Just in case someone might need it, there are trigger warnings about mentioned mental health stuff in the Author's Notes at the end. I feel like canon threw worse things at us, but it's something kind of specific, and better be safe than sorry.

Chapter 14: Not the Worst Thing

From up here, the people scurrying about the narrow streets of the town reminded him of ants on their anthill; each following some purpose that no one of them ever stopped to question. Mindless slaves for whom free will was but an illusion. Their busy existence ultimately amounting to nothing, because a boy was about to destroy their life's labour—the only world they had ever known—with one shove of his foot.

It had always been bound to happen. So what difference did it make that that boy was him? Who hadn't poked a stick into an anthill as a child, watching the chaos unfold, unaffected by the unravelling, inconsequential existence of the tiny beings at their feet?

And what if the ants got what they deserved? What if there was a good reason?

He watched, rightfully detached, as a commotion broke out, as the little devils down there screamed, or ran, or froze and pointed at the giant towering over their Wall, the giant who was about to make destiny run its course. And he did what he was meant to do, what he had to do, and kicked the gate in.

For mother and father and Annie and Reiner.

The gate gave like cardboard.

And at that precise moment, out of nowhere—as the screaming grew louder, shriller—it occurred to him that he might not be that boy, after all.

Why had he thought he was a boy?

No, he was a she-devil, a woman deeper inside that anthill, and she was currently spoon-feeding soup to her bedridden mother, wiping off the mess spilling from her lips, dripping down her chin after every bite. In a matter of hours, word from the Garrison would arrive, ordering her to defend the Wall of Trost.

But as of now, she was unaware that the edges of her small world were crumbling, and she was fervently wishing something would happen to put an end to this painful existence, anything, please, because what kind of life was this for either of them, and she hated that she had to do this, and she hated that she thought like this. But when someone you loved was dying, no matter if slowly or quickly, you couldn't help but watch, sharing their agony, and keep fighting for them to the very end.

A sorrow shared is a sorrow doubled.

And if you were both lucky and unlucky, part of you would survive the ordeal and come out scarred; the damage invisible, but irrevocable. Forever changed.

Because the pain did not end for those that lived on.

Her mother's arm gave a sudden, violent jerk. The bowl flew out of Nora's hands, shattering into pieces on the floor. Vegetable soup everywhere. Another mess to mop up, another Tuesday. Her eyes burned, and she felt like crying, but that would be rather counterproductive, wouldn't it? If everything around her was breaking, she couldn't, and somehow, she sensed that a lot more than dishes was currently being destroyed. Trampled. Devoured. She had seen to it, hadn't she? Still, she had to change her mum's sodden sheets, clean the floor, clear away the shards without cutting herself—

Shit, she really, really shouldn't cut herself.

Panic overwhelmed her at the mere thought, wherever it came from, squeezing her insides. Her vision had gone blurry, and everything was too hot; her face, everything inside her, the blood trickling from her nose, leaving a metallic taste on her lips. Her ribcage felt too small for her hammering heart, constricting her lungs. She was trapped inside her own skin. The walls were closing in on her, she could see it.

And just as she thought she might die or scream or transform or everything at once, a voice called out to her. Called her name, over and over, and she paused, and listened even as hot tears were streaming down her cheeks, because that voice was the sole reason she still wanted things, wanted to keep going despite the pain—

"Nora." The room started shaking. "Dammit, will you wake up." Her surroundings went black. A sudden, stinging sensation on her cheek. "Nora."

Her eyes flew open. Levi was hovering above her, blocking out some of the light in the dimly lit bedroom, his hands digging into her shoulders.

"I'm awake," she croaked. He backed away as she slowly sat up beneath tangled sheets, blinking, chest heaving.

It had been a nightmare; just another nightmare, with memories from two lives meshed together for good measure and maximum effect; and this here, Levi sitting across from her in bed, was reality, was the present. Here, he existed. Fuck, was she glad he existed.

He was watching her with tired eyes, his lips a thin line. Her breathing calmed a little, and she noticed she was shivering in cold sweat, to the point she had to actively keep her teeth from chattering, and her face felt very wet—shit, she must have been crying—and her right cheek burned.

Nora wiped at her face with both hands; too little, too late, he'd probably seen more than she wanted to know. Then, she felt her tender cheek with her fingertips.

Something clicked. "Did you slap me?" she asked, mildly curious.

A crease appeared between his brows. "Didn't have much of a choice." His voice sounded a bit different than usual, slightly rougher. "You just wouldn't wake up, despite me talking and shaking the ever-living shit out of you."

She grimaced. Just as she'd suspected. "Thanks, I guess."

He didn't react, only kept watching her with that tense, almost wary expression; as though he expected her to go titan on him. Keeping his distance even as they were sitting on the same bed, not touching her anywhere.

She desperately wished he would take her in his arms and hold her. Just like a child seeking comfort after a scary dream. Pathetic. It was only a dream. As if he wasn't doing enough already, putting up with her bothersome sleeping habits and waking her whenever it was evident that she was sleeping, but not resting. Nora wrapped the blanket tighter around her freezing frame.

She would have asked Levi if she had woken him up—except he was wearing shirt and trousers. Which meant he'd probably been sitting at the desk in the adjacent office.

"Yours or Bertolt's?" he asked after a minute or two of silence.

"Both," she muttered. She drew her knees to her chest, folding her arms around her legs.

Of all the dreams she'd had, this wasn't one of the worst in terms of what she had seen or what had happened, not by a long shot. But how it had felt… The nightmare had swallowed her whole. She had lost any grasp on reality, any sense of her true identity, and there had been nothing left but the painful existence of whoever she had been at the given moment, and the awful things she—and he—had lived through. The past had become the present, and nothing that was really real and good had existed any longer.

"I think that must have been one of the most… immersive I've had, so far." Nora had intended to make it sound like nothing more than a passing mention, but her wobbly voice ruined the effect.

"No shit," Levi said. "You were sobbing your brains out. I could hear you through the goddamned door."

"Ugh. This is mortifying." She covered her flushing face with her hands. That was what she got from being with him all the fucking time; Levi always saw her at her worst. The strongest, toughest bastard there was, who'd had it much worse than—well, everyone else she knew. One of these days, he really ought to get tired of her shenanigans, and in the literal sense, as well; who'd want to lie next to a tossing and turning mess?

She could only be thankful that the crying wasn't a regular occurrence.

"Sorry for being such a piece of work in my sleep," she said, annoyed with herself, her voice muffled by her palms. Yet another thing out of her control.

"Tsk. Don't be ridiculous. You're always a piece of work." And now he did touch her, his fingers closing around her wrists, wrenching them from her face. He let go once her hands relaxed in his grasp; she withstood the strong urge to reach out for his retreating hand, instead using the impulse to fold her legs into a cross-legged seat beneath the blanket, not unlike how he was sitting across from her. Holding hands—especially in a non-sexual context—wasn't something they usually did. Yes, she might want to, every now and then, but they were them and he was him and she figured that wasn't his thing—not that she'd ever asked. She was being clingy enough as it was.

Levi's eyes travelled from her hands in her lap—clasping the blanket until her knuckles turned white—back to her face. His mouth opened, closed. Opened, again. "If it's something worth talking about, I can get Hange."

"It was just Bertolt bashing in the Wall to Shiganshina and some random shit from back when my mother was already quite ill," Nora said, faster and with more force than intended. Like ripping off a plaster. No need to dwell on unnecessary, sappy detail. Then, she frowned, unable to make sense of his strange suggestion. "Besides, why would we wake Hange for that?" After all, he was already here to listen. Even for something important, letting Hange know in the morning would have been soon enough.

Levi's gaze skittered sideways, brows drawing into a scowl. "Because, I assumed you'd rather discuss this with someone who isn't responsible for your shit situation in the first place."

For a few seconds, Nora was stunned into silence.

She'd had no idea he still thought about it this way; as something he had done to her, first and foremost, something she should blame him for. Never mind that she'd be dead, otherwise. This hadn't come up in over a year; instead, all that she'd been getting from him on the subject was the occasional snide remark about her little Thunder Spear stunt. Which was irritating, yes, but also fair enough. So, she'd thought the matter was settled ever since they had… resumed their relationship after talking through what had happened at the Battle. She'd thought they were agreed on whose fault it was.

Apparently, she had underestimated his stubbornness. And that was saying something.

If there was one person she blamed more than herself, it was Bertolt, for obvious reasons. Not that she didn't also understand where he had been coming from, and far better than she had ever wished to. Which didn't change a bloody thing about her perspective. Either way, she had—unwittingly, at the time—paid him back more than plenty.

Was that why Levi would barely touch her, right now? Was he, perhaps, still waiting for her to… ever change her mind about him? When she had made her view on the subject crystal clear, back then?

"Now you're being ridiculous," she told him.

The muscles of his jaw tightened. He did not answer immediately.

"What I did to you was fucked up." His voice was level, but he still wouldn't look at her. "Or rather, it's fucked up because of what we are outside of comrades in arms. Because of why I did it."

Her stomach roiled, and she couldn't tell if it was because of this profound why, or the sheer unfairness of it all, or simply exasperation at his pigheadedness. But she knew she had no shits left to give. It wouldn't change a thing.

"Yeah, it is. You're fucked up, I am fucked up, our world is fucked up." Nora waved it off with an impatient flick of her hand. "It fits." When his expression remained unchanged—hardened and closed off, rejecting all emotion—she said what she had known ever since after he'd made her a shifter. "Had our roles been reversed, I would have done exactly the same, without hesitation."

Something sharp flashed in his stony eyes, slipping through the fine cracks in his armour. He searched her face, and whatever he found there kept him from denying her statement outright, at least. "Maybe, but—"

"No bloody maybe about it—"

"But that's just it. 'Would have' means jack shit. It's not reality." And now, the callous façade dropped altogether and he glared daggers at her. "What did happen is you blew up your own ass, I gave you the injection, I let Erwin die. And I already told you once, so you know I won't ever regret it."

By the Walls, he could be so fucking frustrating. Nora did not even try to rein in her flaring temper; her voice was raised when she answered. "And I won't, either, so will you finally stop expecting me to change my mind every time I transform or have some stupid nightmare?"

"No, you moron," he replied, equally as heated, yet dangerously quiet. "Look at what it did to you today; basically knocking you out for the rest of this shitty day, and then you can't even catch a goddamn break in your sleep. And if that still isn't enough, look further ahead. You think what you've been through with your powers so far sucks?" He leaned closer, pinning her in place with his narrow-eyed, calculating gaze. "Let's just see how you'll feel once you're forced to use it in battle. That's gonna cost a lot more than one civilian's life, and you didn't take that incident all too well."

He couldn't truly think she was ignorant of what was to come, could he? Yes, his reminder made her feel sick, shaken as she still was from the awfully vivid nightmare, but if he thought he could repel her with his very own, very deliberate cruel honesty, he was sorely mistaken. Before Nora could even think about her actions, the fiery sensation in her gut had her draw nearer as well, her hand coming up to his chest, bunching the grey fabric of his shirt in her fist.

"And that'll surely be just the thing that finally makes me see my errors and change how I feel about you, no doubt." The words spilt out of their own accord, ringing with conviction behind the biting sarcasm. "Now who's the moron?" And she let go of him with a shove, nowhere near forceful enough to move him even an inch. "Let me be perfectly clear about this; if I had to blow up the whole sodding continent, I'd still want to be with you. It's really that simple. Just get that into your thick head."

He was still glaring, meeting her outburst with nothing but silence—probably neither appreciating the 'moron' nor the 'thick head'. But something in his expression had changed nonetheless, making his eyes shine like polished steel, heating up the air between them; and that was what made her process what she'd said.

Once again, she felt warmth creep up from deep in her chest all the way to her face, as it happened far too often in his presence. It pissed her off immensely, and that she couldn't do anything about it pissed her off even more. There was no way he didn't notice pretty much each time; Nora was perfectly aware of how even the slightest trace of red stood out against her pale skin.

But she wouldn't take back what she had just said. She would never take back a single thing she said to him.

At last, it was Levi who drew back, directing his scowl—barely lukewarm, all of a sudden—at a random point somewhere to the right of her knee.

"Are you going back to sleep, or what?" Even his voice had lost its heat, but for once, it sounded neither blank nor steady; it was as shaky as she felt inside.

Nora cleared her throat, trying her very best to answer as though the last minute hadn't happened. "Definitely not. How late is it, even?"

"Almost four."

She took a close look at his eyes, the subtle, fine wrinkles all around, the not-so-subtle dark circles beneath. "How long have you been awake?"

"A while."

That must have been one of his two-hour naps, then. Really, you couldn't call it anything more than a nap. The one advantage his severe sleeping disturbances had over hers was that he seemed to lack the opportunities to dream.

Without any explanation or so much as a glance, Levi rose from the bed, heading towards the office.

"Where are you going?" she asked, an unintended sharpness in her tone.

"Relax, brat," he said without looking back. "I'm just getting us some tea."

#

The tea was steaming in her hands, the fresh aroma comforting. As always, it tasted best when Levi made it. Slowly, Nora started to feel like a human again, the residual coldness and exhaustion from this too long day and this too long night subsiding.

But just like their little argument earlier, it wasn't quite enough to chase away the images and memories lingering in the back of her head, not enough to make the pain and the sadness and the resulting pressure in her chest go away. And when she looked at him, staring into his tea with contemplative eyes, she knew what she needed, what she longed for, and she grew increasingly twitchy while they finished their tea, and even once the cups were empty and put aside on the bedside table, Nora couldn't seem to stop her stupid eyes from fixating on his stupid, nice hands.

This was ridiculous. The man knew her inside and out, had probably touched every square inch of her body. They slept in the same bed, which they were currently sitting on, facing each other, and they were alone, and if she wanted to touch him, to hold his hand just because, she would hold his damned hand, and if it bothered him he'd just have to do something about it.

What difference did it make, with everything she'd already said to him tonight?

Fed up with herself, she reached out, her fingers closing around the hand he'd been resting on his knee. When she pulled it onto her lap, his palm facing upwards, she wasn't met with any resistance whatsoever. A good sign, she supposed. All she got from him was a just audible, prolonged exhalation out of his nose.

She kept her gaze averted, firmly attached to their hands. She cradled his in both of hers, tracing the lines and contours of his palm with her thumbs. Learning him intimately, as familiar as he already was. His hand was warmer than hers, as usual. The skin there was smooth—except for the callouses from countless hours of sword fighting. She could feel them sometimes when he touched her; on the pads of his fingers, and right below along the upmost stretch of his palm, and another two on his thumb; one at the base, one at the inner side just above the knuckle. Sturdy, raised, small bumps, slightly rough. Hinting at what he was, who he was. It had been a while since their last real battle, but the marks of all those years of fighting would probably never vanish.

She touched them all, felt the distinct difference next to the soft, unblemished skin. His callouses were different than hers, she noticed for the first time. More pronounced, sure, but also a bit different in their placement. Must be due to the unique way he wielded his swords; the way he flipped the handle in one of his hands, basically holding it backwards, so he could perform his deadly spin attacks, moving so fast it was hard to follow what was happening. That unmatched technique only he could pull off. Every time Nora saw him fight, terror and anticipation wrecked her nerves, all the muscles in her body so tense she sometimes forgot to breathe until it was over. Even so, she had to admit it was a marvel to watch him in combat.

Somewhere in the past minutes, her pulse had settled into an easy and steady rhythm, and a pleasant warmth had spread in her middle. He had been so utterly still—not even the faintest twitch in his fingers—she had completely forgotten to check for his reaction. Gathering her courage, she looked up, finding attentive, heavy-lidded silver eyes fastened on her face.

Heat flooded her cheeks. When he opened his mouth with that intake of air that always preceded words, she was sure he'd comment on her strange behaviour. Instead, he asked, "What was it like, before you joined the Survey Corps? Living with your mother?"

Her embarrassment was instantly forgotten. Her very brief recap of her nightmare must have been what prompted the question. She found herself at a loss of what to say, what to even think. It was so exceedingly rare that they talked about things that lay in the distant past, and even rarer that Levi asked her.

Most things that she knew about him, he had told her because she had asked; probably more to indulge her than anything else, though he'd never admit it. He'd probably just say that he wouldn't answer if he didn't want to.

And yet, he rarely returned the questionable favour. She could count the times he had inquired about her life before the Survey Corps on one hand. But when she did mention the time before they'd met, he would listen, calm and focused. She suspected he was being considerate rather than disinterested; he knew she enjoyed talking about this even less than meetings with the Assembly.

The second half of her dream flashed through her mind again, stabbed at her. It was exactly like that, she thought. Not always, but… At the end, at least. And that end lasted too long.

His hand was still in hers. By now, they were the same temperature. Her fingers had stopped moving, however, and now his hand shifted and closed around one of hers, enveloping it easily.

Nora focused on their hands when she answered. "I suppose my life was good." She gave a little shrug, well aware her words lacked conviction. "I mean, up until she died, my mum was all I had, really. That, and a nice little home, and a job that provided enough income and bored me out of my mind."

Shit, but she must sound like such a spoiled brat right now, complaining about her privilege to him, of all people. But what was she supposed to do? He had asked, and she wasn't about to lie. She glanced up at him in mild alarm, but found nothing in his expression that indicated judgement or indignation or—anything, really. He wasn't even frowning; just watching and waiting and listening; calm and focused, again.

So she continued, "I wasn't free to do what I really wanted, but it was alright… until it wasn't." Suddenly, she wasn't feeling so much like a spoiled brat anymore, and saying the finishing sentence of her answer cost her quite an effort. "Those last few years in Ehrmich were a real bitch, to be honest."

That pretty much covered his question, from the bearable start to the unbearable end.

And she thought that was all he could possibly want to know without getting bored and they'd spend the rest of their early morning in comfortable silence—but then Levi asked, right to the marrow, "What happened to her?"

The look she gave him must be nothing short of bewildered; two decidedly personal questions about her past in a single day, and one after the other at that.

He knew no more than the gist of it, something she'd told him when they'd known each other for no more than six weeks—the first time he'd asked her anything personal for no other reason than that he wanted to know. That her mum got sick while Nora had been in the Cadet Corps. That she gave up on joining the Scouts in favour of the Garrison, so that she could stay in Ehrmich and tend to the person who had raised her, now that her mother was the one who needed someone to take care of her.

That this had been her life for ten whole years.

Aside from that, he didn't know a whole lot more about her past—which might be even less than she knew about his. Because, again, she asked more often than he did, and he usually gave her at least a brief answer, sometimes a little more.

Maybe that was what prompted her to speak despite knowing that it would hurt, or that the warm, comforting pressure of Levi's hand around hers increased, or a combination of both.

"It started slow. Little things, like dropping a bowl, a tremor in her hand, muscle cramps. When I graduated from the Cadet Corps, I realised how bad it had gotten. She hadn't told me; I think she didn't want me to worry. But hell, she couldn't hide how fucking relieved she was when I told her I wouldn't join the Survey Corps, after all. I guess I can't blame a mother for not wanting her only daughter to die before her. So, that worked out nicely." Her voice was as hollow as the sardonic grin tugging at her lips. "Anyway, the doctors said it was a… a neurodegenerative disease, but they didn't even have a name for it. They couldn't do shit.

"After a while, my mother needed a cane, then a wheelchair. Then, she couldn't eat anymore on her own, or even use the bloody toilet, and then it started to—it started to destroy her mind." It all spilt out of her, the truth about that considerable part of her life, all that was taking up space in the darkest corners of her brain and would forever remain there, even though there'd never be a need to verbalise it.

Aside from now, because the one who had asked was Levi. He had set off an avalanche, and now that she'd started, she couldn't seem to stop without seeing this all the way through. She couldn't give him anything else but the whole, ugly, unadorned truth.

"At that point, I just wanted it all to end," she confessed, speaking quieter than before. "I didn't even care how. Sometimes, while on duty, I'd be standing on the brink of the Wall, fantasising about… well, falling. Which is kind of funny, in hindsight, seeing as I was wearing ODM gear." Indeed, the corners of her mouth quirked up again. Not the worst thing she'd ever found amusing, she supposed. Levi's hand had tightened around hers, but she couldn't make herself meet his eyes right now. "I wasn't gonna do it, obviously. Just… entertaining the thought. After all, I had to look after my mum, who barely recognised me anymore." At this point, her vocal cords failed her.

The first quiet second, it really sank in what she'd just said out loud. All that she'd revealed to him, tonight. Her stomach made a panicked flip.

How on earth did he always get her to do this sort of thing?

Incredulous, Nora shook her head at herself, searching his inscrutable expression; he looked a little paler than usual. "Shit, but I've never told anyone this. You probably think I'm a total wuss now, right?" And rightfully so, considering she'd lived in privilege while he'd spent his days fighting to survive in the Underground, only to proceed to fight for humanity as soon as he got out of there. Yes, she'd lost her mother, so what; he had lost his as a ten-year-old, starving child.

For the first time since she'd started talking, Levi's sharp brows knitted together into a frown. "No, dumbass. I think exactly the same as before: that you're the kind of person who can't help but fight for what she values, no matter how shit it gets." He paused, his features hardening, then added, "Even if it destroys her, in the end."

"I could say the same about you," she replied, and it hurt in her chest.

"How else did you think we ended up here?" The dry amusement in his voice and expression was short-lived, and before she could wonder what exactly his 'here' encompassed, his grey eyes narrowed at her. "That said, if I ever catch you thinking about giving up, I'll kick your ass."

Nora smiled her first real and honest smile of this night. "I believe you."

As if she could ever stop fighting with him by her side. That was really the last thing he had to worry about.

So, not for the first time, she told him the obvious. "Joining the Survey Corps saved me. You saved me."

His gaze softened, the sudden warmth to it almost as surprising and inconceivable and precious as it had been the first time she had got to see it. "No, brat. You did that yourself."

"Agree to disagree."

He did not argue. Instead, he grew serious again like he always did, contemplating her in that way that never failed to make her antsy, impossible as it was to tell what he might be thinking.

But he didn't make her wait long.

"And when she died?" he asked.

Nora let out a long, steadying breath, focusing on the warmth of the here and now, pushing the oppressive cold of her memories to the background. "I did what any sensible person would do; I tore apart my mother's room, including that blasted wheelchair. Then I went to Pyxis and resigned." She shrugged, continuing in the same nonchalant manner; it was so much easier that way. "For the first time ever, I was free to do with my life whatever the fuck I wanted. No one left who cared about me, no one left to care for. And I honestly thought, great, everything's got a lot less complicated and I can just do my own thing, do what I've always wanted to do, and just… not deal with this, never give that much of a shit ever again until I die." And now she gave him a wry look. "Well, that didn't exactly go as planned."

Levi matched the reproach in her tone exactly as he answered. "I didn't sign up for this, either."

And—without giving her any chance to brace herself—he lifted her hand in his and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles.

Her breath caught, her heart skipping a beat—or two—before picking up a doubled pace, fluttering like a bird in a cage.

Nora could still feel the touch of his lips on her hand when she finally managed to whisper, "But it's not the worst thing, right?"

His severe gaze, locked with hers, turned pensive in a strange, unusual way that she couldn't quite pin down. He answered only after several seconds.

"No. It really isn't."

And because there was nothing she could rely on more than on his honesty, Levi added, "Not yet."

TW: Mentions of past caregiver depression, suicidal ideation, terminal illness.

AN: This was a really challenging one. I hope this turned out okay, that it wasn't tedious, that I managed to evoke a few somethings.

I just think this is important going forth, not only for their relationship but also to get a deeper understanding of Nora's character. Though I find it mildly amusing that it needed over 220k words and even a sequel to finally get details on that part of her life. That's just her. And Levi, I suppose, since he had to ask.

I think this is far less about who she is than it is about the why; I hope I'm not too far off when I say we know her really well, by now, and even the why was already touched at with what we (okay, you) knew about her past before.

Overall, I feel this was the right time for it to come up - for several reasons - and no sooner.