Chapter 12. Heartbreaker

Dennard stumbled upon weary legs, the jailor's hand gripping tighter around her arm and hauling her forward.

"Watch it, you little shit."

The thin fabric of her shoes was no match for the brutal rock terrain, and she winced as she trekked across a patch of sharp stones. She might as well be barefoot at this point.

They rounded a corner, and she stared down the familiar hall of cells, most of which were empty. She craned her head to look into Levi's cell, checking to see if he was there.

"Damn dog sleeps like the dead," groused the jailor.

Dennard could just make out the shape of Levi's back in the dark. He was lying on his cot, apparently asleep. She knew better.

The jailor unlocked and opened the cell before shoving her inside, sending her sprawling across the dirty floor. The sound of his laughter echoed all the way down the hall as he retreated, keys jangling in time with his steps.

"Levi," she whispered into the gloom, crawling forward on hands and knees to press her face against the bars. He didn't respond. He'd asked her to throw a cup at him once–to break the "connection," as he'd called it. That hadn't worked. When he got like this he might as well be dead. At least he had the presence of mind to appear as if he were asleep so the guard wouldn't see the strange blankness of his eyes.

She would just have to wait.

Images of the vision she'd had kept flashing across her mind, making her shiver. Perhaps it was best that Levi wasn't conscious yet. It gave her more time to think on how she was going to tell him what she'd seen. The visions always came true, she knew that now. And yet there was still a small part of her that hoped for a different outcome.

The rope burns on her ankles and wrists were nearly gone now, and she rubbed at the abraded flesh gingerly. The lacerations on her arms were slower to heal, but she estimated they would disappear completely within a few hours.

This is not torture, Dennard. I don't want to torture you.

She hated him. She hated Rikard and his red hair and careful voice and intelligent, green eyes.

Just give in, Dennard. Stop holding back.

Holding back what? She had wept openly, so he hadn't been referring to her tears. He didn't want information, and maybe that's what made the whole thing worse; if he was torturing her for answers, she might have something to hold on to, cling to some kind of resolve or secret. But he wasn't looking for anything, and she had nothing to hide.

This is not torture.

What was it then?

You're strong. That's both good and bad. It makes this whole process harder, drags it out. But if you're too frail, you'll break easily. Like that boy before you did. Remember? I told you about him…

Someone else had been bound in rope and kept in the dark only to then be dragged into a pit and cut a thousand times. Over, over, and over. Did he heal as quickly as she did, that boy? Did he beg them to stop? Did he hate the green-eyed man as much as she?

Don't hold back.

She'd tried screaming and raging, cursing him, cursing the men who'd brought her here, yelling profanities she'd never considered uttering before. And she'd even tried denying him too; if he didn't want her to hold back, then she wouldn't give him what he desired. She wouldn't give him anything. She'd gotten rather good at disassociating herself from the pain, from the fear. It was just blood, just noise, just shadows on a wall.

And yet, neither tactic worked. Don't hold back!

She could feel her humanity slipping day by day—she was more animal than girl each time they dragged her from that pit, her wounds nearly healed by the time she was deposited back in her cold, little cell. Levi always inquired, but she knew he couldn't really see. Even the more visible injuries were hidden in the dark. And she never told him much.

I'm fine. Just questions. It's fine.

His lack of probing didn't mean he wasn't concerned, she knew, but Levi Ackerman had his own secrets to keep.

So there they were, trapped together, alone with their secrets, and growing less human by the day. She wondered what kind of monster he was turning into over there in his cage. Communication was difficult enough through their respective bars, but the fear of being overheard was also real. Dennard had been dragged from her cell enough times now to determine that the others lining the hall were empty. But that jailor was cleverer than he let on, so they kept their conversations succinct.

Levi could talk to Mikasa, that much she knew. She didn't bother asking how because she figured he probably didn't know the answer himself. In the end, the only thing she needed to hear from him was "we're gonna get out of here," and the only thing he needed to hear from her was "yes, I'm still alive."

A loud scrambling sound emanated from Levi's cell, startling her from her thoughts. She crawled on hands and knees back to the bars, pressing her face against the cold metal, trying to see through the darkness.

"Levi, are you alright?" she rasped, senses straining. No reply. "Did you fall?" she inquired again.

The sound of shuffling, a grunt. He'd definitely fallen—she could hear him rustling around on the floor. He cursed under his breath, mumbling something she couldn't make out.

"What?"

Levi sighed from somewhere in the dark, and she watched with a creased brow as his face melted from the shadows and appeared behind the bars of his cell door. "I said, that woman is a fucking pain in my ass."

The night sky was one large bruise—a port-wine black, littered with stars and unblemished by clouds.

It would be very easy to get too comfortable here, she thinks.

She had stretched her mind, her eyes, expanded beyond the Underground and stood beneath the boundless. But she could never forget what it had felt like to once be trapped.

Eren Jaeger lay sleeping beside her, his breath even and untroubled, his long hair brushing against her shoulder. Very comfortable.

He loved her. Had said as much. But the word had always been a loaded phrase in her mouth, carrying with it more baggage than good intention. Love was a weapon, a trap. She'd been trapped before.

She thought of her wretched mother. Obsequious woman. She'd sold every part of herself, ultimately paying with her life when the price became too high. A woman who now haunted her dreams and whose manner echoed in her own at times—much to her chagrin. Because she was not her mother; she had escaped the trap, hadn't died a caged bird.

I got out, dear Mother. I succeeded where you failed. I was strong when you were always, always weak. I am nothing like you.

And yet, there she lay in the bed of a man she did not love, his scent still clinging to her skin. A scarlet woman.

Turning Eren Jaeger's head and ensnaring his heart had been easy. For all his stubborn ways and volatile tendencies, Eren was eager for affection and a like-mind. He was still a boy, after all.

And oh, how Mikasa Ackerman had faltered. How she'd nearly broken under the devastation. And while the reaction had been expected, it was still quite a spectacle to observe. But the girl worth one hundred soldiers proved her strength in her resilience, and over time she'd adapted, found a new rhythm; it didn't matter how many blows dealt, how many rounds, the girl just kept getting back up.

Seducing Eren hadn't been entirely for naught, however. Besotted men had loose tongues—even looser still when held between a woman's thighs. For a while, he had been her only tie to the inner workings of the machine. He wasn't stupid, just a fool in love, and entirely too trusting.

But even that asset had eventually ran its course; for whatever reason, Armin Arlert had decided as of late to keep his childhood friend in the dark on certain things. Vital things. It was incomprehensible and beyond frustrating.

She already had one Ackerman locked away under layers of stone, oblivious to a world above that thought him dead, but she needed both. The other would be difficult to obtain, no doubt; even if the truth of the lance corporal's survival were to be revealed to Mikasa, she'd never exactly held the man in a favorable light, so using him as leverage wasn't an option.

Neither was Eren anymore, for that matter. Yet another plan that had met a dead end.

That left her with no choice but to take matters into her own hands. Typical. Thankfully, she had a way of burrowing underneath even the toughest of skins. The information gleaned from Levi—as estranged from his fellow Ackerman as he was–couldn't hurt either. She needed to earn Mikasa's trust. Perhaps the hardest job yet.

Her thoughts drifted to the golden-eyed girl. The Titan-shifter. How long had they waited to receive her? How long had they observed that dumpy little tavern and innkeeper, just waiting for the right moment? She was invaluable, that girl, not just for her abilities but for her youth. The young were pliable, blank pages upon which new ideals could be inscribed.

Of course, the Jones twins had effectively sullied that page. She blamed her brother for the mistake; Galen and Percy Jones were stunted and reckless, more tools than men, and they needed to be kept on a tight leash. In the end, the dog can't be blamed for biting when it was the master who failed to call it to heel. The killing of the girl's father was not planned. What had started as a controlled, thought-out strategy had quickly become a rush job. Really, it was this fact that had cost her an Ackerman. If the Joneses weren't already dead…

She gripped the sheets in anger, eyes closing to the view of the bruised sky. Dennard was a weapon, yes, but one she had hoped to nurture, not wield. Now there would be no erasure of the damage committed to the girl's trust.

She touched the flesh of her neck, tracing over where his hand had been.

Eren had been initially reluctant. It was a moment of weakness for her, a moment of foolishness, but she allowed it anyway. He didn't want to hurt her—he was tender, after all—but that hadn't been the point. There was something about that night, in a room much smaller than the one she lay in now, a different hand clenched around her throat, that made her want to try something new.

Dangerous.

With Eren's cautious hands around her throat, green eyes changing to a steely gray in her mind, she had allowed herself to once again invision that better future where the clans ruled in their rightful places. Revenge was a bloody, bloody thing. And it tasted very good.

Eren shifted beside her and she used the moment to pull the covers off of herself, stopping when he did, her left leg halfway out of the bed. Wait. It wouldn't be light for another few hours, but she wanted to be long gone before he woke.

His nightmares had lessened noticeably over the course of their relationship, and she knew it was her presence that calmed him. Something akin to remorse flickered within the cold, barren depths of her black heart. Just a boy.

Still, he was a light sleeper, and it had taken her several weeks to master the art of sneaking out without waking the Titan-shifter.

Thirty breaths counted. Time to move.

She continued this pattern of shifting and waiting, shifting and waiting, until she was completely free of the bed and standing beside it. She observed the sleeping man—her lover—watching his back slowly expand as he breathed.

She turned to the window, looking up at the sky once more. The bruise color had dissipated to more of a light aubergine. The stars were also gone. Watching the sunrise had swiftly become one of her favorite things upon leaving the Underground, a spectacle she had only ever dreamed about before and a luxury she didn't regret routinely indulging in. Shame she couldn't stay for this one.

Exiting the bedroom was even easier than leaving the bed itself, and soon she was padding down the hall on bare feet toward the baths, clothes for the day tucked underneath her arm.

Showered and changed, she stood before the mirror and combed through her damp hair, pulling the red strands into a long plait. Green eyes traced over her reflection—the pale face, small mouth, smattering of freckles. She didn't linger long; for all her faults, her vices, vanity had never been one of them. But the mirror served as a reminder of sorts.

The sky had begun to turn gray by the time she left the barracks. She wandered the grounds for a while, thinking over her next step, writing the remaining words in the verse. By the time she was satisfied with her script, the sun had crest the far ridge of wall Rose, turning her hair to flame.

She found the second Ackerman in the courtyard near the stables—her usual haunt when she wasn't busy throwing knives in the training room. She was sitting on a bench beside a gurgling fountain, a book cradled against her injured arm.

"Mikasa! I'm so glad I found you." she called, smile already set in place. The dark-haired woman looked up from the book she was reading and regarded her from across the courtyard. The briefest look of surprise flickered across the Asian girl's face, but it was gone as soon as it occurred, her own interpretation of a smile stitching itself across her mouth and leaving only those unusual-looking eyes to gleam like a pair of obsidian stones—burning in their intensity, yet void of any truths or emotion.

"Hello, Rubie."

A/N: Rubie. Never liked that bitch. Congrats to all you keen readers who figured her out. ;) Also, I promised a 2 chapter update, right? This one was short, so next one is twice as long and contains...certain developments...

As always, you all have been so kind and encouraging, and I thank you for the support!