Takes place during chapter 28 of Once More, with Feeling.
Chapter 4: What She Cannot Say
"That's a pretty necklace you got there." Eyebrows quirking up, Hange indicated Nora's chest area with her chin. "I didn't know you own jewellery."
"I don't." Nora hadn't even realised she was fidgeting with the pendant again. Her left hand was clenched around the silver wings, her right holding her spoon. "Didn't," she corrected herself, putting the necklace back beneath the collar of her shirt.
"Where did you get it from?" Hange's eyes behind her glasses were a bit too bright, too sharp, too knowing.
Dammit. It was too early for this. "You know perfectly well where I got it," Nora said, a bit too focused on her breakfast. It wasn't as if eating the ever-same bowl of porridge needed much of her attention.
"A gift, then?"
"Yes."
"Did you say thank you properly?" At the expression on Nora's face, Hange's mouth twisted into a sly grin. "Oh, you sure did, huh?"
"Shut up." Her face felt hot, her thoughts involuntarily drifting back to a certain rooftop, and then to the start of this day.
Barely half an hour ago, Levi had shagged her senseless in his shower.
And now Nora was glad that, while Hange was painfully perceptive, she at least couldn't read her mind.
"I didn't know he had it in him. Giving a birthday present, like a normal person." Hange was still grinning, shaking her head. "Poor guy is in over his head."
A tray was placed to Nora's left on their table before she figured out what she could possibly answer to this. She flinched, her heart leaping in her chest.
His timing was eerie, sometimes.
Levi sat down beside her, reaching for his cup of tea. "What are you maniacs talking about?" he asked without preamble; one of his more polite ways of joining a conversation.
"You don't want to know," Nora said quickly, forestalling Hange, who had already opened her cheeky mouth.
"Ah." Scowling, he set down his cup and took his spoon, never looking up from his meal. "Forget I asked, then."
"Come on, you guys." Even though her voice was louder than necessary, Hange leaned forward conspiratorially, her russet eyes glinting. "The sex drive is an inherently animalistic, primary instinct. Completely natural. There's no reason to be ashamed—"
"Have you never heard of privacy, Shitty Glasses?" Levi interrupted.
"I have, but I find the concept utterly boring."
"You're such a child, Hange." Nora had accidentally dropped her spoon on her tray—somewhere around the term 'sex drive'—and was now mopping up the mess with her napkin, shooting a glare at her crazy, nosy, insufferable friend. With her, it was impossible to tell how much of her nagging was rooted in curiosity and how much was just out of her obvious enjoyment for teasing them.
"Not at all. There're just a few things that spark my scientific interest—"
"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to watch, or what?" Levi had finally had enough, dropping his spoon into the bowl and giving Hange his patented death glare.
"That won't be necessary. I'm not a pervert," she said with a straight face, completely unperturbed, "But I do have some questions relating to Ackerman strength and stamina—"
"I cannot believe you." Nora covered her red face with her hands. By now, she was used to a lot from her friend, but this morning really took the cake.
"Enough, four-eyes. Shut your shitty mouth or I'll shut it for you."
"Kill-joys," Hange muttered, though the corners of her mouth remained lifted.
#
Nora couldn't remember if she had ever told her mum that she loved her.
Sure, they both hadn't been exactly vocal about feelings and stuff like that. But despite that, her mum had never been cold; not like Nora was, maybe, a little bit. Almost every day, her mum had said "I love you", in a thousand different ways.
When she'd both scold her for spending the entire day with her nose in a book and tell her she was too smart for her own good. The way she felt her forehead—her cool, soothing hand sliding to her cheek—and kissed the tip of her nose whenever Nora was sick. That she always, always compared her daughter to the father she couldn't remember when she was being stubborn, or particular.
"I think it must be something hereditary," she said when Nora, barely ten years old, started to develop a worrying addiction to tea.
She supposed her mum had primarily been a physically affectionate person. It was nice and comforting and annoying all at once. Nora didn't appreciate being hugged out of nowhere, when she was busy thinking, and she absolutely despised getting her already messy hair ruffled. All the same, sometimes when that happened, her mouth would stretch into an involuntary smile just as her brows drew into a scowl. And her noisy, energetic mother would shake her head and laugh at her, unperturbed, and tell her she should be glad she was an only-child if she got irritated that easily.
Sometimes, though, the word "love" would fall, casually, as if it was nothing, as if it was the most obvious thing. Because it probably was.
When Nora was being apologetic—without actually bringing the word 'sorry' over her lips, most times—trying to make up previous behaviour with a nice gesture or a self-deprecating joke after being particularly bad-tempered or brash, for example, her mum would roll her eyes and smile, and say, half amused and half exasperated, "That's the girl I know and love." And then add, "You're lucky I'm nowhere near as good at holding grudges as you."
And when Nora had, for the first time, told her she wanted to join the Survey Corps, her mother had asked her, "How am I supposed to let my only child—the person I love most in this world—go and do the single most dangerous job there is?"
Miriam had been good at making her daughter feel guilty, and Nora couldn't blame her mum for trying whenever they argued about this subject; the one thing they had ever had serious, big fights about, especially after her mum had given her permission, if you could call it that—it wasn't like she'd had much of a choice.
They'd never been much alike, aside from sharing their shortness, their eye colour, and a propensity for straightforwardness and swearing. But they'd understood each other, helped each other out.
Her mother had been her best and only friend.
And then she'd left for the Cadet Corps only to realise, shortly before graduation, just how sick her mum had gotten, and Nora had returned, trading her dream for ten years of love and hardship, guilt and responsibilities. Ten years of watching her suffer and fade away, slowly.
That was a lot of extra time to say "I love you, mum" at least once, wasn't it? Yet, she was quite sure she never had, not with those exact words.
It had occurred to her only after her mother—or rather, the remaining husk of her—had died, and it occurred to Nora now, while she was lying wide awake in her bed, trying to spend a night on her own, for once, and not with the man she wanted with every fibre of her being. Shit, but she must have spent the last… five or maybe six consecutive nights in his room, his bed, his arms.
Their displays of affection were rather… physical, as well.
And why was she thinking of Levi, again, now, of all times? Bloody hell, he was right, wasn't he? They were deep in shit. He'd only spoken of himself, in that regard, but still.
In the darkness of her room, Nora squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of the past, the present, the future. Of love and missed chances.
Dammit. What else was left?
Sighing, she got up.
#
She hated herself a little bit for sneaking through the corridors to his office, tonight, because she was in one of her risky moods, and because she couldn't stay the fuck away, and because her pace quickened—impatient and eager and pathetic—with every step she got closer to his office.
She knocked, the familiar sense of apprehension building in her stomach. He didn't let her wait for more than a second or two.
The door opened, and then she was standing in his office, facing him, and neither of them said a word, at first. Like most nights. The talking part usually came afterwards, and even then, they generally didn't speak much before drifting off to sleep, entangled and warm and satisfied.
Unlike most nights, however, he'd already shed his shirt, greeting her with the sight of his bare chest and abs, lean and sculpted and perfect. Levi must have gotten out of the shower recently; his black hair was still damp, bangs falling into his hooded eyes, and he smelled like soap and himself, muddling up her mind. His feet were bare, and the only thing he wore were black trousers, hugging his narrow hips, the V of his lower abdominal muscles disappearing beneath the waistband, taunting her.
Nora's breathing accelerated in tune with her heartbeat, heat pooling low in her belly, thick and sweet like honey. Fuck, but she was in real trouble.
Whatever he could read from her face—and she had a pretty concrete idea what that might be—was enough for him to lean in. Their noses touched, his delectable breath—that exquisite mixture of bitter and sweet—hitting her lips.
"When did you start drinking tea?" Nora asked in one quick exhale, just before his lips came into contact with hers.
He drew back, not quite baffled at her random bout of crazy—he must be too used to it, by now—but frowning at her nonetheless. It emphasised the dark circles under his steel-grey eyes.
"Now what a weird-ass question is that again?" His crudeness did nothing to lessen the effect the low baritone of his voice had on her.
"Just curious." Her voice was a bit too high for her liking.
"Is this your idea of dirty talk, you nutcase?"
"Can't you just indulge me?" As an incentive, she gripped the edges of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She would have rather touched him, but that would have rendered her incapable of continuing the short conversation.
It was late, and she wasn't wearing a bra beneath. Levi looked; he always did. The clear lines of his angular jaw tensed. Her nipples tightened under his scrutiny, excitement throbbing in her core. Something in his heavy-lidded gaze shifted, hardened, intensified. Suddenly, his eyes didn't look so tired anymore.
"Fine, then." He stepped close, running his hands from the small of her bare back up to her shoulder blades. Goosebumps broke out all over her skin. "As soon as I could get my hands on it, I suppose. And then whenever I had the money to spare." There was this maddening, husky quality to his low voice again; as sure an indicator of his arousal as the hardness prodding at her hip, rendering it almost impossible to focus on his words. "When I was eleven, twelve, maybe." His hands glided to her breasts, fingers barely grazing her skin, brushing her nipples as if on accident. Every nerve in her body ignited.
"I see." It came out as a breathless sigh.
"Satisfied?" His voice had dropped to a growl. His lips lowered to her neck, nipping and caressing as softly as the touch of his hands was on her breasts, driving her out of her mind.
"Not quite…" That was the last thing Nora managed to say for a while.
She leaned into him, into his touch, the hot and heavy contact like a dam breaking. In response, Levi groaned, letting go of every bit of restraint; but not of her, pressed against him, her skin burning under his soft-and-rough palms.
And she, in turn, let go of the past, the present, and the future, until all that remained was… this.
