Chapter 9. Your Time Is Gonna Come

Levi heard her speak as clearly as if she were sitting in the cell next to him. He froze immediately. It was unmistakably her voice, and the first sign of their connection he'd felt since the day before during the fight.

"I didn't know you read, captain."

Across the hall in the neighboring cell, a pair of amber eyes watched him curiously. "What is it?"

Levi held up a hand, listening.

Dennard remained still, stale hunk of bread held in her pale fingers as she waited to hear the sound that had grabbed his attention. When she heard nothing, she said as much, and he sent her a look. The girl reminded him of Mikasa at times—ever impatient and stubborn.

He glanced around the confines of his cell, sure that the woman herself was going to appear any moment. It had been her voice he'd heard, clear as day, and he could almost feel her presence there with him, hear her breath. It made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

There was a distinct—and by now, familiar—tug at the back of his mind.

"Dennard." The girl's head shot up at the sound of her name, and he lifted his empty tankard through the bars of his cell. "If the guard comes, throw this at me."

The waif arched a pale brow at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Don't question. I can't explain it just yet." He aimed carefully before tossing the cup across the pathway dividing their cells. The girl dropped her bread into her lap just in time to catch the incoming missile, sending him another look of confusion. She didn't argue, however. She may have been stubborn, but she was smart.

Levi retreated into the shadowed corner of his confinement, sitting on his cot and resting his elbows on his knees. Concentrate.

The tug on his mind was still there—faint, but there. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation, pushing aside any thought of how ridiculous he looked, clearing his mind. He sat there in the darkness for what felt like a good ten minutes, but nothing seemed to be changing. The pressure on the back of his skull remained.

He sighed in frustration and stood abruptly, walking back and forth across the short length of his cell. He could feel Dennard's yellow eyes on him once more.

"Where are you trying to go?"

At first he thought she was mocking him, but her face was too serious for even the driest of humor. Still, even if he had felt up to it, he wasn't sure he knew how to explain it all to her.

"A funeral," he deadpanned, resuming his walk. Dennard didn't reply, but he heard her shift and approach the bars of her cell. She was watching him closely. It was unnerving. "Stop staring," he snapped, returning to the privacy of his cot in an attempt to escape her amber orbs.

"Focus," was all she said, and he was struck yet again by how much older than her years she seemed. The kid had been through a lot for one so young, and Levi knew first hand how quickly childhood could end, but there was a knowing sageness about Dennard that was almost as unsettling as her strange eyes.

Where are you trying to go?

A good question, actually. He was reaching out into a formless space, grasping blindly at something that he wasn't sure was even there. He could sit on his head for days and focus, but that probably wouldn't change a damn thing. He needed a destination. Where are you?

A strange thing happened when he allowed himself to picture the ebony-haired woman's face, and his eyes flew open involuntarily. The pull on his mind had intensified. Encouraged, Levi tried again, this time refusing to shy away from the sensation.

The air around him had changed, no longer damp and close but cooler and much more welcoming. He leaned into the shift, relaxing into the new atmosphere, but when he opened his eyes he was dismayed to see that his surroundings hadn't changed. He was still in the cell.

"Focus."

Levi closed his eyes and tried again. The faint smell of detergent reached his nose, as well as...something else. Something familiar.

Focus.

His head was thrumming now, his ears ringing, and he very nearly lost his concentration a second time as he realized what the other scent was. Mikasa.

And he was there.

"None 'a you probably know this about Levi, but that bastard had the voice of an angel," Efran slurred, cup raised like he was preparing a toast.

He was drunk—they all were—and currently held the entire room enraptured as he recounted some of his fondest memories of Levi Ackerman.

Drinking and laughing with friends in the mess hall was a welcomed reprieve from the bleak events of the day. Funerals were never happy affairs. Even the fake ones.

Mikasa supposed that was the main reason for the very real emotion in her chest—lying to her friends. She wanted nothing more than to reveal the truth to a sobbing Sasha, or confide in Jean to ease his devastation.

She could 't even look at Eren.

Hanji had cried quite heartily at the service, and Mikasa could only assume it was for the same reasons, for her tears were not forced. Armin had stayed beside Eren the entire day, both bearing grim-stricken faces as they'd watched the empty casket of their captain disappear into the earth—the former would no doubt spend the rest of the night talking the latter out of his grief-induced rage.

The funeral itself had been nothing grand or showy. It adhered to the typical protocol of a military burial, the majority of the attendees being military themselves and all dressed in uniform. Erwin gave his eulogy, which had been a moving, eloquent speech and something Levi would have thoroughly despised.

"But Levi never sang for meee!" Hanji whined, so thoroughly in her cups that she weaved and bobbed in her seat.

"He never sang for anyone!" Efran matched her indignation with a thrust of his tankard, mead sloshing over the rim and onto the table. "Once in a lifetime opportunity, I tell ya."

There were a few at the table who voiced their disbelief at Efran's tale, but the man lapsed into yet another story about the short captain which quickly had everyone smiling and laughing again.

Mikasa realized Hanji had asked her a question and she'd missed it. "I'm sorry?"

"S'fine, I just asked if you'd had anymore of your headaches since yesterday."

A clever codeword, Mikasa thought, and she wondered just how drunk Hanji was. She shook her head, "not since yesterday."

Hanji nodded and leaned in, smiling as if she were about to tell Mikasa a private joke. She definitely wasn't as intoxicated as she let on. "Have you tried to...you know...connect?"

Mikasa sent a quick glance around the room but everyone was either too drunk or too engrossed in conversation to notice the two women conversing. "Haven't had a chance," she muttered through her teeth, raising her tankard to her lips only to find it empty.

Hanji threw her head back and guffawed heartily, startling those in her proximity including Mikasa—she hadn't known the scientist to be such a good actor. "Good one, Mikasa! You should tell jokes more often!"

Mikasa waved off a few curious spectators who requested she repeat her "joke" for them, and rose from her seat, wobbling slightly at the sudden shift. She made her excuses, claiming she'd reached her limit and needed to rest, before leaving the room.

The hall outside was dark and deserted and so much quieter. Mikasa breathed in relief.

She had, in fact, reached her limit, hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall when her vision swam. The cold stone felt nice against her skin, and she rested her burning forehead against its surface with a sigh.

The image of Levi pinned to the dirt by several Redeemers had been in her head all day, and she could see it now behind her closed eyes, his savage and bloodied face vivid in her mind.

Mikasa didn't know why the connection had severed when it did, but she certainly hadn't intended for it to. She'd promised not to leave him, and what had she done?

Mikasa groaned and pushed away from the stone, wobbling down the darkened hall and taking a swig from the bottle in her hand...when had she grabbed it? She couldn't remember taking it with her from the mess.

She didn't have a destination in mind, content to roam the silent halls alone with her thoughts. It wasn't until she reached a familiar doorway that she realized her feet had carried her to Levi's quarters. She stood there for a moment, contemplating turning around and heading back to find her own room. Curiosity tugged at her hand, however, and before she knew it she was pushing the door open.

She'd only been here a handful of times, whether to deliver papers—or even, on occasion, tea—and had received more than one tongue-lashing before his desk. The room was impeccably clean, as always, despite the thin layer of dust that had gathered in the captain's absence. Yet, it looked nearly unrecognizable in the pale glow of the moonlight that streamed through the tall windows.

Mikasa took another sip of alcohol as she roamed the room on silent feet, her skirt swishing about her as she explored. Normally she'd feel incredibly guilty about snooping, but the drink had dulled her senses and therefore her compunction.

There wasn't much in terms of personal effects aside from the teapot and matching cups on the desk, and Mikasa had to assume it was due to her captain's meticulous nature. She could only imagine how he'd react to the dust that had accumulated on his desk.

She moved away from the center of the room toward a cabinet in the corner. Mikasa had never noticed its existence before, as it was flush against the wall and facing the bed, turned away from the main focus of the room and out of sight from the doorway. Facing the cabinet, she saw that it was actually a bookcase, the shelves neatly lined with volumes and one or two odd trinkets.

"I didn't know you read, captain," she mumbled, impressed by some of the titles. He actually had quite a collection, ranging from poetry to fiction and even some philosophy. Mikasa spent a few minutes perusing the books, her finger tracing across the leather spines, the alcohol making her head thrum and the words go in and out of focus.

A particular title caught her eye, one she didn't recognize, and she placed the nearly empty bottle on one of the lower shelves so she could pry the hefty volume from its perch. It was old, and obviously well-used, the edges of its pages curled and yellowed with age. It was a collection of poems, none of them known to Mikasa, but all by the same author.

How had she never known this side of the captain? He was a private person, true, but not even Hanji or Erwin mentioned this about him. Yet, while the tall bookcase filled with tomes and stories definitely surprised her, Mikasa found it oddly fitting, and suddenly she could picture her captain sitting at his desk, drinking tea, reading one of these books.

"Lost, Ackerman?"

It was nothing short of a miracle that the book didn't go flying from Mikasa's hands as she startled. At first she thought the drink had caused her to hallucinate, but then Levi stepped beside her to take the tome from her grasp and she could feel his body heat.

Real.

He was here. She hadn't left. This time, for whatever reason, he'd come to her. She tried formulating words, a response, but all she could do was gape at him.

"It's not polite to snoop, brat." Even in the shadows she could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Embarrassment heated her cheeks, which made her annoyed. She finally found her voice. "It's not polite to sneak up on people." To her dismay, the sentence came out less coherent than she wanted, and he gave her an odd look.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No." She sounded like a little kid, and her face flushed even further.

Levi tucked the book back into its place, his eyes landing on the near-empty bottle on the shelf below. "Ah, you're a thief and a liar." He picked up the bottle, swiping a hand across the shelf where it had rested, and held it out to her. Before she could grab it, however, he yanked it away. "On second thought, you've had enough."

He turned abruptly and walked toward his desk, leaving her gawking in the shadows. She realized he didn't seem all that angry with her, which was rather surprising. His clothes were different—plain, albeit newer and clean—and he was no longer coated in blood and grime. Aside from the black bruises beneath his eyes and the cuts on his face and hands, he looked better than she'd seen him in a while.

She wanted to say this, tell him she was glad to see him safe, ask how he was doing. But all that came out was, "I didn't know you read."

Levi supposed he should be annoyed to find the brat nosing around his room, but it wasn't like he had that much to hide, anyway. And there was something mildly humorous about watching an inherently stoic woman slur her words and stumble under the influence of drink.

Still, perhaps he should make her clean the place as punishment—it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to break into a cleaning frenzy at the sight of all the dust that had piled in his absence. Disgusting. Probably a health hazard, too. Who knew what would happen next. He shuddered at the thought of mold.

He managed an eye roll. "Yes, you already said that."

Her look of shock was rewarding, the expression compounded by her lack of inhibition. It quickly turned to anger. "How long have you been lurking here just watching me?"

"Not long. And I don't lurk. I just got here. I think I'm understanding this whole connection thing better." He placed the bottle upon a drink coaster on his desk before sitting in one of the chairs. "I heard you in my head, that's what made me try coming to you this time," he added, sinking deeper into his seat with a sigh.

"You...heard me say that?"

He nodded without looking at her, eyes closed. The chair was decidedly more comfortable than the cot back in his cell. He heard the rustle of her skirt as she approached, and he opened one eye, regarding her lazily. She bristled under his gaze, clearly affronted by his indifference.

"You look...cleaner." She had a way of making the most benign comments sound like insults.

"I am." He didn't back down from her molten gaze, which narrowed even further. "How was the funeral?" he asked suddenly. The change in her expression was startling.

"You would have hated it," she mumbled, but he could see the pain in her eyes.

He cleared his throat and sat forward in his seat, suddenly regretting his behaviour. "Why were you drinking?" He kept his voice soft, his eyes down.

Mikasa sighed then, and he felt all the tension leave the room, leaving him with a sense of exhaustion. "Everybody was. It's not really an act, you know. It was difficult at the service. Even those of us who know you're alive…" She trailed off, brow scrunching in a strange way, and for a horrifying moment he thought she was going to cry.

Giving comfort had never been his area of expertise. Words in general had always flummoxed him—it was much easier to break bones or bark a command or follow orders than to offer a shoulder to cry on. "Don't worry about me. Just focus on stopping these cult freaks. You've got someone on the inside now, so use that to your advantage."

Her smirk surprised him, her brow softening as she nodded. "Yessir." She offered a sloppy imitation of a salute, not even trying, before slumping down in the chair beside him. "Why do you have so many books?"

It wasn't spoken harshly, but he still felt the prickle of insecurity. He'd never cared what people thought of him before now. "I may have been born in the Underground, Mikasa, but I'm not illiterate."

"That's not what I meant," she said hastily, her face flushing again. "I never once thought that, Heichou. I guess I never thought about it in any regard. It was just surprising, that's all. My parents loved books, and I always loved reading as a child."

It was the first time he'd heard her mention anything of her parents. Something dark and painful flickered behind her eyes, and he watched as she assembled her protective mask. Even inebriated, the girl had an astonishing hold on her emotions.

"You can borrow one." He wasn't sure why he'd said it. But he meant it. She gave him a confused look. "A book, I mean. It'll keep the shelves from getting dusty."

A faint blush rose on Mikasa's cheeks. "I'm sorry for sneaking in here, Heichou. I don't even know why I came." She fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt, avoiding his gaze. "And I couldn't possibly take—"

"If it makes you feel better, you can take a duster to the place as recompense." When she started to shake her head again he added, "twice. And a mop."

He hadn't expected her to laugh at that. But she did, head thrown back and porcelain throat exposed. It was a pleasant sound, happy, and probably amplified by the alcohol, but he didn't mind that at all.

"All right, Heichou, I accept my punishment. And I'll be very careful with your books."

"You'd better. And no late returns, brat."

She grinned and nodded adamantly, her hand playing absently at her collarbone out of habit—as if her fingers missed having the scarf there. "Gimme my drink back."

Levi squinted his eyes at her. "I think you've had more than enough if you can't remember how to address your superior officer."

She inhaled deeply, barely managing to stifle a groan. "Please?" and then, "please, captain?"

His eyes narrowed even further. "And your speech is turning to shit. You can barely talk."

This time she did groan, eyes rolling to the sky as she heaved herself to standing and reached for the bottle beside him. "That's right, you would know with all the reading you do." Her voice was low and very close to his ear as she leaned across him for the bottle. He wondered if she was doing this as a power move or if she really had lost all sense of personal space.

Prize in hand, she collapsed back into her seat, a look of triumph on her face as she took a large swig of the alcohol.

"Don't go crying to me when you shit all that out in a few hours." He noted how little was left of the drink. "I honestly hope for your sake that someone helped you with that."

"Nah, I have a very good tolerance."

"Clearly."

"Most people would be out cold by now!" She polished off the remaining liquor as if to prove a point, lifting the now empty bottle into the air like a trophy. Levi tsked before she could place it back onto his desk without a coaster. She mumbled something indiscernible—probably an insult—but resorted to holding the bottle in her lap.

Levi watched her as she fingered the fabric of her skirt, a look of consternation on her face. "What, you don't like it?" he asked, nodding his chin at her dress.

Her frown deepened as she gathered the blue material in her hand, bunching it up and letting it fall about her knees before repeating the process all over again. "There's just so much…skirt." She tossed the fabric once more before collapsing her hand into her lap, fingers starting a rhythm on the glass bottle.

"Too much?" Levi wasn't about to claim he knew what constituted too much or too little skirt. She did look rather uncomfortable in the garment, however, which he found odd—it wasn't like he'd never seen her wear dresses before.

Mikasa smirked, eyes sliding over to him. "I could hide you in this thing."

Even drunk, she was a brat. Probably worse so—an uninhibited brat. "Was that a height joke?" he monotoned.

"No, that was a skirt joke."

"The girl worth a hundred soldiers makes skirt jokes. Perhaps you should be given the title of Humanity's Drunkest, because that was just sad."

Mikasa gave an unattractive sounding snort and mumbled, "Well, you're Humanity's Wrongest."

Levi blinked at her, the corner of his left brow lifting. "...Wrongest? Can you...can you hear yourself right now?" He'd never seen her like this before. How drunk was she? "That's not even a word, brat."

"Well, it is now, Captain Wrongest."

She cracked herself up at that, doubling over into breathy little giggles. Both of Levi's eyebrows lifted then.

"You sound like an imbecile. Just stop talking." He sounded serious, but he wasn't; the sight of Mikasa Ackerman drunk off her ass and tittering like a schoolgirl was excellent fodder for extortion should he need it at a later date.

It was also just the slightest bit humorous.

"The truth hurts, huh?" Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, eyes glassy with mirth and the effects of the wine.

"Don't know what you're talking about." And he didn't, really, she wasn't making much sense at this point, but he knew his obstinance would get a rise out of her.

"Yeah, you do!" she sing-songed.

"You're drunk."

"Maybe."

"You are, don't argue." He crossed his arms and looked away as if bored. He wasn't.

"You're no fun." She mirrored him, but it only made her appear petulant.

"I thought drunks were easily entertained."

"I'm not a drunk!"

"A child, then."

She turned on him abruptly, almost falling from her chair. "I'm not a child, either."

He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. Oh, he was definitely enjoying this. "Could've fooled me."

She stood again, lording over him like a Titan, brow furrowed in consternation. "Is that how you see me?" She sounded genuinely bothered. "Do you think me juvenile, Levi?"

Something in her tone grabbed his attention—or perhaps it was the absence of his honorific. He regarded her carefully from the side. She seemed to realize she was looming and sat back in her chair with a surprising amount of control given her state.

"I think you're a brat." Not a lie. Not the truth, either.

"That's not what I asked." Mikasa's voice had lost all of its previous frivolity, her eyes like two dark stones burning into him. "I want to know what you see when you look at me."

Levi was quite sure she would never ask him these kinds of questions sober.

He looked away from her burning eyes, feeling uncomfortably warm all of a sudden as if he'd had some alcohol himself. He could continue being deliberately obtuse, but the game had lost its meaning somewhere along the way.

Before he could speak, however, Mikasa began laughing again, apparently onto a new topic. "Eren's getting married," she said, an odd grin on her face.

"What?"

"I don't think you've met her—Rubie, that is. She's really nice. Doctor's daughter from some village near Yalkell." There wasn't a trace of animosity in her voice, no bitterness. Strange.

Levi was struck by how much must have changed in his absence. Not since being trapped in a dirty cell in the Underground, but long before he and Mikasa had even ventured down there. His mission to gather intel on the Redeemers had been assigned to him a while ago, and the only time he found himself back at HQ was to brief Erwin or to gather supplies for his next outing. A clandestine life had become his reality. In the time he'd spent away, while much had changed, several things remained the same. But looking at the dark haired girl before him—no, not a girl anymore—he could see the changes in her very clearly.

Maybe it was the alcohol. "And?" he finally questioned when she didn't elaborate.

"And what?"

He paused, searching her eyes. Levi wasn't one to conserve the feelings of others, typically, but felt the need to tread very lightly in this case. "You're not...this isn't…"

"Eren and I made peace a while ago," she murmured, voice surprisingly sober, and he was glad she'd managed to understand his rambling.

A silence stretched between them. For once Levi felt the need to fill it, but he failed to find something to talk about, and continuing along the Eren topic didn't seem wise. But they'd made peace? He found he was extremely curious about what that meant, and he didn't know why. The interpersonal lives of his soldiers, the gossip of peers—it had never appealed to him.

"I'm going to get you out of there." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it still jarred him from his thoughts. She wasn't looking at him, her thumb tracing the peeling label of the bottle. "I'll do my duty, I'll follow orders, but I won't leave you down there."

She did look at him then, and Levi felt his stomach drop when he saw a glassiness in her eyes that wasn't because of the wine. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she was talking again, forcing the words out ahead of the emotion.

"You'll put duty before your own life, that's just who you are. You're strong. Probably too strong for your own good." She inhaled a rattling breath, knuckles white as she gripped the neck of the bottle. "But so am I, and I'm not going to let you...let you..."

Mikasa stood abruptly, her face turned from his. Levi couldn't remember ever seeing her like this. Angry, passionate—yes, he'd seen Mikasa Ackerman display those emotions, even toward him. But this was different. Something fragile and unexplored and therefore terrifying.

Carefully, Levi rose from his chair, afraid of making too much sound lest he break whatever spell hung in the air. Her shoulders were bunched, arms tense, and from the back it almost looked like she was angry. He wanted to say her name, but his voice was a foreign thing in his throat. He reached out his hand.

The back of his head thrummed.

She gasped when his fingers touched the skin of her wrist. Her eyes snapped to his, no longer teary but molten and unwavering, and he knew she could feel that odd buzzing.

Her flesh was hot beneath his hand, alive and burning like that presence in his skull. Her mouth parted, not to speak, but just from the sheer strangeness of the experience.

"Can you feel that?" Levi muttered, his heart beating madly against his chest. She nodded, eyes round and depthless.

He gathered her forearm into his hands, fingers clasping it until they overlapped. It struck him how such a delicate limb could do so much damage.

Her pulse throbbed against his index finger, a wild current that beat in time with his own, and he suddenly wanted to feel more of it.

"Like something's pulling," he lifted his other hand, sliding it under her hair and touching the base of her skull, fingers applying a gentle pressure, "just there."

She smelled like soap and wine and something warm, feminine. Levi wanted to pull her to him completely and breathe her in. Her wrist rotated in his grasp, her forearm pressing against his own as her fingers wrapped around it.

Her eyes had lowered to his neck, to his jaw, avoiding his gaze. She was still drunk, he reasoned, but that wasn't the reason for her flushed cheeks.

I want to know what you see when you look at me.

The buzzing became a pleasant, steady hum coursing between them, intensifying the closer he inched to her. "Look at me," he ordered, but his voice was a muted rasp, desperate rather than commanding. Mikasa's hair was thick and soft in his hand, the ebony strands parting like silk as he carded his fingers up the back of her head.

A groan stirred in her throat when he tightened his grip on the dark strands. Or had he made the sound? He couldn't tell anymore.

Look at me.

Her lashes fluttered as her onyx gaze drifted to meet his, her pupils full and dark. He could make out every detail of that scar below her eye.

Several things happened at once, all of which spiked his blood and sent a rush of something electric down his spine. First came Hanji's familiar and all too loud bellow from outside the door; Mikasa's eyes met his, and he couldn't be sure if her gasp was due to the intensity of his own gaze or from the sudden intrusion.

The last thing he heard before he disappeared was the creaking of his door and the shattering of the glass bottle as it hit the ground.

Tl;dr: Levi can now visit Mikasa, yay! Things get fluffy and tingly, and then Hanji does a major cockblock before things can get kinky, and Levi disappears.

Hanji whyyyyyy?! Goddamnit.

I thought we needed some fluff up in here, and to take their relationship to the next stage. I wanted to showcase some of the strange—and primal—emotions this connection might bring up for our couple. Hopefully this isn't moving too fast? Lemme know your thoughts...