Coming Back
After coming back from the 57th expedition, Levi punches a wall. With all his strength, and the plaster cracks.
It doesn't matter; it's his room, and he's alone.
Alone.
Fuck.
And he punches it again for good measure, pieces of plaster floating like snow to the floor and knuckles stinging, but it does nothing to still the turmoil inside of him. Nothing will help, he knows. And he's making a mess, but for once, he doesn't care.
His mind is running around in circles, going over the events of the past hours, again and again in a nauseating endless loop. Imagines playing back before his eyes.
Not that he will tell anyone. Not that he will let anyone know what turbulence is threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.
He just can't.
Suddenly exhaustion hits him, all the strength leaving his body at once and he leans forward, breathing hard, eyes on the ruined wall before him. He pushes back and stumbles to his bed, sitting down wearily. His battered body is screaming at him for rest. But he doesn't care.
He leans forward, fingers waving through strands of black hair and he closes his eyes for a moment.
They have to move forward. Make it all count.
Nobody knows what the outcome of their choice will be, after all.
Not until you arrive at the result of that choice.
He stares at the tiny shreds of white plaster on the floor, his mind wandering off, to a place full of pieces. And they are not white, or plaster.
He grits his teeth so hard that it hurts.
A knock has him looking up, and Hange opens the door. He's not surprised.
"What the hell do you want," he grumbles, not caring how she takes that.
"I came to check on you," she answers him, seemingly not faced by his surly words.
"Well, you're wasting your time, because I'm fine."
He leans forward again, wanting to remove his boot from his busted leg that has been bothering him all the way back. But suddenly another flash of pain rushes through his leg, worse than before, his breath catches, and he leans back, stars dancing before his eyes and saliva gathering in his mouth. All of a sudden he's afraid he'll throw up.
Hange is beside him before he knows it, already bending down, a hand reaching out.
"No, don't!" And he jerks away, the sudden move causing another flash of pain, and he can't stop the grunt.
"Sorry!" And she retreats her hands quickly.
When he can see again, Hange is still kneeling, looking up at him. She looks concerned. And he despises that. A busted leg is nothing—nothing to be worried about right now—nothing compared to all what had happened. If he just had—
"You should let me help you. I'll be careful. And then you should see a doctor."
Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts.
"What?"
"I'll help you with that boot, and then you should see a doctor."
"What? No, it's fine I—"
"Levi..." All of a sudden she looks exhausted.
His shoulders drop, and he lets out a sigh, rubbing a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Okay fine, but promise me not to tear my leg off."
The corner of her mouth raises in a small smile. "I promise."
She keeps her word, and a few colorful curses and two minutes later, his foot is finally free.
She sucks in a breath at the sight of the discolored, swollen limb. "You need some ice, wait here." And Hange is gone.
Levi stares up at the ceiling, leaning back against the headboard, his carefully positioned leg pulsing painfully in time with his heartbeat. He tries to shut off his mind. Not that it works. It never works.
She's back quickly, holding a bag of ice cubes, wrapped up in a cloth.
He grits his teeth when the cold meets his flaming skin, but instantly the pain lessens to a dull throb.
"Better?"
He looks up, his eyes finding hers. "Yeah, thanks."
She nods and sits down on the chair again, her teeth worrying her lip, hands fidgeting a little with a strap of her jacket.
Suddenly it's hard to breathe again because he knows—he knows what she's thinking, but he can't go there. Not yet.
"Levi— I'm sorry."
And he closes his eyes, throat burning.
"Hange, I know. I know okay."
She nods again, leaning forward. "Yeah."
They both know; there's no need for them to exchange words. There are no words. Maybe later, but not right now.
They sit in silence for a while, breathing, taking in each others presence.
"Is your hand okay?"
Again, it's Hange's voice that drags him away from the dark voices echoing through his mind, and from the imagines playing back on his eyelids. He looks down at his scraped knuckles and swallows.
"Must have been some nasty insect."
"Huh?" He looks up at her, thrown off by her remark, but before he can say anything, Hange stands up, brushing a hand over her pants.
"I'll see if someone can take a look at your leg, okay. Try to get some rest."
When she's at the door, his voice stops her.
"Hange... thanks."
She looks over her shoulder and gives him a tiny smile.
And they both know, it's not only about the leg.
Hope you enjoyed!
All the mistakes are mine.