This site has been having significant problems lately, and there are rumours going around.

I don't think anything will happen, but in case it goes down, I want you to know that you can find this fic on AO3 (archiveofourown dot org) as well. Same username. The site is well maintained, and people can read, Kudos, and comment as guests, too, similar to here.

Chapter 30: Fearless Are Those Who Have Nothing to Live for

The moment Levi opened his eyes the next morning, he knew something was off.

Nora was awake before him, and the moment he stirred, she got out of bed, muttering something about tea. She must have been waiting while he slept, barely moving, unwilling to disturb him. If she moved, he woke up, as a hard rule. That happened rarely, though, seeing as he was the worse insomniac, so he had told her that he didn't care. Repeatedly. But for some reason, she wouldn't budge, even if she had to use the goddamn toilet. The nut had always been strangely fixated on his sleep.

She left without so much as a single glance at him. He had taken a good look at her, though.

The purplish bags under her eyes spoke for themselves.

He breathed a sigh out of his nose, dragging his hand over his face. Not exactly surprising. Not after the speech he'd given her yesterday.

The whole prickly affair had been unplanned. Now as well as for the unforeseeable future—because that was the only future they had. He'd never seen the point of saying something that was so fucking obvious, already. Also, actively thinking about that shit too deeply and too often was a major pain in the ass. Made everything worse, made it harder to think clearly through the dense haze of fear that rose with it from the depths of his shitty mind, and do what needed to be done. It was bad enough that he knew and had known for a long time, and was on some level aware of it every second of every damned day.

Nevertheless, with the way their discussion went, what he'd said had been his exact unfortunate thought process at that moment, and she had asked. Her own damn fault. What had she been expecting?

He couldn't blame his brain, considering what she'd said, the look on her face when she had made clear exactly why she hung on to that necklace; the brat had called him "daft", but she'd once said to him that she was done with sentimentality, and her behaviour had never indicated anything to the contrary. So why not think it sensible to replace the beat-up necklace with a new version? She'd still have one, after all, and basically the same.

Sentimental or not, Nora's expression had been so entirely her: irritation hiding the insecurity and vulnerability and so much more beneath. Even from herself—he knew her well enough. Sometimes he wondered if she was any better at hiding from herself than at hiding from him, because she sure sucked at the latter. When she looked at him like that, with that so much lighting up her usually guarded eyes, he always found himself somewhat more inclined to talk, and it always led to either him starting a far too entertaining fight with her or spouting useless, pathetic shit, or—most often—both at the same time. And sometimes, he ended up fucking her, which was the ideal outcome.

Well, yesterday it had been the tried and tested fighting-and-being-pathetic combination. But maybe it was a good thing that now, there was an even lesser chance she could misinterpret what this was to him. What she was to him.

That woman, that hell of a woman who would be the end of him the moment it was the end of her. So brilliant and so fucking clueless.

Well, not any longer. No regrets here.

Turned out, some of Hange's bullshit had some merit. And maybe it had been nagging him in some back corner of his brain, and he'd rather deal with that crap for his peace of mind.

All in all, Nora's reaction had been considerably better than expected. Far more than he deserved, and all he needed.

He didn't say things because he expected something in return. That was a shitty thing to do, and it wasn't how this worked. In general, he said what needed to be said or what he wanted to say, and because he meant it. Simple as that.

And if she said something, she meant it, too. Therefore, he already had everything, really.

Because he was her favourite person.

Not a day went by without him thinking of it. Shit, what a lunatic she was. So fucked up.

He hadn't said anything back, mainly because he had been too stunned to speak, at first. Fucking shell-shocked, just to be perfectly honest with himself. Terrified of what such a simple sentence could do to him, physically and mentally, dredging up those thoughts and words and fears he'd rather keep at a safe-ish distance. Less than semi-successfully, clearly.

But there was also the fact that saying it back would have been insufficient.

It wasn't like he was particularly close to—well, people in general. Most of them. Therefore, declaring her his favourite person—out of everyone he had ever known and would ever know—struck him as rather pointless.

Given the evidence, he was decently sure Nora would come back with tea any minute instead of hiding somewhere. He had told her not to freak out—nothing had changed, after all—so if she did, he'd go get her and give her hell.

It might not come to that, but he suspected it'd take a few days until she behaved normally around him, again, and not awkward as fuck.

Rubbing his eyes, Levi sat up, then threw a glance at the clock on the bedside table and almost did a double take.

He had slept nearly seven hours straight. He couldn't remember the last time this had happened. Must have been a good twenty years ago.

Not a coincidence, most likely. Whenever he saw any relevance in it, he preferred things out in the open, to know what's what and let others know what's what. He might not have seen the relevance there, and might not have meant to, but telling her off for turning his life on its head and telling her had been, to his surprise, weirdly cathartic. Done and dealt with, she didn't cut and run, now moving on.

Superb timing, though, considering what lay before them. Maybe that had played into it. Clearly, he liked torturing himself. While Nora didn't.

Marley had a shitload of guns. She had a head. And no way to transform in that building. Only outside, and only if absolutely necessary; revealing that they had the Colossal might rob them of the vital element of surprise along the line, so it was an emergency plan. It could be over in the blink of an eye, even for her.

His chest iced up, and his mouth went drier than it had already been from sleeping.

He'd try, of course. He'd try with everything he had, put his all into this mission as he always did, and maybe it would be enough. He got up, pushing it all back where it belonged. Brooding didn't help shit. Instead, it was a sure-fire way to ruin his day.

Nora decided to show her face exactly when he came back from the bathroom, buttoning up the trousers he'd thrown on. She set down the tray on the bedside table: the kettle, one of his cups, and a normal one. She never used his because she didn't want to break them, and besides, she could "hold a sodding cup like a sane person". To which he had congratulated her for doing at least one thing normally.

She was still avoiding his gaze, even as she handed him his cup. His patience was already waning, and it wasn't even seven o'clock, yet.

Fuck this.

"Took you long enough," he said, perching on the edge of the mattress. "I was wondering if I'd have to follow you to the kitchen and drag your ass back here."

A rosy colour gathered in her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed at him, meeting his for maybe two seconds, before dropping to his bare torso, before skittering somewhere to the side. She pursed her lips. "Others would just say thank you, you know." Tea in hand, she settled in the armchair he barely used anymore, legs crossed.

"Thank you, brat," he said flatly, taking his cup.

Nora rolled her eyes at him. "Very convincing." But some of the stiffness in her face and posture loosened, and she leaned back in the chair, staring at the brew he was holding between his fingers. It was a definite improvement.

She stayed like this for several minutes of their usual early-morning silence, uncharacteristically still, expression thoughtful. Then, unexpectedly, she said, "Is there an actual reason you're holding your teacup in this bizarre way, or are you just that weird? I think I never asked."

Levi suppressed a sigh. Only she would waste her breath by asking him such an irrelevant question. Why was she even interested?

I want to know everything about you, she had said long ago. Not an explanation, but a fact, at least. It was something he had never heard before, and never after. He hadn't taken it that literally, though.

He took a sip, shrugged. "Old habit."

"Yeah, clearly. But why?"

"It's a boring story."

"Try me."

He scowled at her, and she held his gaze, unperturbed, openly curious. No longer afraid of making eye contact with him. Maybe that was why he explained, "Back in the Underground, when I was fifteen or so, I saved up and purchased some expensive tea and a good cup. Or so I thought. The first time I used it—full to the brim—the handle broke and the cup shattered on the ground. Tea spilt everywhere. Such a shitty, expensive mess, and I didn't even get to taste a single drop. I developed some trust issues regarding handles after that. By the time I joined the Survey Corps, I'd long since gotten used to it."

She blinked at him, twice—and burst into hearty laughter. He couldn't decide if he wanted to strangle her or just listen to the sound and watch.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped, chortling. "I'm not laughing at you. Mostly. It's just so sad it's funny. Like, with everything you had going on… it's adding insult to injury." She calmed down, wiping at the corners of her eyes. "Oh dear. You sure are chock-full of childhood trauma."

Childhood trauma. Was that it? He wouldn't know. He had never known anything else. He had seen some shit, because there was a lot of shit out there. That was how he'd put it. Nothing special, in this world; he was in good company. And he was still here, wasn't he? All extremities still attached, both eyes functioning, every organ in place, so it could have been much worse.

At any rate, with Nora's past, it was no surprise that she saw the joke behind the unfortunate accident. It was funny, he supposed. Life had a shit sense of humour, but one they'd learnt to appreciate. Made for better entertainment during wars and the likes. Their day-to-day life, in other words.

"Don't be dramatic," he told her. "It was just tea." And yet, he acutely remembered the frustration, the disappointment, never mind that it had been almost twenty years.

"Well, I know I would be traumatised, as well." She grinned.

Maybe this day wouldn't be awkward, after all. And maybe, neither would the following ten be.

Either way, he wouldn't let them go to waste, not in any aspect. They had work to do, after all.

###

It was no good when Sasha had to walk over the port during lunchtime. And the delicious smells of seafood and herbs wafting over from the small restaurant weren't even the problem. Once, it hadn't been much more than a food stand. Now, the restaurant had a sheltered area, but many of the tables were still outdoors.

All in all, it was hard to remain unseen, walking by.

Maybe he was in Shiganshina, currently—or Trost or Mitras—and not here. Just like the majority of the Scouts, he was always moving back and forth between the places, depending on where the work was. Judging by the smell, she wasn't all too hopeful, though. Also, so shortly before the mission, the entire Survey Corps was down here at the harbour, as well as ambassadors from Hizuru who were visiting.

Sasha hurried past with brisk, long strides, head ducked, eyes planted firmly on the ground, as she'd become accustomed. She could neither bear his spoilt-meat-look nor his complete disregard of her existence, as if she were less than air. Whichever it was on a given day. She knew she should probably take it, the full force of it, because she deserved all of Niccolo's contempt and more, deserved to see what she had done and be reminded over and over.

But she was too much of a wimp. Whenever she did look, a sharp pain tore through her chest, and then it would hurt for the remainder of the day. Her stomach would feel hollow, but not in a way that made her want to fill it with food.

"I heard you are—are you—are you going again? On a mission?"

The sound of Niccolo's voice stopped her dead in her tracks. Her heart skipped several beats, then picked up double its usual pace. She had chosen not to pass the restaurant by the kitchen, and yet here he was, at the back of the building, hands pocketed in his trousers. Not inside cooking, or with the guests. Only metres from her.

"I—uh." Sasha couldn't process what he'd said; she hadn't heard his voice in forever. And he was looking at her, and not with seething hatred, for once. Instead, his handsome face was a tense, stony mask, those warm amber eyes so unfathomably cold. Which wasn't much better. But he was looking. He was talking to her.

Dammit, Sasha, say something!

She forced herself to shut her gaping mouth, swallowed, and managed to say, "Yeah." It sounded a little scratchy, and squeaky. Screaky.

"Is it going to be very dangerous?"

Sasha deflated. So that was why he had stopped her, what he wanted to hear. Big ouch. That pang would last for more than a day. But he'd get his answer; it was only fair to give him some sort of compensation.

"Probably…" She fastened her eyes on her hands. She'd buried the fingernails of one in the palm of the other. "I mean, I'm only supposed to provide covering fire from the airship, but we can't say how—" She stopped her rambling right there; she probably wasn't supposed to tell him that. Maybe she liked to suffer, or she needed to know for sure, or maybe she just wanted him to talk to her some more, even if he'd never be nice to her again. Whatever the case, she looked at him and asked, "You're sure glad to hear this, right? You must hope we don't make it back." Something like a tiny, choked laugh tumbled out of her mouth.

Niccolo avoided her gaze, glaring at his feet. A blond lock of his perfect, wavy hair fell into his forehead, in that way that made Sasha's fingers twitch. Still. Even though her fingers had lost every right to twitch.

"I wish I could." His voice was very quiet, basically inaudible. But she heard.

And couldn't believe it. It made no sense.

"But... but you hate me." Her voice—screaky, again—wobbled at the word.

The look on his face did nothing to contradict her. Her heart broke again. She hadn't known it could break again.

"Just go, Sasha." His voice was shaking, too, with anger and hurt and something else, she had no idea what. But it sounded like nothing good. "Get your job done, whatever it is, then come back, and I'll keep hating you."

And he turned on his heel and walked away from her.

Again.

###

It was one of those days. Even the sun was moody, unable to decide if it wanted to shine or not. Clouds drifted by, fast enough that one could follow them with their eyes, temporarily depriving them of the light as they did so. As if they, too, were in a hurry. Light, dark, light, dark, switching each time Nora's eyes started to get used to it.

One would think that with everything going on, such a trifle wouldn't bug her as much as it did. But it drove her bonkers. Maybe it was exactly because of everything that was going on. Stress didn't do her tolerance for… anything, really, any favours.

"Oh, I know that look." Hange had sneaked up on her, making Nora start a little. She hadn't expected that her ever-busy commander, too, would make a small detour to the pier after training. Hange bowed her head, peering at Nora's face. "It's your pre-mission jitters, right?"

Yes, let's talk about it and make it worse. "Brilliant observation. Really hard to guess, with the mission being only two days away."

Hange nodded thoughtfully, still in observation mode. "Yeah, they always make you particularly moody." It wasn't until Nora started to fidget under her scrutiny that Hange asked, "You aren't afraid for yourself, am I right?"

Nora shook her head, watching the waves break against the concrete beneath her feet. The ocean had no clear rhythm, today, and its irregularity heightened her awareness of her palpitating, equally chaotic heart, just as the speeding clouds heightened her awareness of the ruthless passage of time.

"What is it like, for you?" asked Hange. "Being with him?"

Nora looked up sharply, shock bolting through her. But the question wasn't as random as it seemed. Hange knew her well.

"Loaded question," Nora said, because even if she wanted to answer, she had no idea where to start.

"I'm just wondering. What's going on in that noggin of yours?" Smiling, Hange tapped Nora's forehead with her knuckles, causing it to crease in indignation. "I mean, you two are like magnets, yet pretty much all you do in public is squabble, and you barely ever lose a word about him."

For her peace of mind, Nora decided to skip over the 'magnets' part and came right to the point. "Why would I? In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter."

"Isn't that what best friends do?"

"Are you guilt-tripping me just to satisfy your curiosity?"

"Is it working?" Grinning, Hange merely shrugged when Nora made a face. "I care. Sue me."

She considered not answering, just walking away. But it was Hange, whom she had trusted with so much over the years—even with some stuff concerning Levi—and never regretted it.

Hange's gaze was open and expectant, reminding Nora so much of who her friend had been a year or two ago. The past weeks, though still stressed—wired but tired—Hange had been doing a little better, no doubt about it. She seemed less lost. Her spirit was back. If the reason was their conversation when they'd made up or the fact that they had a plan, were finally taking action, Nora couldn't say. Maybe a combination of both, and she desperately hoped the mission's outcome wouldn't ruin it all. If she even got to see it.

It was pretty hard to refuse Hange anything, Nora had learnt long ago. But what to tell her? How to articulate even a small portion of the havoc Levi had caused?

Nora inhaled deeply, kicking some rubble into the water with the soles of her boots. "Often, it's like… there is no need for words; one shared glance, and it's like… I dunno, like looking in a mirror that reflects my inside." Ugh. Well done, brain. She wrinkled her nose and shuddered a little.

After a small pause that she needed to recover, she realised; the gist of it was so much easier to describe. It was a frightening truth that was always with her.

"I feel more like myself when I'm with him than I do on my own."

Hange was quiet for several seconds, her gaze filled with something similar to wonder. "That's beautiful."

"Beautiful?" Nora echoed, grimacing. "Nothing about it is beautiful right now; it's sappy and terrible and it will never go away."

"No, it won't," Hange said calmly, dead sure. "It's good that you know."

I'm so in love with you it makes me sick. As always when Nora thought of it—which had been pretty much on an hourly basis ever since it had happened—her pulse spiked, her stomach doing several somersaults.

I get it, Levi. You know I do.

"You know, I think he'd like hearing that," Hange said lightly.

"What? Are we still talking about Levi?" The shudder that went through Nora this time was violent as she imagined his reaction. In a way, this was worse than that simple, straightforward truth he had stated. Too detailed, too deep-rooted, too much.

Too final.

There's no need to say anything.

"No way am I ever gonna repeat that slush. I don't want to make him sick." Sicker than he already was. "Besides, he knows me inside out, so where's the point?"

Eye twinkling, Hange gave her an indulgent smile and an equally indulgent, infuriating pat on the head. "Two peas in a pod."

Nora ducked out of reach, glaring. "Stop saying that."

#

The sun had just touched the horizon, bathing the busy harbour in a soft, orange glow.

If she hadn't seen it arrive ten days ago, Nora wouldn't have believed that the thing could fly. The airship stood majestically on the grassy plane by the port, an object of collective wonder and fascination. Waiting to take them to a place they didn't want to go to; now that they were about to board it, the grey monstrosity looming before her was nothing but intimidating. Wood logs held by thick ropes were attached along the gondola's bottom—stretching beneath each entrance—for the anchors of their gear, allowing for a swift mid-air retreat. Even that simple yet effective modification wasn't enough to give Nora a sense of security, of control.

Their comrades behind—most had just come to watch them depart—filled the air with excited chatter, definitely still big on the fascination. Connie and Sasha, however, seemed to be torn between the general consensus and Nora's sentiment. They were shifting on their feet, watching and waiting while the last preparations were made.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Connie said, gawking at the airship.

Nora couldn't, either, and it was basically her demented idea.

"Fly in that gigantic box, you mean? Without crashing?" The pitch of Sasha's voice climbed a little with each word, her golden-brown eyes exceptionally round.

"That, too. But also… It's so weird, doing this sort of thing without Jean, Armin, and Mikasa." Connie looked around, searching for them in the small crowd that had gathered. They'd already said their goodbyes earlier.

"And Eren," Sasha said—regretting it quickly, judging by her wince.

The name seemed to hurt all three of them. At least they were depressed now instead of nervous. No, wait—Nora was perfectly capable of both at the same time.

"Well, he did contribute," she deadpanned.

To her surprise, Connie gave her a small, lopsided grin. "That's true. We'll have to thank him once we meet him again and the captain's kicked his ass."

Nora followed his gaze to the man in question; he stood further ahead near the ship with Hange and Onyankopon, arms folded, watching while the two were talking to some mechanics.

Eight people were part of this mission. Hange, half of the Special Ops squad, their comrades Varis and Rob—and Onyankopon. He was able to steer the airship and had proven to be an invaluable ally worthy of their trust. Or so Nora and Hange thought. They didn't really have any other options, so trust it was.

With Varis and Rob, it was easier. Nora glanced over her shoulder, where they stood surrounded by comrades, yet sticking out because of their black uniforms. As far as she had gathered, they weren't close to Floch—and therefore, more likely to follow Hange's and Levi's commands to a T. In training during the past fortnight, they had worked well together with the Special Ops squad. Both of them were rather quiet, nice blokes. Uncomplicated and capable.

And therein lay her problem.

Rob was tall, lanky, and dark-haired. Varis was stockier and blond, with a strong chin. Out of the two of them, he was the talkative one.

And they distinctly reminded Nora of Bertolt and Reiner. The two young men to whom she had dealt the finishing blow. Or bite, depending.

It was just a her-issue, though. None of her squad mates had noticed anything.

Those damned dreams; they were the reason her brain fixated on these superficial parallels. Not a week went by without her being in Bertolt's head at least once, and therefore with the people closest to him.

Well, she could deal with that small coincidence, a little blast from the past—just not hers, mainly—but if she ever stumbled across an Annie-double Scout, she'd need something stronger than tea.

Levi had turned and was approaching them, and Nora straightened, abruptly catapulted back into the reality of what was about to happen.

He studied each of them with dead-tired, heavy-lidded eyes, the unsettling effect heightened by his all-black outfit.

Neither Nora nor he had slept all that well for several nights in a row. They hadn't talked about it, though. There had been nothing to say to make it better.

"C'mon, you guys." His voice was utterly blank, even to her schooled ear. "Let's board that damned thing."

#

Nora barely felt the movement of the airship. A far cry from a rocking boat. She only perceived a slight vibration below her feet and a faint hum all around her as they drew closer and closer to what might very well be their last mission.

She had the distinct feeling this visit would be her least favourite, so far, and that was saying something.

On the bench across from Nora, her comrades were talking, trying to distract themselves. Nora glanced at the only person with which this tactic could work for her. Slouching against the wall near them, Levi seemed carved out of stone, the sharpness of his features standing out more than usual. His jaw was set, his gaze focused and as cold as she felt inside. Somehow, he still managed to look mildly bored. He was barely looking at anyone, and least of all her. It did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves, yet it probably was for the better; the longer she stared at him, the more her resolve wavered. Which she very much couldn't afford right now.

The world was so much bigger than they could have imagined, and still he was Humanity's Strongest.

Which, per definition, meant that he was also human. And humans were far from invincible.

A cutting ache split her gut. Her chest constricted.

Shit. Pull yourself together. Think of literally anything else.

Levi noticed her looking then, forehead creasing as he took in her tense expression—which she only now became aware of; she was gritting her teeth hard enough her jaw hurt.

Unhurried, unobtrusive, he crossed the few metres distance between them, and once he settled next to her on the bench, said under his breath, "We're gonna do this. You're gonna do this." It was more a command than a positive assertion; his quiet voice was stern, leaving no room for objections.

She still had one, though. Equally quiet, she pointed out, "Easy for you to say. You never make mistakes."

"You kidding? I'm living with my biggest one," he said flatly.

And he wouldn't, had he not made The Decision. Instead, he'd have a trusted friend and comrade here, a brilliant strategist who was also not big on making mistakes, just like Levi. Nora went another degree colder inside. "You have a point." She fixed her ponytail that didn't need fixing for the umpteenth time since boarding the airship, gaze fastened on her knees.

Only silence came from the man beside her; there was nothing left to say. A mistake made on purpose was still a mistake.

But when she chanced a sidelong glance at him, he was studying her face intently, frowning—and the next moment, realisation flashed in his eyes and he did speak. "No, stupid." He elbowed her in the side, lightly only by Ackerman standards. "You should damn well know that's not what I meant."

Which left only one possibility as to what he was telling her, and it was like a stab to her fluttering heart.

His biggest mistake was falling in love with her.

Again, she could see—and very much feel—his point. That they both considered it worth it didn't change that. Nora looked down herself, all black and geared up, and her boots, planted on the floor inside a sodding airship.

Yep, still worth it.

But she couldn't bear thinking about this any longer. She needed to function, she needed to be able to focus. It was the same godawful struggle each and every time. Somehow, Levi was always the reason she stayed sane while simultaneously making it worse. Which of those won out over the other was abundantly clear, however, and had been from her very first mission.

"This might sound strange," Nora whispered, "but the waiting before is the worst part."

He nodded. "It's easier when you can actually do something, being right in that crucial moment that takes all your focus, instead of uselessly obsessing over what lies ahead."

There was nothing left to add. Of course, he'd get it. "Yeah, exactly," she said softly.

"On a brighter note," he said, not even a little bit brightly, "you don't have any Thunder Spears. Ideal conditions."

With all of Marley's shifters far away in the Mid East, they wouldn't need them. What they needed was guns, mainly. In Levi's case, it was blades, because with his speed, they'd do him more favours in close quarters when facing multiple enemies at once. Ergo, he was the only one wearing the classic ODM gear instead of the Anti-Personnel variant. Didn't keep him from also having a gun with him, though. Naturally, he was wearing his cloak, and the sense of familiarity the sight provided Nora was more than welcome.

She rewarded him with the irritated look he seemed to be after. "I'll be hearing that one until the day I die, won't I?"

His face went exceptionally still, shutting away what little he'd let out. "Probably."

And with that, both of them became soldiers again.

AN: "All extremities still attached, both eyes functioning, ..."

Hah.

This chapter was a real fucking BITCH, btw. The last editing round took me a whole fucking day, until I was sick of my writing. That's part of the process, I guess.

Anyway. I'm afraid and excited about what's next.