Chapter 16. Kashmir
Oh. My. God. A month? Has it really been than long? Wow, I feel like Persephone resurfacing from the Underworld only it was work that dragged me down there. Thank you guys so much for your patience and continued support. As gratitude (and an apology?), here's a double update. Boom. Love you.
The color had faded some, no longer a deep shade of carmine but something softer, dulled. She traced a thumb across the fabric, which was softened from wear, before bringing it to her nose. Dust.
The weather had finally snapped. The brutal, bone-biting wind had sent her on a nigh thirty minute hunt for warmer attire—a certain article, to be precise. There had been a time when she wouldn't have needed to search for the scarf.
She was late, thanks to the mad forage, but had no qualms about keeping the Red Woman waiting. Let her wait. She'd packed light for the journey, gathering only what she could fit into a standard-issue haversack, but the scarf-hunt had driven her to upend the usual tidiness of her room. Levi would've had a fit.
There it was, that increasingly common flutter in her gut whenever she thought of him. Which was often. She looked to the desk, the memory of what they'd done there—what he had done—making the flutter swell.
And he'd seen her cry. She'd cried. Idiot.
Mikasa shook her head in frustration, pushing all thoughts of the captain from her mind as she spent the next ten minutes hastily tidying the space. The thought of leaving it in such disarray didn't sit well with her, especially because she wouldn't be returning for a while. That is, if she returned at all...
With her quarters in a more respectable condition and scarf wrapped snug about her neck, Mikasa slung her bag across her shoulder and left the room without a backward glance.
She was halfway down the hall when her neck suddenly prickled with gooseflesh—a different sensation from the bond, but familiar. Like she was being watched. She looked back the way she'd come to see a pair of green eyes staring at her from the opposite end of the corridor.
Eren looked startled, almost like he'd just been passing by and had looked up just by chance. They regarded each other for a few beats—too far away to speak, but too close to walk away without some form of acknowledgement.
He made a stilted shuffle in her direction before pausing to look somewhere else, as if deciding whether or not to go to her. Finally, he mumbled something she couldn't hear and approached.
"Did Rubie send you to look for me?" A weak opener, but she couldn't think of anything better to say.
Eren shook his head, the motion freeing a strand of chestnut hair from its tie. He stopped a few feet away from her, the distance odd and gaping. "Are you taking off soon?" His smile was strained.
She nodded, unconsciously fingering the material at her neck. His eyes caught the motion, a brief flash of something pained dancing across his face.
Mikasa knew this feeling well, knew that they both felt it—guilt.
"I'm afraid I've kept Rubie waiting. I took too long packing."
He misunderstood, thinking she was attempting to extricate herself. "Oh, yes, I won't keep you any longe—"
Mikasa flung her arms around his torso, pulling him into a tight embrace. Just like that, any discomfort between them was eliminated. Familiar. She felt him relax as his strong arms wrapped around her, his cheek coming to rest on top of her head. He'd gotten tall—it didn't seem all that long ago that they had been roughly the same height.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair.
She tilted her head to look up at his face. "What for?"
Eren averted his gaze, brow furrowed, looking very much like that determined young boy who had saved her life all those years ago. "I haven't been there for you these past weeks when you needed me most. After Heichou…" He shook his head. "It's been hard for everyone, but I know it's different for you."
An unexpected tightness presented itself in Mikasa's throat. She stared at the buttons on his shirt, hoping he couldn't see the welling moisture in her eyes. "I don't see how it's any different for me," she whispered.
"I never asked you about the incident. I guess I didn't want to…" He screwed up his mouth, rethinking the words. "I thought I was giving you space, but really I left you when you needed me most." He looked at her then, green eyes large. "And for that I'm sorry."
"Oh, Eren." There was no hiding the tears now. "You have nothing to apologize for." She wanted to tell him everything, if only to end the lie that had been festering. It felt like a knife was being wedged between her ribs.
"No, no. I do. You don't always need to be the strong one." He thumbed the end of her scarf. "You and Armin spent most of our formative years picking me up, even when I sometimes dragged you down with me."
She covered his hand with her own—ivory upon tan. "I knew what I was getting myself into. So did Armin. We'd do it all over again, too."
Eren smiled—a soft look that she hadn't seen in a while. "He would be proud of you."
"Who?" She knew.
He chuckled, expression wry. "Heichou. He'd most likely insult you a few times, but it would really just be his way of telling you he was proud." He became sincere again. "I know you had your disagreements, but I always admired the both of you. You're two of the most honorable people I've ever met."
Honorable. He thought her honorable. It struck Mikasa then that this might very well be the last time she'd ever see Eren—that this would be the parting light he held her in brought her some comfort. Perhaps it was for the best that she didn't return.
Eren's face became concerned—she'd drifted. "Mikasa?"
She hid her face in his chest again. "I hope you know that everything I do is because I love you and Armin."
He stiffened in her arms, hands coming to her shoulders and gently pushing her away to meet her eyes. "I wish you wouldn't put everyone before yourself so much. You deserve to be happy."
"I am happy."
"Liar."
If she didn't leave now she never would. Worse, she might reveal too much. "I'll work on it." She stepped away from his embrace, wall coming up. "I have to go."
Eren looked lost, and a bit frustrated—that look of concern still etched into his brow. She could have laughed at the irony; it seemed like only yesterday that all she had wanted was to be by his side. Now she was pushing him away.
To protect you. Please see it's all to protect you.
His own wall settled into place. That smiling mask—jovial where hers was stoic. "Alright. Hurry back, though."
The knife twisted cruelly. "Bye, Eren."
He was dreaming.
Once a rare phenomenon, in part because he rarely slept, but now seemed to be occurring with more frequency. It was this place, this damned underworld he never imagined returning to, that made him see things he'd thought long ago forgotten.
Faces, mostly. Unidentifiable—the essence of a person. His mother, Kenny, Farlan and Isabel. All dead people.
She was there, as of late. The sense of her was stronger than the others—clearer. Maybe because she was still alive. Sometimes it was just a memory—something she'd said, the sound of her voice—and other times he was just keenly aware of her presence. Like she was just in the other room or behind a partition.
No matter the circumstance, dreams about her always ended the same way. Like all the others did, for that matter. All dead people.
He was hovering between that sleep-wake realm that both dulled and piqued his senses, the melody of her voice drowned out by a new sound—a repetitive, cacophonous clang. Metal on metal, key against key.
Levi had sworn early on in his confinement to kill that fat-bastard jailor soon as the opportunity should present itself for him to do so. He'd strangle him with that key chain—no, he'd make him eat the keys, then he'd strangle him with the chain.
"Quit yer cryin', you shit."
Fully awake now, he stared at the dark ceiling, listening to the jailor grouse and grumble as he hauled Dennard into her cell. There was a dull thump—he must have thrown her—before the keys erupted into a chorus of jangles as he thumbed through the assortment.
"Oi, dog. I know yer fakin'. Get yer ass up."
Levi didn't move. He could hear the guard locking up Dennard's cell, followed by the thud of his boots as he turned.
"Don't make me stick a leash on ya, boy. Get up."
Levi maintained his rebellion for a few moments longer, waiting until his own cell lock clicked open before swinging his legs over the edge of the cot.
"Alright, you know the drill. Hands out for the cuffs. Let's not keep mister Rickard waitin'."
Levi pawed a strand of hair away from his eyes before offering his wrists. A woeful sniffle sounded from the opposite cell. He tried searching the shadows for the Titan girl, but was tugged down the hall and away.
The guard, as per usual, kept Levi in front as they marched through the winding catacombs of the Redeemer fortress. The trek was apparently tedious for the corpulent man; his labored breathing rattled behind Levi in great, fetid wafts, and his heavy tread echoed across the stone in time to the cling-ca-cling of his keys.
"Stop here," the jailor huffed, placing a meaty hand on Levi's shoulder. They'd avoided the well-trodden thoroughfare bisecting the Redeemer camp to stop before a secluded stone chamber, its entrance curtained by a red drape.
"Oi, Pieter. Ya in there? Y'gotta chair?" There was a grunt of affirmation from within the chamber. "Right." The jailor whipped open the drape and shoved Levi through.
There was a man seated before a table in the center of the small chamber. Pieter, most likely. The only light came from the lamp at his feet and cast an eerie glow on his pointed features—not a man, a boy, barely sixteen. Levi glanced around the space, seeing only shadows and dank walls, and absolutely nothing else that offered insight.
Pieter jerked his chin in acknowledgement. "So this the Black Dog?"
The jailor shooed him from the chair. "Git yer ass out and go fetch Rikard. Don' be askin' unnecessary questions."
The youth left the chamber with a grumble, curtain flapping angrily behind him. The jailor forced Levi into the vacant seat, uncuffing one of his hands and bringing them both behind his back to fasten the chain to the seat. The lantern slammed onto the table, momentarily blinding him despite its feeble glow. He could hear the jailor rustling with something in the shadows behind him. Water, metal on wood, sloshing. A bucket?—
The sudden smite of gelid water over his head was enough to make Levi gasp aloud. He jolted in his chair, straining against the chain as the icy droplets soaked his body.
"You stink," the guard jeered.
Levi gritted his teeth, both against the cold and the insult—because he didn't stink. The conditions may not have been perfect, but he made good use of the basin his Redeemer hosts saw so nicely to replenish each evening. "Was that necessary?"
The jailor chuckled, continuing his noisy rummage in the dark. Levi steeled himself for another bucket. "Did I stutter? You stink." He plodded to the table and threw a thick piece of cloth onto its surface. It landed with a dull thud, alluding to something heavy within. "Filthy dog with a filthy coat. Gotta get ya all trimmed up." He whipped open the cloth to reveal a crude and rusted pair of scissors.
Levi's eyes widened beneath his sopping fringe—considering all the grace the jailor possessed, he'd probably end up taking more ear than hair. "Do you even know what you're doing?"
The jailor paused, scissors held in his fist. "You say somethin', dog?"
Levi tilted his head into the lantern light. "I said, you bring those shitty things anywhere near me, I'll shove them up your ass."
The backhand was decidedly less accosting than the water but smarted nonetheless. The jailor chuckled again, the scissors opening and closing with a gritty whine. "Good luck with that, dog. You bein' tied up an' all."
Levi worked his jaw, eyes riveted by the corroded jaws of metal as they approached his fringe. His foot shot forward and connected with the jailor's nose with a crack. The scissors sailed through the air before clattering across the dark floor.
"Fucking dog!" The man grasped a handful of Levi's sodden shirt. "You sunnabitch. It's a trim and a geldin' for ya, then."
Levi worked his boots up the man's prominent gut and pushed, the chair wobbling dangerously beneath him. He grimaced in disgust as the jailor pawed one fleshy hand across his face, the other still fimly clasping his shirt. The chair tilted on back legs, wood creaking beneath the struggle.
"Oi!" came a sudden shout from the door. Both men paused their brawl, heads snapping in unison to Rikard at the curtain. "The fuck is this? I told you to cut his hair, not ride him like a goat."
The jailor turned his head back to Levi, expression wicked as he released his shirt and let the chair fall backward onto the floor. Levi tucked his chin at the last moment, but the impact still jarred the breath from his lungs.
"My apologies, sir," the guard grumbled, sounding far from apologetic. "The dog proved difficult."
Rikard bent down to retrieve the scissors, expression bleak. "Get out." The guard faltered, clearly expecting some repartee from his superior. Rikard's viridescent gaze darkened. The jailor left without a word.
The humility of laying on the floor like a recumbent beetle was not lost on Levi, and his growing chill was only exacerbated by his damp clothes. Rikard didn't acknowledge him for a moment, moving to the table with deliberate steps to deposit the scissors. The lantern's glow turned his hair to flame and accentuated his aquiline profile. "Sorry about that. I got held up," he said, bending and righting the chair. Levi's head throbbed at the sudden change in orientation. The sound of jangling keys filled the air, followed by the click of the cuffs. "I guess this is better. We can speak freely now." Levi hesitated before bringing his hands from behind his back and massaging the bruised flesh of his wrists. He chanced a glance to the redheaded man. Rikard draped the cuffs across the small table and grabbed the scissors again. "Conversations in cuffs are often one-sided. Wouldn't you agree?"
Levi followed the man's movements, noting the decidedly more adroit way he handled the trimmers than the jailor had. "What do you want?" He felt Rikard's fingers against the back of his head, gentle as they pressed his chin down to his chest.
"You know what I appreciate about you, Levi? There's no bullshit with you. No pretense." The scissors scraped along his nape, cold and solid. "I could use men like you."
Levi scoffed through his teeth. "If you're trying to curry favor by giving me a haircut, it won't work."
Small snipping sounds filled the silence, loose hair tickling the back of Levi's neck and shoulders as it fell. "No, I'm rather hopeful that you'll join us of your own volition." The chair tottered back as Levi wrenched himself to standing. Rikard took a step away, face calm, hands slightly raised and placating. "Easy."
"My own volition? Exactly what part of keeping me locked in this shithole for weeks on end is supposed to entice me?" He wiped hair trimmings off his shoulder. "Furthermore, why would I align myself with people who get off on kidnapping and torturing children?"
Rikard's left brow rose at that. "Kidnap…" He appeared to contemplate the phrase, gaze growing distant. "You know, I blame my sister for most of this miscommunication." He placed the scissors onto the table between them and folded his arms, expression still thoughtful. "Rubie is...has always been angry. And while she has good reason to be, oftentimes that anger has ruled her more than it probably should." He smirked and looked up, conspiratorial gleam in his green eyes. "I believe Eren Jaeger shares a few traits with my sister."
Levi moved the overgrown bangs covering his vision, using the brief shelter of his hand to steal a glance at the scissors glinting on the table. "I don't care how crazy your sister is. You're the one carving lines into that Titan kid."
Rikard nodded, thoughtful. "So you know what she is." Not a question. "I figured. Let me ask you, then. How is what I do any different from the experiments your scientist runs, hm?"
Just how deep have these people gone? Levi swallowed his surprise and fronted it with indignation. "Consent."
Rikard had the audacity to laugh—a dark, hollow sound. "Go ahead and judge, Levi. You can hold yourself and your surface-level buddies as high above us as you want," he gripped the back of the chair, leaning forward, "but you're still one of us. Your people were our people."
His people? This was sounding awfully similar to the conversation he'd had with the Red Woman. She'd spoken of justice, of redemption. The people above don't know suffering, they don't know pain…
"Our people come from a long line of suffering, Levi. Yours and mine." Rikard rested his elbow on the chair back, hand coming to his brow in a picture of thoughtfulness—as if contemplating at which point to begin in a vast story. "There was a time when the clans used to coexist, when honor was more than a concept but a way of life. The Ackermans were the mightiest, known for their incredible abilities. They were warriors, entrusted guardians to the crown." A bitter laugh escaped Rikard's lips. "A damn lot of good that did them after the war. Where was Fritz's honor then?"
Levi shuddered in his damp clothes. He could reach the scissors if he lunged, but only if he caught Rikard unprepared. "No, I take it back. Your sister might be fucked up, but you're the crazy one."
"Go ahead." The redheaded man jerked his chin at the table, the scissors, and stepped away from the chair, giving space. "Not that you'd need them. Even locked in—what was it, a shithole for weeks on end? You'd still win that fight, Levi."
Neither man moved—one watching, the other waiting. Levi angled his head, eyes squinting in suspicion. "You know, killing you would be enough. I'm not a fool to try and escape, if that's what you're thinking."
"I bet you could if you had that woman with you."
Even the allusion to Mikasa was enough to make his gut turn to stone. He kept his features impassive. "If she were here, you'd be dead."
Rikard grinned, white canines gleaming. The look was such a contrast from his earlier pensiveness, and he suddenly looked eerily like his sibling. "You know, I sent someone back to the tavern after that day. The place was crawling with police, but he got in alright. You know what he told me? He said it was like a wild animal had been let loose in there."
A vivid memory danced across Levi's mind—Mikasa's hands and thighs slick with blood, the gurgling rattle from the dying Redeemer beneath her, the determined expression on her face.
"You think she did that?"
Rikard's green eyes were bright and far too perceptive. "Oh, I know she did." Rikard approached the table and picked up the scissors with a confidence that was as unnerving as it was irritating. "But the both of you together…" The man gave a low whistle.
He could still kill him. Rikard had the scissors, but he was right about the odds.
"However unlikely I am to join your circus show, you'll have even shittier luck convincing Mikasa."
He regretted saying her first name—too personal. "Tell me..." Rikard's tone, the twitch in his smirk, suggested he'd caught the slip. "Would she die for you?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"I'm not Eren fucking Jaeger." Those eyes were very perceptive. "And it's not like the brat and I have always gotten along."
"Until recently, that is." Rikard scrutinized the scissors, picking thoughtfully at their rusted joint. Levi remained mute, having learned it was best to keep silent than to ramble when caught on the off foot. "I'd imagine the two of you had a good bit of time to get to know each other over the course of your little mission. Bury the hatchet, perhaps." Green eyes snapped up, hoping to pounce on a slip in his composure. There was none. "You probably had a lot to catch up on, too, given how long you were away running errands for Erwin Smith. She'd grown up in that time, no?"
"Is there a point to all this?" Levi's clothes we're beginning to dry stiff and uncomfortable to his skin.
"Why, you got somewhere to be? You sound impatient."
"And you sound like you're talking out your ass, so just get to the point already."
Rikard tilted his chin up and regarded Levi down the hooked surface of his nose, as if perusing a convoluted map. "You're more than a lackey, Levi. And you're no dog—though you've certainly spent enough years in servitude to them. Honor isn't lost on you. You're smart, but there are some things you don't know." He leaned forward to punctuate his words. "So sit back down."
Levi scoffed, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering. "Why the hell would I do that?"
"Because you're curious."
There was a peculiar stillness within Levi then, a marked absence of restlessness that he would sooner consider failure than subservience. Either way, it made him ashamed. Rubie may have been the leader in all this, but her brother was no less precarious. Levi wasn't about to eat from his hand, however.
But, yes, he was curious.
Still, he felt that all the kicks, the insults, the degradation combined in his time in this hellhole didn't compare to sitting his ass back down in that chair. Because only then did he truly feel like a dog.