Several hours ago

Being denied the sight of his smiling face one last time—that would be one of her few regrets.

Yet Mikasa knew there was no other way. Either of them carried only so much gas in their ODM gear, certainly not enough to reach the Cleaning Point. They also learned the hard way there was no escaping these abnormals on horseback; they narrowly escaped with their lives when they bailed out at the last moment. Sticking to the treetops was not completely safe either; these deviants were adept climbers, something they only thought possible with the Dancing Titan and Beast Titan.

"Jean!" she called out to her partner in the heavy mist, still affected by his ankle injury as he maneuvered from tree to tree, "Listen up. Neither of us has enough gas to reach the others. But with my spare canisters, you just might make it. We'll have to take the risk."

"What?" he replied, catching his breath in between swings, "No deal! I'm not leaving you behind. And Eren'll kill me if I return without you."

She landed on a thick tree branch, and motioned him to do the same. When he did, she brusquely seized his jacket collar, catching him by surprise. Jean clearly had a knack for getting grabbed by an Ackerman, and twice on the same day no less. He was met with the familiar steely gaze of hers; he knew at once it was a facade. Her wide-open eyes leaked pain, regret, anger, and fear. What could she be possibly afraid of?

"We have a minute at most before they catch up, so listen carefully. Only one of us can make it, and it's gonna be you, Jean. I'm the better soldier here, and I can keep them busy longer enough to cover your escape. Stay with me, and we both die. Turn back for me, try to be a hero—we both die. Understand?"

Her grip on his garb tightened, ramming home the gravity of her words, "I understand, Mikasa."

"When you get there, tell the Commander that I'm sorry. And tell Eren this..."

She carefully told him her parting message to the Titan shifter, and Jean nodded. Taking her spare canisters, the two bid farewell one last time, just as heavy footsteps could be made out once more. Acting on instinct, she dove like a bird of prey, dispatching the first abnormal that came her way. Returning to her perch, she quickly checked her remaining gas before hostiles start pouring in. While nowhere near critical levels yet, she would not be able to hold them off as long as she wanted. Coupled with the low visibility and hefty number of abnormals, charging like a bull would only get her killed quickly. She needed to sting like a bee, attacking the threats methodically and keeping them running in confused circles. She needed to buy Jean a lot of time.

Not even she could win against them all, so her goal was simple: not to lose for as long as possible.

A second, third and fourth one went down without much of a problem, despite the bastards' speed. At the moment, her gear and skill allowed her to be a hair faster than the enemy. She knew that some Titans were probably slipping past her, but there was little she could do about that. She just needed the bulk of the enemy forces to beleaguer her. She often yelled every now and then to attract them.

As more Titans surrounded Mikasa, her fifth kill required a bit more finesse. She missed her target, flinching forward and sustaining only surface wounds from her blades. She narrowly escaped being grabbed by another one hiding behind a tree. She swore under her breath. That one nearly had her. Swinging around a tree and conserving her momentum, the flinching Titan was too slow this time. By the time her body count reached five, thrice that number had taken the fallen's place.

It felt like hours, though she reckoned the struggle had been raging just shy of an hour. As the kill count went up, so did the close calls. She was already grabbed by an abnormal once, tearing away only thanks to weapons she kept close to her and sheer, brute strength. Her last blades saved her, and left a mark on her as well. The giant hand that closed around her pushed the steel to bite into her shoulder, leaving a shallow cut. She did not have time to check for injuries though. She could still fight, wrestling with fatigue about as much as she did with the man-eaters.

Skill could only take her so far; her luck had to eventually run out. And it did.

The persistent mist rendered the use of the ODM gear half a guessing game. Each time she shot her cables over longer distances, she had to trust that both ends will find their marks. On one occasion however, her cables bit into a tree closer than she anticipated. She soared forward with more speed than she intended and her legs hit the tree bark, making a sickening crunching sound.

To make matters far worse, the impact was strong enough to dislodge her cables, causing her to free fall twenty feet above the ground. Bushes at the foot of the tree somewhat cushioned her fall, but not by much. Her fighting spirit screamed at her to get up and keep fighting, but every fiber in her body begged to differ. Limbs outright refused to listen, and she was bleeding in areas she had not checked yet. Not that it mattered, for the suffering would soon be over, she thought. As she laid on the forest floor dying and surrounded, life played the cruel taunter. In her mind flashed that which has gone, that which is not, and that which shall never come to be. In mere split seconds, brought to life was the childhood with the boy she loved; the beautiful night when their souls and not their bodies lied naked next to one another; the future of a family that could never be theirs. She heard his voice at the end, yelling at her once more to pick up the sword and fight. Get the fuck back up, dammit! Fight. Fight. FIIIIIIIIIIGHT!

Forgive me, Eren. I have done all I could. Please don't forget me, and live well.

Right until she lost consciousness, she paid no heed to the Titans approaching her, engrossed in the surreal reality of her own mind. Her fading senses barely even recognized the distinct thunder and brilliant glow of a Titan transformation some way off.

(-)

Present time

He knew that he was dreaming, but not even that made it any less real nor petrifying.

Nightmares were not new to him, but this particular one was different. He could control his actions to a certain extent. However, the semblance of choice and action seemed only to mock, and not empower. He was taken back to the Ackerman home all those years ago. Only this time, he approached the house as a young man, armed with the Survey Corps' characteristic twin blades.

He did not bother knocking but instead forced the door open, well aware of the threats waiting on the other side. The first bandit turned to face him, clearly surprised and drew his dagger a split-second too late. Eren knew exactly where the bastard would stand and how he would react, like a spectator who saw the same play one too many times. As if of its own accord, one of Eren's swords flew from its sheath and sang the final tune the bandit would ever hear. The blade glided across the man's hairy neck like a hot knife through butter, killing him before head or body fell to the floor.

The second cutthroat came after him with a spear, but Eren remembered this unusually vividly as well. In a single fluid movement, he parried the spear thrust to his right and murderously ran the man through to the hilt. He released the handle afterwards, leaving the blade lodged in the man's torso. The cutthroat stared in confusion at the weapon handle protruding from his chest before doubling over and dying.

He stepped out of the hallway and into the empty room; at once he could tell that something was off. Before he could put his finger on it, precognition abandoned his dream self. Catching him by surprise, the third bandit jumped him from behind and sunk a knife into his shoulder. In response, he wheeled around, shoving the man off balance and attacking with his second weapon, barring no holds.

A single, devastating slash would have been enough, but Eren did not stop at one. He tirelessly hacked and wailed despite his own stab wound, once more lost in the frenzy of rage and retaliation. When the shredded man finally dropped dead, Eren felt neither satisfaction nor remorse.

There was only the ever deepening chasm within him.

He stood in the room for what felt like hours. Only when the sun's rays shone on a door previously veiled in shadow did he look up, shaken from his self-pitying stupor. Somehow, though he never witnessed this before, he knew with absolute certainty that Mikasa was behind that door. She had to be. Without second thought, he rushed to open the door, adamant to see her safe and to hold her in his arms.

She was there, and yet the room felt empty and devoid of life. Her lifeless form remained unmoving, oblivious to the kneeling boy's tight embrace or hysterical crying. She was blind to his weeping face, deaf to his pleas of 'please don't' and callous to his warm touch. The girl was cold as ice, chilling even the deepest recesses of his hollow soul.

In the dream, he never felt so in control of his actions. And utterly powerless at the same time.

He awoke with a jolt, like a man stumbling into a cozy tavern after braving a thunderstorm outside for hours. Rainfall, now just a tad stronger than a drizzle, cooled his warm, sweaty face. When he sat up and opened his eyes, the sight before him was perplexing. The prone form of the Attack Titan was a few feet away from him; Eren did not recall crawling out of the behemoth. Judging from the rate of decomposition, he was unconscious for about an hour or two. He slowly began to register other details. The soil beneath him was moist and mushy. A green cloak was draped over his shoulders, but it was not his own, smelling far more fragrant. Tears began to freely stream from his eyes when his hand traveled to his neck, feeling the muffler he wrapped around a frightened girl who overcame her fears for him practically a lifetime ago.

If this is a dream, wake me up after forever and a day, he addressed to no one in particular.

But as fate took a break from playing fiendish hands, this was no dream. He held the hand of the bloody arm strewn across his lap and gingerly shook her shoulder with his other hand, praying she was still with him. She had to be. He was fully awake now, and fairly confident that utter madness had not taken over yet. Losing her once was harrowing enough. To let her slip a second, third, fourth time would be unthinkable.

"Mikasa... Mikasa, it's me. Wake up, dammit. Don't you fucking put me through this. Please just don't."

When she did not respond, he pushed fears of the worst to the back of his mind, letting his training take over. She was not quite out of the woods yet, literally and figuratively. He knelt beside her and pressed his thumb beneath her jawline, feeling a faint cadence. It was a weak pulse, but it was there. She was still holding on. Fighting for him through the pain. The chilly night be damned, he blanketed her with the green cloak and wrapped her scarf around the unusual sight of her bare neck. The last time he saw her not wearing the scarf was before the artifact even belonged to her.

I forgot to get her a new one, he thought. She kept the damned thing all these years.

Though it would not do any good, he leaned in to kiss her forehead anyway. He got to his feet with no small effort, his limbs protesting after several hours of inactivity. Now standing up, he slogged his way to the decomposing Attack Titan, hoping his provisions were still there and not taken by some nocturnal creature. Making his way around the oversized bones and remains of Titan flesh, he finally reached the nape cavity. He did not count on recovering the powerful lamp seeing how his Titan form fell face first, so he focused on recovering the medkit instead, groping in the darkness with only moonlight to aid his search. After several minutes, he found the leather satchel bag and his sword. The former felt bent around the corners, but Eren thought that the contents should be otherwise fine.

He slowly walked back to her. He stumbled twice, but got up each time. When he was kneeling by her side once more, he placed the satchel beside them, set the sword aside, and removed her cloak. As he recalled the procedures involved in first aid, he held her hand, helping him think more clearly. Until she squeezed back.

"Cold..." she muttered, tightening her grip. He let go of her hand for the time being, finding scissors, disinfectant cream, bandages, and medical tape from the satchel.

"I know, Mika. I know. Soon as I dress your wounds, I'll bring back the cloak. But I need you to tell me where you're hurt."

"Right shoulder, shallow cut," she breathed, though she was in fact unsure how grave the sword cut was. As the Titan shifter snipped the bloody fabric around the wound, she held his shoulder with her uninjured arm.

"Eren... wasn't what I meant earlier. The cloak... put it around you. Take the scarf too. Risk of hypothermia..."

"I'll be alright," he snapped, focused on his work, "Now just shut up and let me take care of you. For once."

"Eren," she was not about to let up, shaking his shoulder like a dinner bell. Thing was, he was not about to let up either. In an attempt to quiet her, he kissed her forehead once more, which was warmer than he anticipated. In addition to some blood loss, a fever might have been slowly setting in.

"No, you're not in a position to argue," he murmured, resuming his task, "Now we do this as a team. Let me work, and you just hang on there. Enough about me, already."

Soothed by his ministrations, she had little choice but to cede to his suggestion. With the fabric cut away, he applied the disinfectant cream next on her shoulder wound, hoping infection wasn't as worse as he imagined. The bandages came last, positioning them as gingerly as he could. As he began securing them with tape, she addressed him once more.

"This... this isn't a dream, is it? It's really you, and you came for me."

"No, no, it isn't," he replied reassuringly as he worked, "I was afraid of the same thing too, but I know we're both here. That much I know. I'm taking you home."

"I... I am home."

"No, you're not. That's the delirium talking. We're deep in the blasted woods, Mika."

"I'm home, Eren," she repeated, reaching to touch his face, "With you."

He leaned into her touch and placed a hand above hers, the tenderness between them gradually growing on him and dampening his usual brashness and propensity to explode.

"You lost some blood, so we'll set out after you get some more rest. Drizzle shouldn't stick around much longer. In the meantime, let me tend to your other wounds. Where else are you hurt?"

"Right leg. Took most of the impact when... I went too fast and fell. Misjudged distance... because of the mist earlier."

"Dammit, Mikasa," he quipped, blanketing her upper body with the green cloak, "Don't ever do this again. I think I have a splint here somewhere."

"I'm sorry... didn't have any other choice. Had to keep Titans busy to cover Jean's escape."

"I know that. I suppose I'm just restless that I wasn't there, that I didn't even get the chance to save you."

"You did. You did, Eren."

"I was far away from you at the time. What do you mean?"

By then, rainfall had thankfully, finally ceased. Despite the pain making it difficult to speak, she spoke of her final moments. At least that's what she thought of them at the time. Before she lost consciousness, she remembered hearing the thunderous crack of a Titan transformation, and the Titans that surrounded her must have detected it too. It was practically unheard of—Titans abandoning easy prey before them for some strange sound in the distance. It was however, the only way to explain her survival. After that, she was roused by the sound and tremor that reverberated from the fallen Attack Titan. Not wishing to worry him any further, she left out the bit about about painfully crawling to his location; hauling him out of the Titan carcass; balancing on one good leg as they sought shelter from the weather. Eren did not need to know that.

"Being a freak isn't so bad after all, if it means saving your life."

"You're not a freak, Eren. Stop thinking of that."

"Searching for you, that's exactly how I felt. I loathed myself, and for a time I hated the whole damn world, blaming it for taking you from me. The thought of losing you—it made me feel more monster than man. The monster was inside just as much as I was inside of it."

She held his hand once more, giving it a tight squeeze, "No monster would have saved me, come back for me... nor tended to my wounds. You're my home, my family, my love... and so much more than even all that. So Eren... cut the shit, please."

He brought her hand to his lips, managing a small smile at that, "If you say so, I believe you. But what I'm about to do next might change your opinion. This is gonna hurt, but I must set your leg back to its correct position. Ready?"

"Help me... sit up 'gainst this tree, first. Don't want to lie down anymore."

"Fine, but no sudden movements. Slowly now, Mika."

Against his better judgment, he eased her into sitting up, and her body betrayed the pangs that she would never complain to him about. The moonlight illuminated her face, enough to reveal knotted brows and gritted teeth. A subdued moan escaped her lips though she clearly did not want him to hear anything. Having tended to her a number of times before, Eren was well aware of Mikasa's high tolerance for pain, something he both admired and hated at the same time. It worried him how stiffly she kept everything bottled up inside.

"Don't fret now, I know what I'm doing," he positioned himself beside her, finding her hand beneath the cloak draped over her.

"It's okay, Eren. I trust you."

"I know. Bite into this rag—good. Grab on to my arm as well. It's fine, alright? However hard you squeeze, I can take it. If you pop my arm off, I'll just grow a new one. You're not in this alone. Now, on count of three. One. Two. Three."

On three, a horrid crack could be heard followed by a stifled whimper; Eren could not be certain whether the latter noise came from him or Mikasa. With her grip on his arm stronger than he anticipated, he wasted no time securing the splint on her leg. He could not afford a half-baked procedure; the splint had to stay secure as they return to the camp.

He turned his attention back on her; eyes were shut and she was breathing quite rapidly. Winging it from that point, he gingerly removed the rag from her mouth and let his lips take its place. Her lips were chapped and the smell of blood tinged the air, but the Titan shifter minded not those petty things. She reciprocated the action rather easily and naturally.

"I know it hurts Mika, but you're stronger than this," their foreheads pressed together, they paused from the lip-lock briefly, "Never mind the pain. Focus on this. I'm right here."

"Less talk. More of... what I must focus on," she breathed before plunging them into another, eagerly embracing his lips with her own. Still wary of her fresh injuries, the Titan shifter toned down the intensity of the kiss, seeking to soothe the young woman's pain and not to complicate things with heated palpitation. Ever so gentle hands found their places as well, one at the side of her waist and one at her cheek. He sustained the chaste gesture for a little longer before capping it off with another one to her temple. Among a handful of other sentiments, he conveyed a message in their language that had no need of words: I am with you.

"I... I love you," she said softly, as if fearful that speaking above a whisper would erase the moment they shared. The excruciating pain in her leg paled in comparison to the joy brought by knowing he was safe and having him near her. Even as the darkness bereaved a good look at his mug, her mind's eye gazed upon his face just fine. It was far too easy to drown in those emerald eyes, and drown she did numerous times, including the present moment.

"I said that first," he said with a grin, sitting against the tree and easing her to his right shoulder. He offered her a canteen of water, holding the vessel up to her lips. Even in her weakened and dehydrated state, her discipline held fast; she drank slowly, like she usually did in more normal circumstances. When the container was half-empty, she placed a hand on his arm.

"Thank you. Drink up too. You need to rehydrate as well."

"No, save it for when you're feeling better. For now, I do all the coddling. Between the two of us, you're not the only one who worries about the other. Just tell me if you get thirsty."

"Okay. Just don't forget to take care too."

"I will, so don't worry about that. I'm not stupid. Now we'll take time to rest. After around an hour, I'll take you home, hopefully without disturbing your sleep. Get some shuteye, Mika. I'm supposed to take first watch tonight anyway."

She leaned closer to him, settling against his shoulder and letting the arm enveloping her fall to her waist, "You've done a lot already, Eren. Let me... keep an eye out."

"That's not on the table. Rest. We'll head out before you know it."

"But you need—"

"I need you, and I need you to get your strength back. So please, Mikasa. I do not have the energy to argue about this right now. Now, go to sleep already."

Persuaded more by his comfortable embrace than his offhanded way of saying I care about you, she complied. The pain of broken bone still pestered her, but she was much too occupied to let it permeate the perfect night. The soil was damp beneath them, the evening chill made them long for a fireplace, and the rumbling in her stomach ate away at her—but everything was perfect nonetheless. She breathed in his scent; though she could not quite describe nor compare it to anything, she always associated his smell with home and the family she yearned for.

Though he outright confessed that he needed her, she needed him even far more. There was more to it, however, than meets the mind's eye; her need of him is not merely rooted in dependence or a conditional that determined the be-all and end-all of her existence. Veering away from the conventional understanding of need, she needed him for no other reason than she loved him deeply. Contrary to what their friends thought but never dared voice out, her world did not quite revolve around him; she had her own dreams, a vision of the future, and even the kind of house she wanted to come home to every night.

She just couldn't imagine the world without him, even as the noose of the Titan curse tightened around his neck.

"Thank you... for being here with me," whispered the girl to his ear, "I was afraid I'll never see you again. But here you are."

"I promised you my forever, however long that may last, and I intend to keep it," he spoke softly, grasping her hand with his free one, "We can talk more about it in the morning. For now, rest up."

The Titan shifter got his wish before he finished. His protector was already sound asleep leaning against him, her chest heaving evenly. Feeling her weight against him brought him abundant relief, for it was a silent reassurance that she was truly alive and safe in his arms. She might have been injured, and the ensuing bleeding and infection might have been fatal if left unattended. But he was there to intervene. After tending to her wounds, he was at least thankful she was not hurt more severely. It would take some time before she could attain full recovery, but he had to believe she would otherwise be fine. He would not have it any other way.

He spoke softly, not intending to rouse her, "Thank you for letting me keep my promise."

Then, he waited for an hour to pass as patiently as he could. Fatigue however, had taken its toll on the Titan shifter. He barely reached the half-hour mark when he nodded off on mussed up raven locks.