Disclaimer: Again, I don't own a thing.

Mikasa had never spent much time pondering over her relationship with Eren. As long as she could stay by his side, who'd care what she was for him? That, and the fact that he was known to possess an emotional range of a tree bark and would probably gave her either an exceptionally blank look or a forceful change of topic than be honest with himself (and her). Beside, there never was that much of competition. Girls back at the training camp would often scam with just a look from her, and she had made sure that Eren never go anywhere without her. (Except for the toilet, and the male dorm. But then again, who was stupid enough to actually try to seduce someone at those places?). There had been something going on with Annie, but in the end, it hadn't worked out so well.

So yes, she found it utterly pointless and thoroughly exhausting just thinking about where they were standing. She had more pressing matters to address, one of which concerning the survival of humanity. It served her fine, that reluctance to acknowledge one's feeling. Until The Wedding, it did.

She nearly tripped over her own feet when hearing of Captain Erwin's outrageous order (suggestion? Could it be called that?). And God knew Arkermans never trip. As it stood, she settled for a stagger backward instead.

"Repeat that, Erwin. And be absolutely certain that you know what you are doing."

Those lines weren't hers, but they were spoken in her behalf. She threw Levi a dirty look. Mikasa Arkerman did not need anyone's pity, less that of Humanity's strongest warrior's.

Erwin's unnerving stare was the only answer she needed.

Eren did not protest (she despised herself for even hoped otherwise -she knew him better than that). Historia did not protest -much (the girl cared for nothing that passionate to even have the energy to be stubborn). Mikasa wanted to protest, but she knew damn well that she wasn't in any position to. Truth to be told, she was already half way from jumping at Erwin and snapping his neck, but Levi had swiftly moved between them, his eyes narrowing just a slightest fraction and the fight went out of her like air bursting from a too-tight balloon. She hated it when the guy kept doing that, acting like her brother, while he had never even been a decent cousin in the first place.

She slumped back to her place by the wall, heart racing and head aching. For the very first time in her life, she wondered if dying that day years ago would have been better.

Armin asked her (nervously) to behave herself at His wedding. It was thoughtful enough of him, but she had almost hit him for the sympathetic expression on his face. Since it was an unwritten rule of the universe that she could never hurt Armin, she turned to clobber Jean instead, for being unfortunate enough to drop his pan on her feet at that exact moment. It wasn't nearly as satisfy as throttling Historia, but it was enough for her to rear in her emotions once more. That was good. Barely, but good either way.

She did behave, in the end. She managed not to kill anyone. She managed not to strangle the bride in front of all the guests. She even managed to refrain from throwing the groom over her shoulder and running for the hills. She was splendid, if she had to say so herself.

Though that splendidness had not hindered her wallowing in self-pity hours later as she drunk herself sick. At one point, Armin tried to stop her, but was driven away by her open hostility and brashness. At another point, Levi joined her at the Depressing Table and helped himself with a cup or two. She gave him the finger and hit her head face down at the table. She wasn't that drunk yet, but people were catcalling for the newlyweds to consummate their marriage. She wished she could have blackout after that. No such luck.

Loving him has always been as easy as breathing (she did not acknowledge it at first, but it was there anyway, that love). And when that love had to be tucked away into the farthest corner of her heart, Mikasa thought that she could die (a moment of weakness, no more).

Yet, she didn't.

She lived, she fought and she went on with her life.

She might not have him (not really), but she would have his back until the day she died. She would fight on, for his dream if not her own, and she would get out of this godforsaken wall, she would see the ocean. Their ocean.

Just like that, and Mikasa decided that she would be okay.

He didn't change much, after the wedding. Then again, no one on the squad actually expected him to. He fought with his usual single-minded ferocity and maintained his sangfroid in every expedition outside the wall. She was glad (selfishly so).

He never talked about Historia, not when she was in range. She wondered if he knew, and then bitterly squashed down her futile hope. He'd had seven years to know. If he hadn't acted then, what made she think he would act now? Especially when he had a wife already. And while Eren was many things at once, unscrupulous adulterer was not one of them. He valued his sense of morality too much, and she had always loved him for that.

He had been ten when he decided that his life would ultimately revolve around Titans and walls and the outside world. Watching loved ones died in the most horrible way possible tended to do that to people. So it wasn't as if he didn't know (about Mikasa, about Jean, about, heck, Annie). It was more of the fact that he decided that he would not do a bleeding thing about it. And for the most part, it was pretty successful.

Still, even he sometimes lost it. That moment outside the wall, after he'd just escaped from Reiner's and Betolt's crutches, that moment when she looked at him with tears in her eyes, when Titans stormed noisily all around them and they all going to die in seconds now, he figured that 'to hell with it all'. Then, against his better judgment, he showed her that part of him, the part that not quite so dense and definitely too sentimental for his taste. He remembered that moment from time to time, upbraiding himself severely for letting his emotions get the better of him.

Yet, he did it again. And this time, the result was so spectacular that he could no longer turn a blind eye on it.

He missed Historia. It had already been two months since the last time they saw each other, and the longing had become a constant itch that never quite seemed to go away. It didn't help that Connie and Sasha chose this exact occasion to announce the disturbing changes in their relationship. The incessant physical intimacies made Levi's homicidal tendency rose at an alarming rate, made Jean's furious self-pity and loneliness increased tenfold, made everyone else miserable and made him think about Historia much more frequently than he should.

Then, when everyone was still very much absorbed in their own little world and their paltry problems (the feeling of peace was an addictive thing), a large-scale attack was launched just outside the wall. Mikasa went missing in the midst of the havoc. He was certain that he had gone mad with worry.

When she showed up at their hideout two nights later, blades still drawn, face covered in blood and tattered clothes stained with dried mud, he had another moment of 'to hell with it all'. He knew it wasn't right. He knew that he would hate himself when day came. He knew that he loved Historia and nothing would worth hurting her. And yet, he needed this. He needed to hold Mikasa in his arms, he needed to touch her, to felt her heartbeat beside his. He realized with a painful tug that this came much more natural than it should.

He woke at first light, hating himself so much it was excruciating.

He acted as if nothing happened, and so, she, too, didn't say a word. He must have hated himself, she thought. He must have hated himself so bad he almost went into denials. She wondered briefly if it was terrible of her to feel inexplicably giddy despite everything.

Eren's awkward silent treatment ended when she took to emptying her stomach just outside the camp. He staggered back, face drained of blood as realization struck him. He looked at her, really looked at her with those incredibly astonished eyes of his. Beside him, Armin stared back and forth between them, looking alarmed and constipated and who-know-what as he put two and two together (he had always been too keen for his own good). Hours later (or was it minutes? She could no longer tell properly), Levi found the three of them, looking petrified and quite very dead on their feet, and all hell broke loose.

When she was summoned to have an audience with the queen, Mikasa had expected the worst. Christa had been the nice and forgiving type (to the point that it sometimes got uncomfortable), but Historia...well, she didn't know that much about Historia, but she doubted this queen was sweet enough as to forgive and tolerate random women sleeping with her husband. (She wasn't random to Eren, or to Christa -for that matter, but she was pretty certain that she was random to Historia).

"Do close the door, Mikasa. I'd hated it if our conversation make it to the gossip mills before I even open my mouth." Historia's voice was calm and conversational, as if they were about to discuss the weather.

In a way, she was not sure that wasn't the case.

Compiling in dull motions, she moved to the cushion in front of Historia and settled on it. As the silence ticked by, she made to speak first:

"Am I to be called here to watch you sipping on your cup of tea and feel mightily uncomfortable the whole time?"

She knew that she wasn't in any position to be caustic, but somehow, she couldn't seem to bring herself to care.

Historia looked up from her cup and fixed Mikasa with an unreadable stare (that usual creepy, semi-horrible and semi-vulnerable stare of hers, how did Eren stand it?):

"Why is it you haven't ask for a maternal leave? Heaven knows Erwin would be too intimidated by Levi that his acceptance will be easy enough."

Of all things she had expected the queen to say, this certainly was not it.

"... They'll put me up for paperwork one of these days. I'm pregnant, not disabled."

She wondered if it would be more proper to add 'your highness' at the end of the sentence, but then scoffed and disregarded it entirely. If Historia had decided to hold a grudge against her, she would have plenty of reasons to choose from that impolite speech and terrible manner would never make it to the top of the list.

"You are in your sixth month, and the child you are carrying is hardly an ordinary one, seeing as its father is my consort. Shouldn't you care more about its safety? Do you intend to give birth to a babe anywhere near a drooling titan? You are not in any condition to keep flying around murdering titans, Mikasa."

She had no idea what had prompted her to do so, but she snorted a laugh so loud that even she was astonished with herself.

"Do you mind, Historia? (She still couldn't quite bring herself to address the girl as 'your highness') I thought sanctimonious Christa was a history already? Or are you going back to those days of being a scrupulous saint that creep the hell out of normal people around you?"

Because Mikasa had always been better with blades and fists, this might be the very first time she used her words to attack someone, however feeble that attempt was.

Historia was giving her a wary look, the one that people often gave to a particularly dangerous animal that would roar and pounce spectacularly in the matter of minutes. In the end, the queen asked with a slow and neutral voice:

"So you'd prefer me jumping at you with foul cusses on my lips and hands balled into fists? Or do you expect me to slap you repeatedly while screeching like a banshee? Maybe a bit of hair pulling, just for the effect?" Her voice rose dangerously with each syllable and her blue eyes gleamed with emotions, perhaps hate. Mikasa could see it now, the simmering anger just below the surface of her sangfroid. She did care. She did think about it.

Somehow, that made it all better. Because this Historia was the one Mikasa understood, the one she could relate to, the one that actually made sense. She never knew how important it was for her to truly come face to face with the woman who shared the same love for Eren. She smiled a little:

"Finally. Don't you think I (of all people) could handle this?"

The queen sucked in a deep breath and fixed a stare at her:

"For what purpose, Mikasa? What's done is done and I don't find howling and crawling at your eyeballs will make me feel any better, or make you less pregnant with my husband's child, for that matter. So what's the point?"

Mikasa pondered. She had been doing a lot of that lately. Did this have anything to do with hormonal mood-swings as well?

"The point is," She started slowly, "you should be more honest with yourself. Sometimes people can't help but do irrational things, and bottling up all of it will give you more than just psychological disorder and a bloody migraine, shouldn't you know that by now?" She straightened up and added as an afterthought, "and when we're at it, I'm not going to apologize."

Historia waved her off as if she was swatting a particular persistent fly:

"I never expect you to. Please, I did spend more than five years with you and Eren. In fact," the queen smirked just slightly, "it came as quite a surprise that you hadn't tried to throttle me before the wedding."

Mikasa tried to keep her grimace as subtle as possible, but it seemed futile nonetheless. Was she that predictable?

"Yes. When it comes to Eren, you are."

Historia shrugged and answered her question before the words were even out of her mouth. Damn. This was annoying.

"So...you don't hate me? Is that what you are saying?" She prompted carefully, studying Historia's face all the while. This was too good, no, too preposterous to be true.

Historia ignored the way Mikasa's eyes seemed to bore holes into the side of her head:

"I tolerate you, to be more specific." Her blue eyes narrowed just a slightest fraction as she quirked a tight smile, "Your love will keep him safe, for I cannot be there for him outside the wall. Your devotion will keep him alive, alive so that he can come back to me. I can't make you stop loving him, nor can I force out the part of him that will keep loving you. But I can satisfy myself with the fact that he loves me just as much as he does you. Or maybe more, I don't know."

Mikasa knew that pity should be the last thing she could feel for the other woman. Still, it was true that sometimes people couldn't help doing the irrational thing. Her voice was low and soft as she asked:

"Will it be enough for you, that kind of love?"

Historia straightened her back and put on an expressionless mask almost immediately (Did this, too, came with being a queen? Then Mikasa was genuinely glad that she was not in Historia's shoes):

"Of course it will not be enough. But it's all I have now." Her eyes shone brightly at this point, "Perhaps my love for him will be enough for both of us."

"Perhaps." She agreed despite herself (and pondered some more about the unfairness of life). They both knew that Eren would never touch her again, being a good person he was. A mistake would forever stay as a mistake. She just needed time to come to term with this, hard as it may.

"Beside," Historia was smiling now, the kind of genuine smile that was unbelievably contagious, "Knowing Eren, each of us might only occupy a little bit more than ten percent of his mind anyway. The rest will be contributed swiftly to his obsession with titans and the world beyond those walls. Why squabble when titans are obviously more of a love rival than anything else?"

Mikasa's smile came easier this time, more natural, and in the end, she even laughed softly along. It was nice, even if she was only being tolerated.

Historia might be the one giving birth, but Eren sure acted like he was the one going into labor. He sweated, he paled, he paced restlessly and he swore like a sailor every given minute. Beside her, Armin kept smiling nervously and cringing each time a new curse was uttered from Eren's mouth. He was to be a Godfather. That tended to make one nervous. She, on the other hand, just stood rooted in her place, shifting ever so slightly as Historia's agonized groan echoed shrilly through the hall. At that horrible sound, Eren stopped moving back and forth, looking as if he was about to either burst into tears or start hyperventilating. In the end, he chose to swear some more. Armin shrunk further into his seat, giving the ceiling a beseeching stare, mouth tightened into an inaudible prayer. Prayer to whom, she did not know. None of them did, really. Should anyone pray to a God that let wretched creatures like Titans roam the world and murder innocents? Was that God even existed?

"Your Highness!" The urgent voice snapped her out of her reverie. Almost on reflexes, Mikasa's hands moved to touch her belly and soothed quietly at the way her baby kicked vehemently in protest of the sudden noise.

Eren surged forward, pupils dilated and lips pressed tightly together. Definitely the one going into labor. She wondered briefly if he would be this worry when it was her turn to give birth. She hoped not. He would make her too nervous about his psychological state outside the door to actually remember to push.

"A girl, your Highness! We have a princess!" The maid's (was she a maid?) voice was elated and understandably breathless.

Armin let out a long sigh and fixed his expression into something less greenish as he pushed Eren forward:

"Eren! A girl! Come on!"

Without a word, Eren blinked slowly once, twice, thrice before pushing his way quite aggressively into the room. A cry (the one that had echoed just minutes before, why hadn't she noticed?) greeted him. Mikasa let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding and smiled, just a slightest bit. Armin grinned from ear to ear as he took in her expression. She didn't know that it would mean that much to him. But it was, maybe it had always been. Her amazing friend that was always on her side and wishing for her happiness.

They waited a full five minutes before peeking in. The room was bright, as if the child had brought the light in with her arrival. Eren was lying on his side by Historia, a small bundle nestled neatly in the middle of them. The couple was smiling (Historia's tired but happy one; Eren's soft and wondering one) and whispering to each other with gentle endearments that Armin and Mikasa couldn't catch.

They did love each other, oh so much. She wondered if this was her being bitter.

Life was not fair. Love was not fair. And they had made such a mess of themselves that the word 'unfairness' wouldn't even begin to cover it. Still, as long as he was happy, as long as he had that beautiful smile on his lips, she would be okay, regardless. She would be okay.

(She pushed the maybes, the perhaps and the one-days down to the pit of her stomach. Push enough and it might even become true.)