddenly struck with the notion that he has no idea how dining traditions in Mikasa's family work. He casts an analytical eye at Mrs. Ackerman. She stares ahead, but as he watches, her head dips almost imperceptibly towards her husband.

Levi understands immediately. Leaning over, he picks out the largest piece of breast for his father-in-law, but as he lifts the slice out, he notices something glinting just beneath the breastbone.

A shrill noise blares through the apartment. Levi drops the turkey in shock while Mrs. Ackerman screams.

"What is that?" Mikasa yells, covering her ears.

Another scream emitted at a perceptibly lower pitch shatters his feeble attempt to formulate a thought.

"A bomb! Mighty blazes, we'll all become!"

He jumps as something large pushes against his legs, and realises with a jolt that Mr. Ackerman, in an astounding display of efficiency and contortionism, has crawled beneath the table.

"Honey, don't be silly!" Mrs. Ackerman huffs, pulling her quaking husband to his feet with one hand while keeping the other clasped over an ear. "We'd be long dead if it were a bomb!"

Refreshed by reason, Levi listens. The sound seems to be coming from the turkey. He peers into the dissected bird and catches sight of the metallic object once more. He plunges his fork in and wiggles. Mr. Ackerman's jaw falls open as the apparent culprit emerges from the mess of meat and stuffing. A deathly silence ensues as Levi taps the clock with his fork.

"What kind o' sick prank is this?" Mr. Ackerman asks. Levi looks from Mr. Ackerman to Mrs. Ackerman to Mikasa, and finds that the last expresses no consternation or rage like the other two, but is instead engaged in a close study of the windowsill and all the dust it had never accumulated. He clears his throat.

"Mikasa, did you get the turkey from the rotisserie in Mitras North?"

He doesn't even have to look her way to know the answer. He turns to his parents-in-law and spreads his palms out before him.

"Sorry. I'm good friends with the manager of the rotisserie, and she's a practical joker. He must have given this to Mikasa without realising we were entertaining. But their roast turkey is top-notch." He glosses over Mr. Ackerman's look of sheer rage, willing himself not to cave despite the equivalent of a thousand suns melting his face. "Please sit down and enjoy the meal while I go give her a piece of my mind. Mikasa, come with me."

He waits until they are in the safety of their bedroom before he lets it rip.

"Mikasa Ackerman. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Mikasa blinks in surprise at his outburst before her eyes narrow in fury at his rude address.

"I am trying to help you!"

"Oh yeah?" He says, stepping deliberately into her private space. "You send Eren to church with me, knowing your dad hates Eren. Then for lunch you nick Braus' turkey and pass it off as rotisserie turkey. At this point I'm willing to bet both my eyeballs that your old man is foaming at the mouth for my blood. What are you trying to help exactly?"

"I didn't mean for any of it to happen!" Mikasa snaps, pushing him off. "You think I would've stolen Sasha's turkey if I'd known they put a literal timer in it?"

"Why did you even think to go there anyway? I know you thought it was fun in the past, but it's honestly immature."

"Where was that quibble when I brought home her chicken katsu curry? Or her vegetable stew? In fact, it was over her ramen noodle soup that you proposed to me!"

"Wait, you didn't make that yourself? No, stop - " he rakes an agitated hand through his hair, " - stop changing the subject. You need to say sorry to her."

"Okay, maybe I do." Mikasa concedes. "But I'm not going to say sorry about Eren. Dad did start treating him like a rabid dog while we were in middle grade but I thought that was just a phase. Did he flip when he saw Eren?"

"He didn't." Levi interrupts. "See him, I mean. Jaeger was late, and when he finally turned up after everyone else had gone inside he turned up too piss-drunk to see your old man but too incapacitated to go home alone. So I baby-sat him at the back and made him scram before the service ended."

"Why was Eren drunk?"

Levi thinks of Jean, the handcuffs, his pretend relationship with Eren. But when he tries to organise his thoughts into words, he cannot figure out a way to explain without making it sound like he is indeed cheating on his wife. The logic behind his actions no longer makes sense. Why hadn't he just leave Eren to throw up some chunky on the side of the road and then stumble home the way he'd come? The thought is like a rug pulled out beneath him, except the one doing the pulling is his own tired, food-starved brain. He turns away with a snort.

"At the rate we're going, you might as well hand me the divorce papers to sign right now."

"Don't say that!" Mikasa begs, grabbing his wrist. "I didn't do any of it on purpose, I swear!"

A high-pitched ring echoes. Levi groans -

- that infernal alarm clock -

- until he realises that Mikasa's hand has left his wrist to retrieve her mobile phone.

"Huh, it's Jean. Hey - hey, what are you doing?"

This last bit is uttered in surprise as Levi snatches her phone and presses the phone to his ear.

"Stop taking the piss or I'll tear you in half and string you up by your entrails." He growls. He doesn't wait to hear the vitriol spat back at him as he hangs up, only readies his tongue for the next excuse. "Sasha isn't the only one playing pranks today. He also called me, but now he'll stay away."

He swallows his words as the phone rings again. He cancels the call, but the phone rings again. And again. And again.

"Just let me answer it. Maybe he's actually calling for something." Mikasa reaches for her phone and glares when Levi whips the phone out of reach again.

"Maybe he didn't get the message the first time." He says, picking up the call.

"Let me talk to Mikasa." Jean hisses.

"I told you, stop harassing us."

"Stop being an overbearing fuck! I just want to ask her about gym memberships."

"Well there's nothing you can say to her that you can't say to me." Levi drawls, lurching back as Mikasa tries to swipe her phone from him again.

"You're acting paranoid."

"What?"

"Mikasa doesn't really know you're seeing Eren, does she?"

He waits too long to answer.

"She knows."

"I know what? Put him on speaker." Mikasa presses.

"Bullshit. That's why you're hoarding her phone. Well, it's just a matter of time before she finds out. Count on it."

The line goes dead, leaves Levi queasier than a fish in a barrel of vodka. He looks at Mikasa's expectant face and dreads what he must do to preserve his lie, which is rapidly turning from a delicate shade of off-white to a sooty grey.

He locks Mikasa phone and slips it into his pocket. Mikasa's eyes blaze to life like twin torches of Hell.

"What are you doing?"

"Kirstein won't stop calling until he pranks you. Well he won't. Not on my watch."

She pounces on him suddenly; he flies against the wall with a grunt. His hand shoots to his pocket to grapple her own away. He grunts again as a knee comes up against his stomach, and pounds on her shoulder in protest.

"This is to protect you!"

She stops mid-flail and stares at him. They stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync as they pause to catch their breaths. But in the uncertainty of the moment, he feels his heart slamming against his chest. He just needs her to overlook this one transgression. Just this once, so he can fix Eren, her father, everything, before she even knows any of it happened.

Mikasa leans in close and cups his cheek. Her breath tickles the shell of his ear.

"I don't want your protection. I want your trust."

He feels her hand creep down his side towards his pocket. Trust. The bedrock of a loving relationship, if the cloying drivel sometimes Mikasa watches on TV is anything to go by. Where he comes from, however, he can afford no such luxury. Already, he can hear Kenny's warning.

"Trust is only something you give when your back's against the wall and your river of luck runs drier than a land-filled flip-flop."

Yet, he considers, his situation already fills one of the two criteria. Is there still a way out of his predicament? Should he even be looking for an out, when it would be so easy to let Mikasa retrieve her phone and come clean?

There is a loud rap against the door. Mikasa starts; Levi slaps her hand away and she jumps back, giving him space to peel himself off the wall.

"If ye two don' come out soon, this turkey is gone get finished faster than a chicken coop by a skulk o' foxes!" After this revelation, Mr. Ackerman's footsteps echo back down the hall.

"Your old man sings sweet when he's well-fed." Levi remarks. He looks for a hint of a smile on Mikasa's face, but finds only grim determination set in pursed lips.

"What happened at church?"

"I already told you."

"We're married, Levi. We can tell each other anything, you know that?"

"Is that so? Then tell me what happened between you and your old man."

At this, Mikasa snarls.

"At least I'm honest about what I don't want to say." She points a finger at the phone concealed in his pocket. "But this is flat-out denial. I don't know what you did, but Jean mentioned he saw you at church after mass - "

"I don't have his eyeballs, do I?"

"I'm not asking about his, I'm asking about yours." Mikasa scoffs. "But if you don't want to say anything, then fine. There was somebody else at church with you. Someone I don't need my phone to talk to." Her mouth quirks as her father yells once more, giving them an update on the rapid progress of mission fowl demolition.

"He doesn't know squat." Levi counters, but the words sound unconvincing, even to his ears.

"Phone or no," Mikasa says, her voice tight, "I'll find out what you did."

It isn't the admission of defeat he'd hoped for, but it is a concession. Time bought with lost face and dignity, but perhaps time enough to fix everything that had gone wrong in the past day, and to keep Mikasa away from her old man until then.

He feels Mikasa's arm loop through his. Her fingers dig into his skin as she leans into him, bumping her phone up against his thigh.

"I'm starving. Let's go eat Sasha's turkey before dad finishes it all. After that…"

"After that?"

"We'll talk."