Chapter 17. Immigrant Song

It was dusk by the time they reached the inn, and Mikasa was reminded just how long it had been since she'd ridden a horse—her backside would be protesting the journey for a few days to come.

"Only got a single left," the innkeeper monotoned, face bored as she bounced a toddler on her hip. "I can give ya a couple 'a extra blankets and what not, if ya want."

Rubie, her practiced charm not a hair out of place, made a show of hemming and hawing for the sake of Mikasa, who in turn insisted that sharing a room would be fine with her. Their disgruntled hostess lifted the toddler to her other hip before grumbling a terse "follow me, then" and escorting them to the room.

"Are you sure you'll be alright down there?" Rubie's face was the picture of concern as she watched Mikasa assemble the spare pillows and blankets on the floor.

"I'll be fine, thanks. I've slept on worse." In truth, she preferred the arrangement; the odds of Rubie making a move tonight were slim, but Mikasa felt more secure with her back to the fireplace and an adequate view of both the door and the bed. Sleep was out of the question.

The redhead sighed but didn't press the matter further. "I don't know how you do it. Being a soldier and all. It must be so grueling."

"It can be." Mikasa added another log to the fire. She'd been harboring an unshakeable chill since they'd left that morning. Eren's dejected face replayed over and over in her mind, her gut twisting tighter each time. The fire crackled and spat as it consumed the fresh log, and for a moment she was lost in the orange dance of the flame.

"Sleep well, Mikasa." Something in the way Rubie said her name, the absence of the diminutive and grating Mika, made her pause. Could it be tonight?

She looked over at the bed, face controlled. "You too."

Rubie slept on her side, her back to the rest of the room, which seemed both daring and suspect. She never moved, however, even when Mikasa thudded her left boot across the floor after nearly tripping across her spread of blankets. Idiot. She stifled a curse, heart rate and irritation elevated. Sleep was definitely out of the question.

Boots consolidated and haversack within reach, Mikasa finally lay down beside the hearth. The pillow wasn't bad—firmer than preferred, but at least it was clean. She stared up at the ceiling, at the strange shapes and shadows cast upon the black by the flickering flame. It felt so long ago that she'd lain back to back with a certain captain in a room much like this. They'd been strangers then. She'd hated him.

Not so strange now. He'd seen parts of her mind, her being that she'd only shared with a select few and would have never thought with him. Did the attraction come first or was it a byproduct? She once thought the latter, and therefore believed whatever she felt to be a hollow emotion. Fickle. And maybe it was, but the more time she spent with it, fanned its flames in her gut, the more she came to realize just how little she cared about the how and the why. That, and she was most likely going to die, so...

A very primitive pang gripped her chest—because dammit she was only human. It was hers alone to harbor, however, and she pushed the fear back into the dark, neglected corner of her mind where it so often resided. She was acting paranoid. But it could happen tonight.

She rolled onto her side with a huff, facing the fire. To sleep watching the door—or to appear to sleep, for that matter—would look suspicious. Obsessing over it would do her no good, either. Her best bet was to stick to the plan, and that meant staying put and keeping her head. And waiting. For the inevitable. It was like waiting for an impending storm, or marching into battle. The entire day had felt like one big trip to the gallows; the destination was inevitable, the journey was intolerable. She needed to distract her mind, so set to watching the fire twist and flutter, counted the embers. It would all be ash by morning...

Mikasa jolted slightly, realizing she had dozed. She'd allowed her mind to wander, her defenses to slacken. Stupid. Panic erupted in her chest, and it took all her willpower not to whip the covers off and check all corners. Instead, ever so slowly, she slid her hand along the sheets, pausing when she felt the cold hilt of her knife under her pillow.

She waited there—weapon in hand, ears straining—relying entirely on instinct to tell her the exact moment to move. Wait. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, all of her senses coming alive and narrowing down to a razor-keen focus. There was movement behind her, something felt but not heard—a shift in the air, a second heartbeat. It's happening tonight, then. The knife was free of the pillow, an extension of her arm that she kept close to her chest like some deadly telson, poised and ready to strike—

Levi's hands came together around the blade, stopping its arch between his palms. His gray eyes angled to the metal tip which hovered a mere centimeters from his cheek. "Use your head."

Mikasa's heart was a wild animal in her chest, and it was all she could do not to groan in relief. Then she became incredibly angry. His face was far too composed and just a hair too smug for her liking. That he would deem a lecture necessary enraged her to no end.

"No," he rebutted, shaking his head, "use your head." He released the knife and tapped the center of her forehead with his index. "I can talk as loud as I want, you gotta use this."

Well, now she was just embarrassed. She glared pointedly at his arms caged around her, trapping her. Did he really need to loom?

"That was my fault," he murmured. "I seem to have a bad habit of sneaking up on you."

She opened her mouth to say something—force of habit—but he arched a brow, and she shut it again.

I was sleeping.

He huffed out a breath through his nose, eyes finding a space above her head. "Why is it always a knife."

It's called a safety measure, shorty.

His jaw twitched. "Actually, I think it's called being trigger-happy, brat."

Oh, she strongly detested not being able to speak aloud at a moment like this. She was angry, her pulse still spiked. You know, you don't always need to sneak around. One of these days, I might just be quicker than you.

He opened his mouth to fire back but quickly shut it again as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings. "Oi, where the hell are you?" Mikasa stayed silent and watched him scan the room. He glanced down at her expectantly. Slowly, realization dawned across his face, and he stole another look around the room, piecing the scene together. His eyes landed on the bed, on Rubie. "Mikasa," he began, head snapping back to her. She couldn't meet his gaze. "You going to tell me the plan here, or should I pry it out of your head. We haven't tried that yet, but I bet I could do it."

Mikasa closed her eyes and took in a breath to gather her thoughts. I'm accompanying Rubie on a trip to meet her brother in the countryside. She opened her eyes once more, refusing to shy away from the slate-blue orbs burning above her. Hanji and her squad have been tailing us since the start of the journey. As per Erwin's instructions, they are not to engage with either Rubie or myself. No matter what. Levi didn't move. He may not have been breathing. She pressed on. Somewhere along the way—don't know when or how—but she is most likely going to attempt to kidnap me.

The fire hissed like a demon, the only sound in the dead-quiet room. Mikasa couldn't remember her earlier chill, suddenly feeling far too warm next to the open flame and with Levi above her. His gaze had drifted to some unseeing point by her shoulder, lost in thought. She studied his face, trying to decipher the blank expression there.

I should have told you sooner.

Another crack from the fireplace. She steeled herself for one or both of his two, probable reactions: the unbreachable wall—that stony facade that let nothing in and nothing out—or the quiet, dreadful anger.

Finally, in a quiet voice, gaze caught somewhere she couldn't see, he said, "they're going to use you against me."

There was a note of resolve to his words, like he was acknowledging some worst fear come to light. When he looked at her, that envisioned anger was nowhere to be found, and she saw only a weariness that carved itself a space to haunt beneath his eyes and the downcurve of his mouth.

He shook his head then, as if to move on from the matter—because even then he was strategizing. "I asked you once to have faith in me." She remembered. The fight ring. "Well, it goes both ways."

By now, she'd seen enough of this man to witness the cracks in his wall—seen it crumble only to reassemble itself with a practiced ease and rapidity that rivaled her own. But here, here there were no cracks or tumbling, no catastrophic felling of his defenses. Here he merely opened a door. Inside his fortress he remained, and probably always would, but the invitation was loud. His trust. Her mouth parted slightly at the revelation, and his eyes dropped down to her lips, expression softening.

Rubie shifted in the bed, the rustle of blankets jarring them from the moment. Mikasa readied the knife on reflex, tip arching dangerously close to Levi's nose. "You know what, I'm taking this away." He plucked the weapon from her hand before she could react, leaning across her to place it beside her boots. She could smell him this close–his skin, his hair. Soap. The fabric of his shirt shifted as he stretched over her, revealing the point between his neck and shoulder…

She felt rather than heard him gasp as her teeth descended upon the exposed skin. His entire body went rigid above her, his breath halting. Now that she had him, she wasn't entirely sure what to do. The bond hummed between them, primal and insistent, and gave her the strangest urge to bite harder. She refrained. He didn't move.

Tentatively, without relinquishing her teeth from his shoulder, she pressed the tip of her tongue against the soft flesh. His other hand tightened on her hip—she hadn't noticed he'd put it there—and another breath of air escaped him. Her traitorous mouth curved upward against his skin, and she was unable to maintain her bite.

He was moving as soon as her jaw loosened—hands finding both her wrists and pulling her arms above her head, knife forgotten amongst the blankets. "Could've dropped the knife, brat." His voice was strained.

Mikasa's stomach clenched at the naked look of want in his eyes—the way his hair fell forward across his brow, the subtle flush of his cheeks. The tip of his nose slid against hers, eyelashes fluttering as he lowered himself ever so slowly.

You cut your hair.

He halted. "Long story."

His lips were soft and warm against hers, the kiss so very different from the others they'd shared. He was going slow, he was being quiet. This gentleness was not something she would have associated with Levi, and yet the ardor they'd both exhibited in the past suddenly seemed out of character for him. This felt natural—like she'd peeled away the layers of his resolve and found the underlying tenderness there.

After a few moments, Levi finally broke the kiss, his head falling to her shoulder. He'd released her wrists, his elbows now bent and resting by her head. The position was oddly familiar—a prone variant of that time they'd clung to each other after she'd set his shoulder. She lifted a hand to said joint, fingers pressing against the strong muscles there before tracing lower over his ribs. He relaxed the slightest bit against her, stomach pressing to hers. She felt him hard against her hip.

If she weren't here…

He was still above her, quiet as he listened to her voice in his head.

...what would you do?

The pillow shifted as he angled his face against hers, warm breath hitting her cheek. She arched against him. "This is not the same." His voice was quiet beside her ear, but there was tension there—an inflection she hadn't heard from him before. "Touching you like this," he clarified.

Mikasa could have groaned at the feeling of his hand carding through her hair, of his warm fingers against her scalp. She turned her head slightly so her brow met his. How would you know?

His stilled. The developments in their relationship, the intimacy, had only occurred within the confines of the bond. Neither had a basis for anything.

You think it's different.

Not a question. Her hand left his ribs and slid lower, found the edge of his shirt, slipped underneath.

How would you know?

He blinked at her, gray eyes searching her face—for a trick, a clue, a lie. Mikasa cornered her gaze to the sleeping Rubie against her better judgment. She hadn't moved, which could either be reassuring or cause for concern. Goosebumps erupted up her arms as Levi lowered his face into her neck. "I came here to tell you something, brat." Her fingers splayed across his abdomen, curved back up his sides to feel his ribs expand with his breath. "...tell you something," he whispered, and she smirked at the ceiling.

The floorboards in the hall gave a subtle creak.

It could be anything—another tenant moving about in the night, the inn itself shifting—but Levi and Mikasa were too conditioned to shrug off even the smallest of sounds as anything but a potential threat.

"It can wait," Levi breathed, eyes upturned toward the door. "What I came to tell you, I mean. It's something Rikard mentioned, about the Ackerman line." Mikasa's eyes widened, but he shook his head. "It can wait. You just…" His eyes roamed her face, brow softening. Another creak came from the hall, and she strained to listen above the rapid drumming of her pulse. "You just focus on your mission."

A heavy pang settled itself deep within Mikasa's gut, and for the second time that day, she felt the terrible prick of emotion behind her eyes. She surged upward without thinking, hiding her face in his neck and pressing herself into his embrace, memorizing his smell. He relaxed against her, hand wedging beneath her back to pull her closer to him. She gritted her teeth against the lump in her throat, suddenly thankful for the ability to communicate without speaking. I'm going to find you. Her fingers met at his nape, trailing through the silky strands of his hair. I'm going to get you out.

The air shifted, the door sliding open with a horrifying click. Levi's breath released in a stilted, yet quiet exhale. His eyes were back on the door as she removed her arms from him. She lay there in deathly silence, listening to the press of foreign boots against the floor, watching Levi's expression as he eyed the intruder. It was all she could do to keep her breathing even and to not leap from the blankets and attack.

With astonishing control, Levi lifted his hand from the pillow and brought his fingers across Mikasa's face, shutting her eyelids. "You're gonna be fine," he whispered, but she could hear the anxiety in his voice. He lowered his forehead to hers once more, breath mingling with hers. "You stay alive, alright?"

Words wouldn't form in her mind, any rational thought discarded in favor of not panicking. His lips were a brush against her brow, soft and comforting, and this time it was he who spoke through the bond.

There will be time after.

The connection severed just a breath before the bag whipped over her head. She struggled against the hands grabbing at her shoulders and arms—that was what she was supposed to do, and because the panic had finally broken free from its cage.

"Parker, get her legs." The voice was deep, but female. Mikasa struck out with her foot, finding contact with what felt like a shin.

"Damn bitch. Flip her over." A man, probably the one she struck. The wind was driven from her lungs as she was suddenly whipped onto her face, a knee driving itself into her back. The one called Parker finally managed to trap her legs, and she roared in frustration at being undeniably trapped. The bag was hot and stifling around her face, a strange smell clinging to its fabric.

"You got her?" She stiffened at the sound of Rubie's voice. There came a strained grunt of affirmation from the woman kneeling on her back. "Let me see her."

Her cheek thudded against the floorboards as the bag was torn off of her. She blinked and spluttered against the mess of her hair, another grunt of rage leaving her. Rubie had knelt beside her, face impassive in the firelight, but the other two Redeemers remained out of her field of vision.

"That went smoother than expected. Maybe the journey has made you weak." Rubie reached out and swept the strands of hair from Mikasa's face, her touch gentle .

A proper response was critical—she'd already struggled, now came the next part. Playing confusion was too heavy-handed, but not enough and she risked being transparent. Truth, then. Just not all of it, and the angry tears were anything but a lie. "Why?" she hissed through her teeth.

A small smile lifted at Rubie's face, the expression as much condescending as it was bitterly, bitterly humiliating. "Oh, my dear." That was all, and then the bag was being forced back over Mikasa's head.

The struggle left her sucking in more of the coarse fabric than air, the odd smell having an alarmingly soporific effect on her senses. She was aware of her feet thudding down the stairs as she was half dragged, and only then realized she was wearing her boots again. Her head swam, and then the air was changing—cooler. She was outside.

An immeasurable amount of time passed, punctuated by the sharp smell of the bag and the mumbling conversation of her Redeemer captors. Her thoughts drifted to Hanji's squad, and she wondered how close behind they were following. They had to be following.

Cold—very, very cold—water splashed across Mikasa's face, and only then did she realize she'd passed out. She gulped in lungfuls of air, searching the space around her wildly. Stone, so much stone, men in red, torches. The Underground.

The floor was cold and hard beneath her knees. Five Redeemers, all in red, were gathered around her in what appeared to be a long hall. Rubie was nowhere to be seen, but as one of the men stepped forward she recognized his face—a male copy of his sister's.

"Sorry for the water. The sedative can be difficult to wake up from."

Mikasa inhaled to speak, but the action sent her into a violent hacking fit. Rikard gestured to one of the Redeemers behind her, and a cup of water presented itself underneath her nose. Against her better judgement, she drank greedily, if only to relieve the burning scratch in her throat.

"Good girl." The cup was pulled away before she was ready, droplets of water and spit falling down her chin and across her knees. "You had that bag on you for a few hours. Probably gonna feel that in your head and chest for a while more." Rikard gestured again, and a pair of large hands were suddenly lifting Mikasa to standing. "Stick her in the girl's cell. Bring the basin and some food afterwards."

The drug still had a grip on her senses, making the walk difficult, and the guard hauled more than escorted her. She craned her head back to see Rikard, catching the crimson flutter of his cloak as he retreated.

Row after row of empty cell lined the stone hallway. Some were larger than others, barely large enough for a man to turn around in, while others were rather spacious. She hadn't seen this side of the Redeemer's lockup, having been limited to Levi's location. She cornered her gaze to her guard, noting his massive height and rotund form. She recognized him. The jailor. He'd be slow in a fight, but formidable. She wished for that garrotte.

The jailor gave a loud and very wet sniff, the sound echoing through the catacombs. Mikasa grimaced at the sickly-wet sound as he patted his fingers across the bridge of his nose. It was broken, still not set.

They rounded a corner, encountering another stretch of cells. This area looked oddly familiar, however. An intense feeling of hate bubbled in Mikasa when she saw the redheaded woman standing near the far end of the hall. She'd changed attire—a red, scarf-like garment hung from her neck and tumbled down to brush at her knees. It gave her a somewhat virtuous appearance, and the anger only surged higher in Mikasa's chest.

"Red Mother," the jailor uttered, jerking to a halt before the woman.

"Why is she wet?" Rubie touched a sopping lock of Mikasa's hair.

"Wouldn't wake up," he replied. He sniffed again, pawed at his nose, then quickly added, "Rikard's decision."

A look of mild irritation flitted across Rubie's face, but she covered it with a dreamy smile. "You must have so many questions, Mika," she intoned. "I can assure you that they will all be answered in due course." She swept her hand out and motioned to the opened cell beside them. The guard sniffed and lifted his hand for another pass across his nose.

Her arm was free for but a moment, and with her mind clearer after the walk, reflexes somewhat restored, Mikasa's fist connected with Rubie's nose with all the swiftness of an adder.

The jailor roared and wrenched her away, but the damage was already done. Mikasa managed to break her fall with a roll as the man tossed her into the cell. The bars slammed shut behind her, followed by the frantic jangle of keys.

"Perhaps I deserved that," Rubie said, voice muffled by her hand. The sight of the diminutive woman next to the massive jailor, both sporting damaged noses, was almost comical. Almost. "Move," Rubie ordered, and the guard stumbled back to let her approach the bars.

"Red Mother—" he began to protest, wary. Rubie held up a hand.

"Perhaps you'll never trust me. Or forgive me. That's fine." Her pale hands, marred with blood, gripped around the bars. "But I hope that one day you'll understand me."

The bars were cold and unforgiving against her brow as Mikasa leaned in. She could see every freckle on Rubie's face at this distance, could almost smell the metallic tang of the blood leaking over her chin. "And I hope you know," she replied, voice a cracked hiss, "that it's going to be I who kills you."

For her part, Rubie didn't waver, didn't even swallow, and a balmy smile wavered itself into place as she pulled away from the cell. "You Ackermans are so...volatile."

That smile was verging on triumphant, and Mikasa's gaze travelled past her to the cell across the hall. How had she not noticed until now? Her mind was on fire—a far stronger tug in their connection than she'd experienced.

Rubie was speaking, droning on in that supercilious tone, no doubt thinking she'd revealed some kind of clever trick. Mikasa didn't care, could only focus on the harrowing drop in her gut as she pushed through the bond.

And met nothing.

"This must be a shock," she cooed, observing the tormented expression on Mikasa's face. "Believe me, this was probably the hardest lie for me to keep."

Levi's expression mirrored her own—confusion, a rising panic. But she couldn't hear him. Why couldn't she hear him? Speak to him? Why wasn't it working? The bond was still there, no doubt, which was an odd sort of relief. In fact, it was stronger than ever—painfully so. Like standing too close to an open flame.

"You don't need to forgive me, but you will understand." Rubie dabbed at her bloodied nose tentatively before jerking her head at the jailor, a wordless order for him to follow. "I'll leave you two to catch up."

Alone, the silent distance between them mocking. Exhaustion clung to her bones, yet the bond was a coursing power in her ears, making her feel powerful—overstimulated. The torch in the hall reflected off his eyes, a pair of blue-metal stones in the shadows. She could almost reach him, they were so close.

His voice was a low rumble across the divide, his hands strong and pale as they curved around the bars before him. "I've been waiting for you."

Mikasa listened to the lulling hum of their connection. "I've been looking for you."