Chapter 11. Ramble On

He recognized the voices drifting in through the window. They belonged to the same MP outfit that had been loitering around this side of the city for the past week now. Four men, usually drunk. Always mean.

There was a fifth voice he did not recognize, however, and the words were too quiet to make out. Some poor fucker was on the receiving end of a soldier's boredom.

The blacksmith's son kept his eyes on his work, tuning out the argument happening just around the side of the shop. These blades needed to be sharpened by tonight. He couldn't afford any distraction.

The sound of a fist, a grunt.

Well, shit. There went his afternoon.

He removed his leather apron and draped it over the whetstone. He really shouldn't get involved— he was too old for the belt at this point, but he didn't think the old man would be too happy about him causing trouble. But they were so close to the shop…

"Hold 'im down, Carter. Imma knock this rat's teeth in," one of the soldiers said.

Another blow. A chorus of laughter from the MPs.

Indeed, it was the same four he'd seen around. It was almost comical the way their heads snapped up to take in his presence. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was big—only sixteen and already built like a man.

"You're scaring the customers," he said, and he knew he sounded like his father. The thought both pleased and irritated him.

A ruddy-faced man, probably the leader, stepped forward, his expression all haughty arrogance. "Customers?" He turned to his companions in a theatrical display of bewilderment. "I don't see any customers! Are they, perhaps, invisible?"

More laughter.

The young blacksmith could feel his temper rising, but he tempered his tongue. The leader sobered, his face morphing into an ugly sneer as he sauntered forward, halting when he was nearly nose to nose with the young man.

"Pick your battles, boy. Don't choose ones you can't win." His breath was stale, fanning over the young man's face like a putrid furnace blast.

"Alright, I won't."

The ruddy man went down easily with an elbow to the gut and another to the back of the head. The remaining three soldiers just stood there, momentarily stunned by the quick disposal of their leader.

He spotted the owner of the fifth voice—a boy, no younger than himself, yet different in almost every way. He was short and compact, made for bursts of speed; dark-haired where the blacksmith's boy was fair. His nose was busted, bleeding freely, but his steel eyes held no pain or distress. Only rage.

He could fight, too.

The remaining three men had barely recovered from their surprise when the boy was up off the ground and attacking. He was like a cat, quick and crouching.

The two of them together quickly overwhelmed the remaining MPs, and the soldiers were finally forced to gather their fallen comrade and flee.

"You're gonna get in trouble for this," the boy spoke after they'd recovered their breath. His voice wasn't what he'd expected—rather deep and careful for someone so young.

"Aye, probably." He could only smile. "But they were scaring my invisible customers."

The boy cracked the barest smirk—an odd expression on his face, as if he hadn't done it a while and had therefore forgotten how. They shook hands.

"Name's Levi."

"Efran."

"Why do you have so many tattoos?"

Efran couldn't help but chuckle. Out of the four special-grade cadets he was helping Mikasa train, Anthony Kraus was by far his favorite. The boy always asked questions.

While he may have found this fact endearing, he knew it got on Ackerman's last nerve. The woman was already in a mood, and each little inquiry from the blond boy seemed to be pecking at her resolve.

Efran had successfully managed to steer Anthony's line of questioning away from the irritable lieutenant and toward himself, but that didn't seem to make much of a difference. At this point, it seemed she couldn't even look at him.

"Does he ever shut up? Can't he use context instead of jabbering all the time?" She groaned while the four trainees were busy running 3DMG drills.

"He actually reminds me of myself at that age," Efran replied, not even attempting to hide his amusement.

Mikasa looked between him and the fair-haired cadet, utterly bewildered. "There's no way...and here I thought you came out already bald and inked."

Efran bellowed with laughter, earning some confused glances from the recruits. "Well, I was bald."

She crossed her arms, unamused, continuing to glare at her students. They caught sight of her watching them and hastened to resume their training.

"He's beginning to rub off on you, I think." He watched her profile closely.

She scoffed as she observed Kraus fumbling with the straps of his gear. "I'm this close to making him run laps."

"I meant Levi."

Her head snapped to look at him, dark eyes ablaze with indignation. She managed not to fumble too much, yet she couldn't hide the flush on her cheeks. "I am nothing like him."

She fled then, calling the recruits to her and having them assemble on the sparring mat. Efran had to demonstrate the moves, as she was still injured, and he could tell her lack of mobility only piqued her further.

But these were only subsidiary aggravators, he knew—Anthony Kraus, her injuries, these weren't the main source of her frustration.

Of course she could see the logic in Levi's plan. Mikasa was as intelligent as she was fiery. Perhaps it was the method in which he'd gone about executing it that she took exception to. It was her pride that was injured, after all, not her feelings.

A woman like Mikasa Ackerman did not take kindly to being used, even if she could clearly see it was for the greater good. To deceive her was to lose her trust, and that was a very dangerous place to be indeed.

Erwin Smith had called yet another meeting last night, this time with both Hanji and Armin Arlert present, and Mikasa had relayed the information she'd gathered from her visit with Levi.

This Rikard fellow, the devil who'd rigged the bomb that day in the cave, was a cunning bastard. Efran could admire a well-executed shakedown or ploy, even if it wasn't in his favor, and Rikard clearly thought the game was in his.

And there lay the cleverness behind Levi's strategy; a trick up the sleeve, a game of Three-card Monte. Because as soon as Rikard figured things out it would be too late.

Levi had always been clever, Efran never doubted it, but this level of strategy was a side of his friend he'd never seen before. It spoke to Levi's relationship with Commander Smith, as well, that he'd trust in the man's intuition to assemble the pieces of the plan and execute it.

"Lieutenant Ackerman?" Kraus had actually raised his hand, and Efran could see the look of annoyance on Mikasa's face deepen.

"What."

The question turned out to be a fairly legitimate one, at least in Efran's book. But Mikasa's brow had reached a dangerous crease level, so he stepped in before blood could be spilled, suggesting that they call it a day and resume tomorrow morning. Mikasa muttered a bland "thanks" to him before disappearing somewhere.

"This isn't like her." Hanji said later that evening over dinner. She was absently playing with her soup, ladling the broth with her spoon and tipping it back into the bowl, brow furrowed as she repeated the process over and over. "I mean, she's always been quick to fire, but I can't imagine why she'd take this so personally. It's not like her to be this immature."

Efran couldn't help but chuckle. "Perhaps it's not the plan that has her upset."

Hanji looked momentarily confused, but the wheels were turning in her head. A smile began to dawn on her face. "Volatile, indeed."

They ate in silence then, periodically chuckling to themselves, which eventually caught the attention of Armin as he sat down beside Hanji.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

This seemed to break whatever resolve Hanji had maintained up until that point, and the woman threw her head back and howled with laughter. Arlert looked between her and Efran, face a mixture of confusion and mild alarm.

"It's alright, lad," Efran chortled. "I was just telling Hanji more about Levi's stunning singing abilities."

The scientist nearly fell off her chair, clutching her stomach as tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. Armin shook his head and focused on his own meal, not even bothering to figure out the situation.

"Armin, have you seen Mikasa recently?" Hanji finally wheezed after her laughter had subsided, dabbing at her eyes.

The young man nodded, swallowing his food before saying, "I saw her a few minutes ago. I think she was headed to the sparring room. She seemed to be in a mood."

"Yeah, she was like that this morning, too." Efran added, kicking Hanji under the table when the woman began to chuckle again.

"Should I...go check on her?" Armin asked, glancing between the two of them.

Efran shook his head, placing his napkin next to his now empty bowl. "No need." He rose from the table, tray in hand. "I'll go. Make sure she isn't training too aggressively with that arm of hers." He bid them both goodnight and left to dispose of his dishes.

Sure enough, there was a faint glow of lantern light emanating from underneath the door of the training room. Efran didn't really know what he was going to say, and was partly worried about overstepping and aggravating her further. He most likely would let her do the talking and only provide an ear—

He halted in the middle of the corridor, ears straining. Mikasa's voice was faint, barely discernible over the chorusing keen of crickets and other night creatures that emanated from the open windows, but it sounded like she was talking to someone inside. She sounded angry.

"Forgive my interruption," he began, slowly opening the wooden door. "I just wanted to…"

Mikasa was standing in the middle of one of the padded mats, her eyes widening with surprise. Efran paused in the entranceway and scanned the space. She was alone.

"Uh…I can come back…" he muttered.

Mikasa huffed and swiped her hand through the air in a bizarre manner, as if she were brushing away a gnat. "No, no, sorry, I was…"

Realization hit him then like a slap in the face, and Efran suddenly wished Hanji were there to witness the moment. "Oh, no, please," he said with a smile. "I just wanted to check on you. I'm turning in for the night."

Mikasa seemed to relax some, but still fidgeted uncomfortably—tucking and untucking her hair from behind her ears and messing with the wrapping of her splint. "Oh. Well, thank you. I'll be better tomorrow," she said, the cheeriness of her voice not matching her expression.

Efran smiled and made to leave. "Goodnight, then." He paused halfway out the door before adding, "goodnight, Levi."

Dennard's cell was still empty. He didn't know exactly how much time had passed, how long he'd been sitting on this pathetic excuse for a bed just staring at the bars. Several hours at least. Most likely dark by now. Not that he could know for sure. He thought about the cave, about Dennard's face when she'd witnessed the patch of blue on the ceiling.

You could have bargained for a bath.

He smirked despite himself. When had she become so bold? No, the brat had always been that way. When had she become so comfortable? Somewhere along the road, Mikasa had stopped speaking to him as her captain and more like…something else. He didn't know.

And he didn't care. Which, he found, surprised him more than anything.

Perhaps it was spending time in someone else's head for so long that blurred the lines. His mind had always been a carefully constructed stronghold, fortified throughout the years to let nobody in and nothing out. Impenetrable.

And she'd kicked the front door down like it was nothing and made herself comfortable.

If he hadn't been afforded the same opportunity, the chance to peer inside the fortress that was Mikasa Ackerman, he would have long ago lost his nerve. This is what it meant to be insane; a parasite in his head, a nuisance he couldn't see or control. And maybe he had thought her such at one point even before this whole bond started. Gloomy brat.

Levi had never felt so simultaneously exposed and trapped. His mind was constricting, closing in like the walls of this cell, and yet he couldn't hide a damn thing anymore. He had no doubt she would see it all, every last little imperfection and bit of darkness and filth, and she wouldn't hesitate to strike him down. She could very well kill him.

So, really, it had been no small miracle that he'd been able to hide this bargain from her.

"Tell me what I need to know about Mikasa Ackerman."

And he did. In exchange for avoiding the fight ring and time out of the cell for both him and Dennard, Levi told him about Mikasa Ackerman. Rather, he told Rikard how to get close to her, all the while sneaking small glances at the woman in question, watching her face. He'd become familiar enough with her features to read the subtle changes of emotion, and her reaction to the scene went about how he thought it would—disbelief, confusion, and finally, a dawning realization before her face went impossibly blank.

He could play the part of two-faced dog rather well, he found. It made it easier to do when that's what people expected of you. Rikard himself had expressed slight dubiety over his willingness to hand over such crucial information. Then again, the man had never seen him as the lance corporal of the Survey Corps, loyal servant to the crown and dutiful ass-kisser of Commander Erwin Smith. Levi had always been just Underground scum in his eyes. A rat clinging to the tailcoats of the men above ground, biding his time until bigger fish came along.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

But for every bit of information that Levi gave, Rikard let slip some of his own; he was confident in his position. Too confident. As far as he knew, he'd captured the most valuable piece from the enemy's board and would soon have the game.

Little did he know, said piece had direct communication with headquarters, and it was standing right next to him.

It didn't take much effort to pry the how and when out of Rikard. Like the role of traitorous pawn, he could also play dubious rather well.

"So, what, you're just going to sneak into Ackerman's room in the middle of the night and steal her from her bed?"

Rikard had seemed nothing short of delighted that he would ask, and so willingly answered. Why wouldn't he? What harm could it do to a game he thought he'd already won?

"If what you say about Mikasa Ackerman is true, if she's really so...formidable...then simply kidnapping her in her nightclothes won't do. No, as I've said before, she'll just have to come to us."

He was clearly going to leave it at that, but Levi still needed more information. And not just for himself.

"If you're planning on using me to lure the brat here, I'll tell you now that it won't work. Ackerman might have a hero-complex, but she's not going to just swoop in and save my ass. Not me, of all people. In fact, you've probably done her a favor by locking me up here."

A bit of an exaggeration, particularly at the expense of Mikasa, but he still saw her wince in this periphery. Nonetheless, it had been the right thing to say to get Rikard talking again. His smirk only grew—he definitely thought he was winning.

"You wanna know the quickest way to get the attention from those big wigs up top? Just grab yourself a soap box and start preaching about Titans. You people might think you've had tabs on us this whole time, but I can guarantee you we've been two steps ahead. The whole reason why you're down here is because you heard The Redeemers had a Titan-shifter in their midst, didn't you? Well, who do you think started that little rumor, hmm?"

Even now, hours later, the bite of deceit still stung. He'd been running around this whole time with his head up his ass. He didn't have to feign surprise at the Redeemer's words—Dennard was a Titan, this much they already knew, but he had assumed there was yet another shifter locked away somewhere. Rikard made it sound as if this wasn't the case.

We've been watching Humanity's Strongest soldiers for a while now. In order to catch an Ackerman, we needed to give them a good reason to visit.

He still wished he could have asked about Dennard, about the missing children. He had planned on getting there, but he didn't want to push his luck by seeming too inquisitive. So many loose ends. Was it simply for the Redeemers to build themselves a military strong enough to take down the "men in power?" And did they really think he and Mikasa would turn so easily?

Rest assured, Levi, I will get my second Ackerman. And she's gonna walk right into my hands. We have more of our people in your ranks than you realize.

Even now, in his dark little cell, Levi could still clearly picture the change in Mikasa's eyes as she began to slowly assimilate the situation. Her face had been impassive, but no doubt she had been formulating her report for Erwin up in that clever mind of hers. The perfect spy.

By the time he had finished his little tête-à-tête with Rikard, they had arrived at his cell. He felt Mikasa leave more than saw her, and all he could do was hope that she wouldn't despise him too much.

He had had no way of knowing she would show up when she did that morning, and had been fully prepared to gather all the information himself and pass it on to her the next time their bond initiated. Erwin's timing was rather fortuitous, however, and it definitely made things easier to have her there. And he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit he'd been…

What? Pleased to see her?

This connection was messing with him. True, he'd be a fool to think that his regard of the brat hadn't changed. But to go so far as to consider himself... attracted was…

Levi actually scoffed aloud, finally standing up from his cot and pacing around the cell, legs complaining after sitting for too long. At least Rikard had seen it in his good heart to forego the handcuffs.

Insufferable shorty.

Yes, he could almost picture her saying that. The whole situation was awkward—to be forced into such a compromising and intimate position with another person would make anyone begin to question things. Things? He was a fucking adult, not a snot-nosed brat. He needed to focus, get a grip.

Who do you think you are?

His fingers itched for a task, to scrub or fiddle or clean. It was too fucking dirty here, too much chaos and disorder. Had she dusted his room yet? He wanted a proper bath, not some scrub in a bucket.

Get out of my head.

Levi carded both hands through his hair, desperately trying to calm the mounting panic, but the walls only got tighter and tighter.

Get. Out.

He wanted to fight, to hit something, anything to unleash the pent up agitation. He missed the bags in the training rooms back at base almost as much as he missed a shower.

Get. Out. Damn. Bastard.

Levi lurched to a stop mid stride, eyes going wide. That was her voice he heard clear as day in his head. She was railing inside his mind—no, not in his mind. He heard just over there...

He spun around in the direction of her voice but was met with only the cold bars of his cell. The sound of an impact came from the left, confusing him further, and he spun again. That itch on his neck...

Focus.

Levi closed his eyes, falling into the tug of their connection, holding fast to the sound of her angry breath.

He knew he'd made it before he'd even opened his eyes again. The air was different here—warmer against his skin, the space more open and less confined.

"I get it, you hate my rotten guts."

It was a mistake to take a dog by surprise, Levi knew this. The same policy could be applied to Mikasa; he barely managed to duck out of the way and avoid whatever it was she'd hurled at his head. A quick glance behind him after the missile had passed revealed a throwing knife protruding from the far wall.

"Fuck, woman," he breathed, irritated more than surprised.

"That's twice now you've done that." She jabbed her finger in his direction, practically snarling her words . "I get that you've gotten the hang of this whole bond thing like it's the easiest damn thing in the world for you, but find a way to knock first or something so I don't accidentally kill you."

She turned on her heel and stomped across the room to the target board. He watched her go, stupefied, clutching to the annoyance he felt in his chest like it was a lifeline. He found its severity to be somewhat relieving, like a splash of cold water on his face.

"Did you tell Erwin everything?"

Her back straightened, bare arms stiffening as she halted her task of pulling knives from the target. "No, obviously I just kept incredibly valuable information to myself and didn't bother briefing my commander."

Levi rolled his eyes so hard it was nearly painful. He set off toward her, eyes boring a hole into her shoulder blades where they were exposed underneath her tank top. "Look, I get you're pissed, but that doesn't give you the right to start acting like a child."

That seemed to get her attention. She wheeled around to face him, and he halted a few feet before her, momentarily wondering if she was going to throw another blade at his head.

"You make nothing easy, do you?"

"Tough shit, brat. Nothing is easy."

Mikasa dropped the knives to the side where they clattered against the stone floor like so much scrap metal. She was absolutely livid, her left eye twitching as she approached him. "Do not patronize me, captain."

There it was, her ability to make his title sound like a biting insult. He arched his brow at her, a look that he knew irritated her. "Then don't act like a child."

"Fuck. You."

"Careful, cadet."

In hindsight, he was most definitely provoking her. But fuck he wanted a fight. His blood was boiling and his head was twisted on so very wrong, and he just needed to wear himself out.

Even still, he wasn't prepared when she attacked.

"It's lieutenant!" she yelled as she dove on him, knocking him flat onto one of the training mats, driving the air from his lungs. He came alive with that much needed kick of adrenaline, and he tossed her off of him with ease. Mikasa was fast, however, and he only just avoided her pounce by rolling away at the last second.

They both scrambled to their feet, already breathing hard, hands poised and ready to strike. He paused, stomach falling as he caught sight of her splint.

"You gonna fight me with a fucking broken arm?"

"I'll fight you any way I want."

She spun and aimed her foot at his head, which he avoided with ease—it was a warning strike. She ducked under his double cross, but he saw how she favored her arm as she rolled around him.

They continued this dance of dodging and striking, switching places around the mat, neither one making much headway but both losing wind—she was on defensive and he was…

He was going easy on her. He had never done that.

"Ackerman, stop." He tried to grab her good arm, but she whipped it away and landed a jab to his side. He cursed and attempted to grapple her again. "You're injured."

She muttered something through her teeth and tore away from him with a snarl.

"Mikasa."

She threw her hands up in the air, turning her back to him as she crossed to the edge of the mat. Neither spoke, both winded.

Finally, she turned her head halfway, giving him her delicate profile. "Do you think me weak?" Her voice was low, barely above a whisper.

"I think you're injured, Mikasa."

She huffed and turned to face him again, eyes wide and brow furrowed. "So? An eye for an eye. How long did you spend incapacitated due to my actions that day chasing the Female Titan?"

The hell? "That was, what, five years ago? That's not how it works."

"Not how what works?" She was escalating again, approaching him with a desperate look in her eye.

"Do you think I'd kick your ass over something that happened that long ago? Especially when you've essentially got one arm tied behind your back?"

He expected her to respond with some haughty quip, to provoke him into resuming the fight, but she only said, "fight me." At least it was a command, not a plea—he didn't know what he'd do if her character snapped that drastically.

"No."

She gritted her teeth, delivering a smack across his pectoral with her good hand. He barely felt it. "Fight me, goddammit!"

She really was at a disadvantage—normally, a fight with Mikasa Ackerman would have had him on his toes. He always looked forward to those fights. But she had spent the past few weeks in recovery.

While he'd been brawling in an underground fight ring.

She gasped when he caught her by the shoulders, and first he thought it was because the action had surprised her, but then he heard the creak of a door.

"Uh…I can come back…" Efran stood at the entrance of the room, visibly disconcerted.

Mikasa brushed his grip from her shoulders with a wave of her hand and turned to address the tattooed man. "No, no, sorry, I was…"

Efran held up a reassuring hand, an odd smile overtaking his bearded face. "Oh, no, please. I just wanted to check on you. I'm turning in for the night."

Mikasa fiddled with the wrappings of her splint. "Oh. Well, thank you. I'll be better tomorrow." Her voice was strained.

Efran nodded, smile still on his face. "Goodnight, then," he said as he turned to leave. He halted halfway out the door, back still facing them. "goodnight, Levi."

Levi's eyebrows shot upward at the sound of his name, and he could almost hear Mikasa's jaw unhinge as she gaped after the man. She continued staring after him with wide eyes even after he'd left.

Taking advantage of her distracted state, Levi grabbed her shoulders again and kicked out her legs with a sweep of his foot. She cried out and tried to protest, but he quickly had her down on the mat, his knee against her back. He was careful of her injured arm, however, holding it out to her side.

He waited to see if she would struggle. She didn't, the fight apparently gone from her. "Look...I don't know what you want me to say." He kept his eyes on the top of his knee, unable to meet her rabid gaze from over her shoulder. "I…"

She was waiting, listening to what he was trying to spit out, her sides heaving as she took in air.

"I'm...sorry."

Mikasa stilled beneath him, breath pausing. "What?"

Fuck, he should have led with this. Shouldn't have let it escalate to this point. He knew she was injured, but he'd let his own anger cloud his judgment. "I'm sorry I...used you like that. I've turned you into a pawn, and I didn't even tell you about it."

He pulled his knee away from her back and released her arm, shifting so he was seated with his legs bent, resting his forearms across them. She adjusted beside him, turning herself onto her back but remaining recumbent. He could feel her dark eyes looking up at his face.

"I know we've had our differences." He wasn't about to admit that he could, indeed, be difficult, because that was opening up a whole new dialogue about her that he didn't want to start. "But you and I were assigned a mission, and we...I…"

Shit, this was why he didn't give fucking speeches.

He turned his head and looked down at her, eyes meeting her shoulder instead if her face. "The point is this; we were supposed to be partners. Partners have to trust each other, and I broke that trust." He did meet her gaze then. "So, I'm sorry."

Her hair had fallen out of its tie, the thick strands splaying about her head like some kind of ebony halo. Without thinking, he plucked a rogue tendril that clung to her sweat-dampened neck, his fingers grazing the soft skin there. A soft intake of breath made his eyes snap to hers. He almost wished he hadn't looked.

"I wasn't…" She swallowed thickly before starting again, voice stronger this time. "That's not why I was angry." She closed her eyes and scoffed, shaking her head a little.

He tucked the errant wisp behind her ear, fingers lingering against the shell and following the angle of her jaw. "Why then?"

"No wonder you thought me childish," she murmured, avoiding his question. Her eyes opened again and found his. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest, once more lamenting that he'd allowed the situation to get out of hand.

"That's not what I see," he began, fingers hooking around the back of her neck as his thumb dragged down the underside of her chin, "when I look at you."

He leaned forward and felt her entire body stiffen beneath him as he pressed his forehead against hers. She must have just washed her hair—he could smell her soap, the scent stronger now that her hair was free.

"I... fuck, I missed fighting you," he murmured, chuckling softly. He watched her pretty mouth crook slightly upwards. "You're stronger than all of us, Mikasa," he whispered, and he felt her breath hitch across his face, warm and sweet, a gentle gasp.

This happened last time—he'd held her like this with his hand tangled in her hair, faces close, the ever-present hum licking at the back of his neck. It was so odd, so foreign, like his veins were pumping ichor from his body and into hers and then back again.

"When I touch you…" Levi murmured, thinking out loud. He never spoke this much. He didn't even know what he was saying at this point. The tip of her nose brushed against the side of his own as she angled her head back. He had closed his eyes. When had he done that? He was just feeling.

"I never blamed you." Her voice was everywhere, surrounding him.

He had lowered himself beside her at some point, no longer sitting, his upper body hovering above her own as he framed her head with his forearms, chest barely touching hers.

"And you didn't lose my trust, Levi. I still mean what I said. I'm not leaving you down there."

Levi hesitated, pulling away slightly to look at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes somnolent as she stared back at him. Something absolutely terrifying twisted in his chest.

And made him sit up.

"Levi?" Her brow knitted in confusion, and she pushed herself up to her elbows. He'd be the biggest fucking liar there ever was if he said he didn't like the way his name sounded on her tongue.

"Promise me something," he said, looking away from her. She didn't answer, but he continued anyway. "Promise me, no matter what, that you'll get the kid out first."

"Levi—"

"Just listen," he interrupted, but his voice was gentle. "I don't know what they want with her, but it can't be a coincidence that she's a Titan-shifter." He found her eyes again, gaze earnest. "It's not just for the kid's sake but for everyone's. We can't let them turn her into a weapon. In the end, I'm expendable, I can—"

Mikasa pushed herself to standing, moving away from him like he'd suddenly caught fire. "Don't say things like that." Her voice was uneven, angry.

Levi stood as well. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I need you to promise me."

She glared at him, her expression the same one she wore on the battlefield. So different from the gentle one from but a moment ago.

"Why are you saying this right now?" She strode toward him, closing the gap. "Why are you—" Her words died when he took a step away from her. She looked startled by his actions.

He wanted to go to her, pull her to him and inhale, but he could already feel himself slipping down that dangerous slope, one which would be impossible to climb back out of.

"Get the girl out. Don't go to extra lengths." Don't do something foolish.

She regarded him for several moments, her eyes searching his face, jaw tense. Finally, the emotion faded from her features, and that unconquerable wall rose in its place—like a droplet rippling across the face of water, smoothing out its surface.

"Aye, captain." Her voice was steady too, but he still lamented the use of his title. "I promise."

That's all he needed to hear. He cut the connection.