Chapter 13

They don't make it far. The terrain is too rough, the weather too cold, and their injuries too severe to make any real progress. Jean stumbles from one boulder to the next, trying to put as little pressure on his ankle as possible. The rocky valley doesn't have many sticks to begin with, much less ones that are tall and thick enough to use as a walking stick. Neither of them has the energy to climb up to the tree line and find a better one.

Jean watches Marian slip through a crack between the boulders. She barely touches the freezing stone. Jean knows he'll have to squeeze between the frost coated rocks like a graceless worm to get through. Cursing his lame foot and inability to crawl over, he starts the arduous process of inching his way through what feels like two walls of ice.

When he finally does reach the exit, he slips through it too quickly, losing his footing at the loss of pressure, then tripping over Marian's sprawled form. He lands with a thump, followed by a groan as his tender muscles and broken bones make their displeasure known. He drags his eyes towards Marian, silently asking why.

She winces, her worn eyes catching the setting sun.

"Sorry. I'm just tired," Marian says before letting her head thump to the ground. There's pebbles and dirt and a cluster of grass growing beneath her. Boulders line their little alcove, blocking some of the wind and providing a bit of shelter.

Good enough, Jean decides with a sigh. Feeling three times his age, the Scout forces himself into a sitting position. He takes a swig of the canteen before offering it to Marian. She accepts the drink, not bothering to sit up, then hands it back. Her good hand clutches at her wounded forearm. It clearly hurts, and Jean can't help but ask how she's doing. Again. For what might be the tenth time that day.

"Happier than a frog hair split three ways," Marian responds. Jean blinks, wondering if the fall had jostled his brain or if he's more exhausted than he'd originally thought.

"What the hell does that mean?"

The brunette frowns, her dark brows scrunching.

"I don't know," Marian says with a laugh. "Daddy says it, and I've never thought to ask."

Jean snorts, leaning his head back against the boulder behind him. He knows he should get up and start a fire. That he'll regret it if he doesn't, and that a break fix any of the things that ail him.

But god, he's tired. And hungry. And hurting.

"Well...we're still alive," Marian says from her sprawled position. She clearly doesn't want to move either.

"Barely." There's a shove at his leg, an obvious statement of displeasure. Jean grins but doesn't bother opening his eyes.

"Try again," she says. There's a shuffle and moan as Marian sits. Jean sighs, scouring his brain for an acceptable positive.

"You're awake."

"I'm awake. That is a good one."

"Hey! You can't steal mine!"

"Fine, fine, you big baby," Marian says, her voice bright with humor. "We're a little bit closer to home."

"Yeah. And I'm closer to pancakes."

"And a real bed."

"I'll see Sasha and Connie soon," Jean says, his heart clenching at the thought of his best friends. They'll be okay. They'll be waiting for me. Probably be embarrassingly excited to see me too.

"And Mikasa," he adds, thinking of her sharp eyes and gentle smile. Silence stretches. A rare occurrence in Marian's prescence, as Jean had quickly learned. He briefly wonders if she's fallen asleep. His eyes peel open, glancing to where the farm girl is seated. She frowns, the expression making her look even more weary.

"You talk about her a lot," she says, the lightness in her voice tenser, like it's being forced.

"Who? Mikasa?"

"Yeah."

Jean scowls, not sure what Marian is getting at.

"She's a comrade. We trained together. I've known her for a long time."

Marian stares at Jean, watching his expression as he talks about the other girl. She's not stupid. She can read the softness in his face. The flush that dusts his cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold.

"You like her."

Jean sputters. Part of him wants to deny it, but Jean is no dumber than Marian. He knows exactly what she means. It lights a fire in his gut, and he's not even sure why. All he knows is that he's not in the mood to be interrogated. Especially when he's spent the last two days struggling to keep her, Marian, alive. His thoughts had been how to put food and water in her belly, how to keep her from freezing to death, how to keep blood inside her damn body. He hadn't even thought of Mikasa in days.

Exhaustion makes his brain slow. Annoyance makes his lips loose.

"What about Pierce? You two seem real close."

Marian's frown deepens, forging two deep lines on either side of her mouth.

"Pierce is a... childhood friend," she says, the pause telling Jean all he needs to know.

"Yeah, a childhood friend," he mutters, thinking of Mikasa following Eren like a shadow. "I know about those."

Marian stands, the motion slow and pained looking. She gives Jean a burning look before stomping through the maze of boulders.

"You don't know anything," she hisses before climbing through boulders. Jean watches her disappear behind the giant chunks of stone. The thought of following or calling after her briefly crosses his mind, but Jean decides she's old enough to handle her own tantrum. Besides, he'd rather stew in weary annoyance than stand. He settles more thoroughly against the boulder, and closes his eyes, trying to doze despite being too annoyed to sleep.

By the time Marian comes back, the sun has almost completely disappeared. She carries an armful of sticks, which she drops in the middle of their alcove with a clatter. Jean watches her set the sticks up into a pyramid. Her jaw is tense, lips pressed thin, and eyes narrowed. Still pissed then. Once the firewood is set, Marian finally meets Jean's eyes. She gestures towards the fire sarcastically, before flopping onto the ground and pulling her jacket close.

Jean considers ignoring the obvious order—if she wants fire so badly, then she can figure out how to light it herself—but it's already cold, and it's only going to get worse once the sun is gone. Jean climbs to his feet with a huff, making sure his displeasure is known. He uses the discarded ODM gear and another scrap of his tattered cloak to start a fire. Warm light casts shadows around them. Heat radiates from its bright tendrils. Jean scoots closer to it, pulling his hood over his head before laying down. They lay on either side of the fire, not touching or speaking for the rest of the night.

Jean watches the night sky turn gray with the dawn. He'd dozed throughout the night, too wired to fall into deeper sleep. The fire is a smoldering pile of ash and embers. Smoke drifts lazily from it before being snatched by the winter wind. Jean's stomach rumbles loudly. Deciding morning is close enough, he hobbles to his feet, grabbing the canteen and searching for fresh snow to fill it. He finds a handful of juniper berries and tosses them into the canteen too.

When he returns, Marian crouches before the fire, using her breath and fresh sticks to turn the embers into a blaze again. The canteen is wordlessly set next to the fire. The pair sit across from each other, avoiding eye contact as they wait for the snow to melt.

The Scout isn't sure why they were fighting to begin with. Both had made true statements. Jean did like Mikasa. He'd liked her from the moment they'd met, and it was clear that Marian and Pierce were more than friends. Acknowledging that out loud shouldn't have irritated them both so much.

The farm girl thinks the same, but she's more aware of why they'd been so quick to snap at each other. Marian didn't like the reminder that other people existed. That whatever is building between her and Jean is going to get a lot more complicated the second they're back in the real world. The second they have other people, other duties and responsibilities to attend to. Marian will go back home to Fredericksburg, while Jean stays at HQ, waiting for the next mission to send him to who-knows-where.

And as much as she longs to return home, to see the flowers bloom and the mustangs run and her parents' open arms, Marian can't help but want this companionship to last.

She isn't going to let pride prematurely ruin it.

Taking a deep breath, she catches Jean's gaze and holds it.

"I do like Pierce," Marian starts, cheeks warming because she'd never admitted this to anyone but herself. "But not the way he likes me. And not the way everyone thinks I should."

"I told you before—he's Daddy's favorite. And Pierce is a good guy. He works hard. He follows the rules and takes care of everyone. He couldn't imagine doing anything except work on the ranch. He's not bad looking either."

Jean snorts, and Marian can't stop a small grin from blossoming. Yes, Pierce is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. The girls in Fredericksburg sure thought so, and objectively, Marian agrees. Strong jaw, black curls, big jade-colored eyes, and a body toughened from a life of hard work—Pierce is pleasing to look at.

(But he isn't porcelain skin and lean muscle. He doesn't stand so tall that she feels small, delicate like a precious thing. He isn't tawny eyes and golden hair that blaze beneath the sun or a deep voice that makes people listen, that tell her it's okay to dream of things beyond home.)

"I let him kiss me once." Marian thinks she does an excellent job of not letting her voice turn strangled, even when Jean's face twists like he's eaten something sour.

"Ew."

"Look, it's not like there's many options! Besides, I wanted to..." she loses the battle this time, and her voice fades to a quiet mumble beneath the weight of embarrassment.

"What?" Jean raises a brow, trying to decipher what the flustered girl had said. Marian fiddles with the tail of her braid, mumbling her answer again. He still can't understand.

"I'm sorry?"

"I wanted to know if kissing was as good as books say!"

Both of their faces burn. Jean breaks eye contact first, hand drifting to the back of his head. He wasn't expecting that.

"Well, was it?" He asks, telling himself that he's a soldier, a fricking Scout, and that he can talk about kissing with a pretty girl and look her in the eye.

"No. He didn't know what to do with his hands. And there was way too much tongue for a first kiss."

Jean doesn't even attempt to smother his bark of laughter. Marian tries to maintain her frown but only lasts a few seconds before joining in, her higher pitched giggles twisting with his deeper chuckles in a harmonic dance that the rocky valley quickly swallows.

"As if you're any better," Marian says, the quirk of her lips daring Jean to say otherwise.

"I've never had any complaints." Which is true. His limited kissing experience (read: that one girl from school that had clearly liked Jean more than he liked her) had been pleasant. He'd definitely never tried to stuff his tongue down a girl's throat like stupid Pierce clearly had. He'd been raised better than that.

Marian rolls her eyes but decides not to continue that line of conversation for fear of inflating Jean's ego to inoperable levels.

"I told Pierce I needed to think about it. Afterwards, I mean. I didn't know how to handle it, so I just didn't."

Jean nods when it becomes clear Marian is done. She watches as Jean carefully grabs the canteen and takes a drink. She gives a quick thanks when he hands it off. The warm water and berry mixture settles her tummy a bit, but she'd kill for a piece of meat. Or cheese. Or even another pickle.

"Well?" Marian asks after they've passed the canteen a few more times.

"'Well' what?"

She doesn't explain beyond a look. One that says don't play dumb. Jean scowls, but nods, pausing to think before he speaks. It's only fair. Marian had waved the proverbial white flag first. It's his turn to reciprocate.

(Even if talking about it makes Jean want to wither away into a ball of embarrassment.)

"I like Mikasa. I've liked her from the second we met."

There's a beat of silence before Marian prompts him.

"Annnd?"

"And it doesn't matter. Her and Eren grew up together, and the way she follows him, the way she fights for him...cares about him...I can't compete with that kind of love."

Jean doesn't like to admit it to himself, but love is exactly what's between Mikasa and Eren. He doesn't know if it's romantic—the two of them might not even know—but the devotion they share can be nothing less than a form of love.

Marian hums and shifts to warm her hands on the fire.

"Well, that explains why you complain about Eren all the time. You're jealous," she singsongs the last word, her eyes glowing and a teasing smirk forming. Jean feels his eye twitch at the mere thought.

"Jealous! Of that short idiot? I don't think so."

"Sure."

"I am not!"

"Whatever you say, Jean. Whatever you say."

"I would rather stick my hand in a beehive than be anything like that reckless, irresponsible dumbass."

Marian stands, the fully risen sun casting its bright light across her face. She kicks their tiny fire, smothering it with her dirty boots, and starts to gather their stuff. Jean joins her, tightening the broken ODM gear into place and stuffing the canteen through his belt.

"Uh huh."

"I mean it," Jean says, trying to look serious but failing when Marian takes their first step of the day, bringing her only a couple centimeters away from him. She taps his nose with a fire-warmed finger.

"You don't have to convince me, racoon dear. You're definitely not jealous." With a big grin, she steps away and starts their trek, determined to get out of this valley of boulders before the day is through.

"I am not!" Jean says, limping after her. Laughter bounces throughout the valley again, and he can't help but think it's a thousand times better than last night's silence.