Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mikasa is immediately put to bed rest after the birth. It’s hard. Her bed feels like a casket. She feels weak like she hasn’t in a long time, and it hurts. She can’t seem to catch a break from the pain; her breasts are sensitive and achy, her back even more so. Worse is the way her stomach feels like it’s contracting, shrinking, and turns out that it is. Abdominal cramps. Just your womb getting back to normal, the healer had said. It’s normal for it to hurt. The pain is your body recovering. 

Breastfeeding feels terrible, too. Her hair is dirty and she’s leaky and uncomfortable and her mood is so sour that one time Connie misses her mouth while feeding her soup and splashes it all over her nightdress and she yells at him so loud he is gone from her room for two days. She’s terribly ashamed of that, and tells him so. It’s the hormones, he knows, Connie tells her. The healer talked about that too, but nevertheless Levi takes over for him after that.

When the baby is not with her she hears him crying and she worries—she can’t think clear enough to worry about something concrete, but the feeling is there, clogging up her throat and making it hard to breathe. Levi has Jean bring him to the bedroom every two hours to calm her nerves. Jean holds Hideki like he knows what he’s doing, and her son looks safe there, tucked into the crook of his elbow. Mikasa feels stupid for needing that kind of constant reassurance, but the image is soothing, and it helps keep the anxiety at bay.

Mikasa seems to drift in and out of consciousness at random. She dreams, or remembers things. Some are blurry, glimpses, flashes, just feelings, old and preserved in amber—her father’s touch on her back, holding hands with Armin. Sasha’s fingers working the knots in her hair after a mission, a friend now gone for too long for Mikasa to see their face correctly patching her up after a bust gone bad. She dreams about Eren, too; the first time she met him, the night he saved her life and how he had told her to fight, how she had fought for him in turn countless other times.

Some are more detailed, though Mikasa wishes they weren’t. She can feel the exact texture of Carla’s fingertips brushing down her cheek. The world rumbling beneath her feet as she tries to lift up the wreckage of the second home she lost. She sees the green in Eren’s eyes be replaced by black as his pupils dilate, hears his laughter is crystal clear.

Mikasa dreams one night of the first time Eren came out of that Titan, the sizzling heat, the pungent smell of burning flesh, the faint heartbeat beneath his shirt, the first time she thought he was dead. And she remembers that he is really dead now, and will never see the son that is a part of him, too, and then she can't fall asleep anymore, and she can't stop her tears, doesn't want to. Mikasa hears herself howling, wailing, the cruelty of it all burning, tearing her apart from inside.

It is Connie who climbs onto the bed to rest beside her, his forehead against her shoulders, quietly and with such ease that he may very well have been doing this for her for years. She doesn’t hear the door open, or close, or open again; only the sound of her sorrow. Levi is there, too, she realizes suddenly—his head is on her knee, and his hand finds hers, tentative, cold, a little stiff, and very much like him. She grips it tight, and if it hurts him he does not say.

The bed shifts. It's Jean. He reaches out, touching her calf. Through her tears, she sees her baby snuggled on his shoulder, damp spots all over his shirt, a silent inquiry between his brows. Mikasa nods in agreement, in gratitude, and stirs to make room for him on the mattress. He is too large for it, especially considering there are three other bodies taking up space, but Jean finds a way to squeeze in that cannot possibly be comfortable, all twisted and half hanging out, and he does so without waking the sleeping bundle in his arm. 

She doesn't sleep well that night, constantly jolting awake. But every time they're with her, her little patchwork family, talking in low voices that lull her back to slumber.

-

Life becomes neverending chaos, but motherhood beats throwing herself at a Titan’s mouth or dodging bullets any day, so Mikasa keeps her complaints to a minimum. Hideki is here, and he’s work, and Mikasa lets it drag her through the day and tries not dwell on how so many people, so many friends would never visit, would never know him.

Levi is a blessing; it is only because of him that the house does not look like a pigsty, god knows she leaves a mess behind in her wake and how that irks him to no end. Jean is the messiest, though, which doesn’t help with Levi’s mood, because he brings home paperwork that piles up in the living room and the kitchen so he can mind Hideki while simultaneously filling out forms. She hears Levi screaming about it one night through her door, and when she comes for breakfast she finds that it all has been stacked into a neat pile in the dorm (or the spare bedroom, as they call it, because the bunk they put together has about the same look as the ones they have in the military barracks).

Jean is a constant. He tries to do as much as he can to help; he does the laundry and cooks, rides to the village for supplies almost daily and tends to Hideki about forty percent of the time. Mikasa gets cranky and frustrated that the baby seems to like Jean more than her because she can never make him stop crying like he can and it makes her feel like a shitty mother, and then Jean tries to reassure her that no, she is not a shitty mother and puts her baby back in her arms and the baby starts bawling, screaming angrily with wet red cheeks, and then Mikasa is bawling and screaming angrily too—

Goddamn hormones.

It’s endearing and kind of irritating how Jean keeps it together like a leader on a mission while she is a pile of stress and nerves, how he seems to be available at all times. Mikasa wonders how the hell he even has the time to be here at all, and when she asks he tells her he’s on paid leave. She lets out a deranged cackle at that. Who would have thought? The old Scout Regiment would never have granted such an appeal; mainly because its members usually died before having a chance to even file the request. She thinks Jean might be the first member of the Survey Corps that ever managed such a feat. How’s that for moving up in life, he says, and she laughs again.

Connie—well, Connie disappears for a while, but Mikasa is too preoccupied and overwhelmed with her moody newborn and the chaos he’s brought to the world to really understand it until she overhears Jean and Levi talking about him being pulled in for duty. Two months slip by before she sees him again; things are hectic as ever, but it has somehow become their routine. Fatigue is an old friend by now, Mikasa doesn’t even care about her greasy hair anymore, and Connie comes back bearing terrific news: Warrant Officer Springer is now Second Lieutenant Springer.

They have a dinner in his honor, stew and sweet bread and goat cheese and even some fancy wine he brought back from Mitras. Levi informs her that it’s fine for her to have a sip, the healer said it’s not a problem unless she’s planning on feeding the baby soon, but he doesn’t see why she would want to. In truth, Mikasa doesn’t either, thinks she’d actually rather stick with Levi’s black tea, but Jean and Connie look so excited, and Hideki is actually asleep for once, she can’t help agreeing to a half-glass. 

It’s a good night, Mikasa thinks as she takes her place at the table, her grin a little looser with the buzz. She’s glad to have them all home again.

“Council parties are fucking boring,” Connie declares, glass raised as if making a toast, “but I don’t mind the free drinks and the new perks at all. Plus, I get to see Jean doing his bootlicking now, and that’s always something.”

“I’m making friends, asshole. It’s good for your career,” Jean downs the rest of his drink. “You should try that sometime, maybe then you’d get invited to the real parties.”

“Bah,” Connie waves his arm, a shrugging motion. “That’s the same thing.”

“What do you think, Levi?” Mikasa prompts, the words slipping easily past her lips. 

Levi takes a moment to glare at the cat rubbing its head on his leg. Mikasa tears a piece of bread and brings her hand under the table to get its attention. He looks up, tips his head as if considering. “He’s right. It’s the same thing.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Connie says, cheerfully. “Come on, horse man, let’s see your tongue,” he reaches for Jean’s cheeks, and Jean slaps his hand away, angrily, cut it out. Mikasa thinks he looks funny like that, all flushed and riled up. Connie throws up his hands in mock surrender. 

“And I appreciate the concern, but my career seems to be doing just fine, thank you very much. It’s not like you’re attending any parties at all lately, anyway.” He tries for a pat on the shoulder, which also gets smacked. “Besides, I’m friends with the Queen herself, why even bother—oh, I almost forgot,” Connie gets up suddenly, knocking his knee on the table and sending the plates rattling.

He stumbles into the dorm and emerges dragging out a small chest, making a scratching noise against the floorboards. Mikasa knows if she turned around she would see Levi’s eyes narrowed to slits. Connie doesn’t seem to notice. “Her Majesty sends her regards,” he courtesies, clumsy, and flings the ornate box open. 

“Historia sent that?” Mikasa asks. The chest is filled to the brim with colorful textiles, and when she fishes out a bright yellow one she realizes it’s not simply cloth: they are baby clothes. 

“She did. She’s recently had a baby too, a little girl named Ymir. The latest great political scandal.” Connie says, and lets that sink in. Mikasa is stunned for several moments. Between everything that had happened since she left Shiganshina, and even before that, if she’s honest, being up to date with the news hadn’t really been among her top priorities. She remembers there being talk of an heir, years ago, but the idea is still shocking, somehow, despite the fact that Mikasa has had a child herself.

Mikasa thinks about Historia, so small, so young, dealing with the hardships of motherhood by herself in that enormous palace. Mikasa hopes she wasn’t alone. It’s a stupid thought, because Historia is Queen of the Walls and disposes of a hundred servants and is probably actually never alone, but. Still. Mikasa knows how loneliness can take many shapes. 

Connie clasps his hands together loudly, snapping her out of her reverie. “So yeah, how about that? A wardrobe—”

“It’s a trousseau,” Jean interrupts, apparently still annoyed.

“—literally fit for a prince. Or maybe for a princess, I guess. Point is, royal linen for the little guy, isn’t it sweet?” Connie picks out a green little gown for examination, and stands up like he’s just had some great idea. “We should put it on him!”

“Don’t you dare,” Levi starts, hands planted on the table, “wake up that child.” His eyes are wide; Mikasa thinks she sees the left lid twitching. She shares the sentiment. The thought of going over the process of putting her son to sleep for a second time nearly drives her to pour herself another glass of wine, and it looks like Jean has the same idea.

Connie promptly steps away from the chest, appropriately alarmed. “Maybe some other time.”

-

Winter is at their door again, and the season is always hard on her. Paid leave does not last forever—Jean was only dismissed for so long because the son or the cousin of someone important owed him a favor—, but fortunately Levi is too renowned a soldier not to be reprimanded for sending his schedule to hell. Not like they need him to kill any more titans, he reasons, and he doesn’t feel like traveling under snow; the wet boots make him feel like he’s walking in sewage. 

Historia had been very thorough in the arrangement of the trousseau, but the baby gowns are not nearly as warm as they are adorned, so Mikasa takes it upon herself to spin more season-appropriate garments for Hideki; the windows are sealed shut as best they can, but she and Levi still need to wear heavy layers and mittens inside. Mikasa knows she’ll make better use of the colors come spring. Carla was the one who knew how to knit, and her lessons come to Mikasa easier than her mother’s, though she thinks has gotten quite good at both if she says so herself. It’s slow work, her injured hand cramps and hurts around the needles. Levi tells her it's normal for scars hurt in the cold, and reminds her to rub salve into the wound.

Mikasa digs out her old scarf from the bottom of her clothing chest—Levi had washed it for her, after she’d rescued it from the fire, and had tried to save as much of it as possible, but there’s no way she can wear it anymore—and she cuts out the burned, darkened parts, and weaves whatever is left of it into a blanket for her son; a patch of bright red among the white like a beating heart.

She knits a blanket for Ymir as well, embroiders the princess’ name across it very carefully with cotton thread. It’s very rudimentary, the yarn dyed purple with berries, not nearly as fine as royal fabrics, but Mikasa feels that Historia would very much appreciate the thought if not the gift itself. It’s not like she can call upon the court’s seamstress, anyway. 

She asks Connie to deliver it on his next visit, since he is such a close confidante of Her Royal Majesty. She’d like to make the trip herself, but she has a baby to care for and she doesn’t think the palace guards would be exactly receptive of a deserter. Connie says he’ll do it, if she promises to make one for him too. Mikasa swears it, kisses him on the cheek fondly, and he wipes it off like a child. It’s a small thing, but enough to make her laugh. She thinks that if Historia at least had him by her side, then the loneliness might not have been so terrible, after all.

-

Four, five. Six months, and Hideki is able to sit up, likes to chase the cat, drools on her shoulder and bites her hair while she sings to him. She doesn't know how to be a mother, or she didn't when the midwife put her son in her arms, but she learns. She fumbles her way through parenthood, and it becomes her whole world. She has to keep Hideki fed. She has to keep him safe. She has to read him a story, to tuck him to sleep.

Jean is involved, too, so much that Mikasa can’t even fathom what this would be like without him, making the journey to and from Trost every week and sleeping four hours a night at best, yet he possesses unimaginable, boundless energy for Hideki. He likes to play with the doll, the pottery figurines, and his blocks; he likes to stack them, knock them over, stack them, and knock them over, and it's the most fun when Jean stacks them, knocks them over, stacks them, and knocks them over. Mikasa keeps watch of them, partly to make sure they won’t trouble Levi with the mess, mostly because it makes her happy to see how much her son is loved.

She always looks forward to his visits; they are a certainty, a way to track the time that seems to slip by so much faster than it should.

-

The first word Hideki says is "iva,” squealing in Connie’s arms giddily—Uncle Connie, he corrects them every time, now—as he tries to snatch the glasses from his face and it takes them a while to understand he really means Levi. Connie looks at him with a face like he’s experienced the utmost stab in the back, narrows his eyes saying, you little traitor!  

Levi pretends not to be fazed by it, hiding his face behind his teacup and only nodding when she asks him if he would like to hold the baby, but Mikasa can see right through his act.

It’s the first time Levi’s ever held him, she thinks, or at least the first time she’s seen it. Levi cradles the baby carefully, too carefully, if that’s even possible, as if he’s scared he’s going to drop him or crush him. Jean has ushered Connie to the kitchen; Mikasa can still hear the faint whining, I just can’t believe he’d do that to me. Hideki beholds Levi for a moment, then offers him a gummy giggle. Levi blinks, frowns, as if he’d been expecting something different. Maybe for him to fuss, or cry. Hideki fists his little hand on Levi’s shirt, and his eyes go wide.

“Levi,” Mikasa starts. There are so many ways she could go from there. Mikasa feels the words on her tongue, swirls them around, tastes them against her teeth. He loves you, we love you, you are a part of this family. We couldn’t have made it this far without you—none of us. She never does finish, but he seems to understand it anyway.

“Yeah,” he nods. He looks at her, steals a glance at the kitchen behind her, and then back down to the little bundle babbling contently against his arm, purses his lips as if to keep something trapped inside. “Yeah,” is all he manages, but it is really all she needs. 

-

Mikasa tries to recreate the lamb stew for Levi’s birthday, but she can’t find the right meat and it's not the same with hare. They hardly notice, busy celebrating the fact that he agrees to celebrate at all.

It’s not his real birth day, he insists. He doesn’t know when that is, he says, but doesn’t elaborate, and she doesn’t press. It’s only a date Erwin made up so they could sort out his papers and make him a Real Citizen of the Walls. Mikasa figures that all their birth dates are just made up to make them citizens, in the end, and finds that they are all equal cause for commemoration. He rolls his eyes, but stops protesting after she says that.

It’s a small, quiet affair, but joyous in spite of it. Or maybe because of it. The boys blow off a meeting or two to ride down from Sina, Mikasa makes supper, Levi pretends not to be touched by it all with varying levels of success. Mostly they spend the evening drinking expensive, sweet tea, and fawning over Hideki’s attempts at walking across the kitchen. At some point, the cat knocks over a porcelain saucer from the counter, and Mikasa thinks that it is very telling of Levi’s mood that he settles for splashing it with water instead of simply strangling it.

Jean and Connie bring Levi a camera from the capital as a gift—the latest imported technology, according to them. Levi is skeptical of it, can’t seem to really figure out how to use it, so he just lets Mikasa have her fun with the strange little device. She takes more pictures than she can count, and every single one features Hideki; she's got him with his blocks, at the table, in every little outfit Historia sent, with Connie, with Jean, even with Levi, and she has them take a few of him with herself. Connie says they have to take the roll back to be developed, so they’ll only be able to see the photos in a while. Levi snickers at that, brows slightly raised like he’s just had his point proved.

Jean offers to clean up after it gets dark, and Mikasa offers to help him so Levi knows everything will be organized the way he likes it, and that seems to be enough for him today. Connie leaps at the opportunity to get out of doing dishes by challenging Levi to a chess match, and Mikasa has a feeling that she might be doing damage control later in the night.

“So,” Jean begins after they are finished stacking the porcelain in the cupboard, wiping his hands on his thighs. Something about his posture seems... nervous. Self-conscious, Mikasa thinks.

“So,” she prompts, tucking her stray, wild hair behind her ears. It has grown long enough to brush her collarbone, since the last time she cut it. She makes a note to see to that, though she’s grown used to brushing it with her fingers during bathtime; grown fond of it, even. Perhaps she’ll give it just a little trim.

“So,” he repeats, “I know it’s the Captain’s big day,” Jean’s eyes quickly dart to the window, where Mikasa can see Levi and Connie pointing wildy at the board and gesticulating frantically. Not quite yet aggressively, though she suspects they are not too far from reaching that point. “But I, well, I was visiting my mother, a while back, and I found these old—these old—journals, you know? And it’s not anything too special, they’re really old, but it’s just—”

“Jean,” Mikasa interrupts, because if he doesn’t take a second to breathe she’s afraid he might faint and hit his head on the table.

“It’s just,” he gestures vaguely, as if organizing his thoughts. His index fingers shoot up for a second. Jean turns around to fetch his satchel from the couch, and from inside it he takes out an old book; leather-bound, yellow papered, tied shut with scratchy rope. Mikasa realizes he means for her to take it, so she does. “I found it in my old bedroom, and I thought, since we don’t have any pictures…”

Mikasa goes through the pages carefully, the spine making a faint cracking noise as she flips them. Inside there are rough charcoal sketches of things, people, places, some she doesn’t recognize, some that she does. The insignia of Wall Rose. The main gate into Trost District, a lofty mess hall made up of shaky lines. The giant trees of Maria. An older woman’s face, kind, smiling. A boy, dark haired, freckled, gap toothed, the face appearing again and again, his features varying each time as if they are possibilities of what he could have looked like. Marco, a childish scrawl at the bottom of the page informs her.

The works become more clear with every page, the lines cleaner. The 104th cadets. Between them Mikasa recognizes Connie, young and scrawny; the Wings crest. Some of the pages had been ripped out, in the middle, and Mikasa does not think of what they could have contained. There is Sasha, mouth twisted in an ugly laugh with food all over her cheeks, and the caricature brings a smile to her lips. Sasha, again, grinning that easy grin that usually meant she had secured a snack without anyone realizing it. Mikasa finds even a doodle of herself—probably from before they graduated the Training Corps, her hair about the same length as it is, currently, and the scarf that now keeps her son warm at night wrapped around her neck.

The next page is a portrait of Eren.

“Like I said,” Jean continues, quietly, “it’s all very old. I know it’s not the best—he probably didn’t even look like that, in his last years, but I thought… Well, I thought if anyone had a right to it, it’s you. And Hideki,” he explains, “so he can know what his father looked like.”

“Oh,” is all Mikasa can say. 

This likeness of Eren looks… young. Not that he ever got to grow old, but Mikasa remembers the way his shoulders slumped, near the end, the way the shadows in his eyes never really seemed to go away. In Jean’s study he looks every bit the strong willed boy from her childhood, the one determined to fight. His features are softer, his hair is shorter. The sketch must be from around the time they joined the Survey Corps, she thinks, and realizes suddenly that that was nearly ten years ago. 

She remembers how Eren and Jean would get into screaming matches and take swings at each other when they weren’t busy fighting for their lives. She remembers their stupid squabbles, their begrudging camaraderie, the way they would never admit how much they cared about each other. Mikasa always knew how much Eren did come to care for Jean, deep inside. She never really thought about how Jean had loved him, too, in his own way.

“I could try to make a new one,” he offers. “One that’s more accurate, if you want.”

Mikasa brings her eyes down to the picture once again. No, Eren didn’t look like that when she had last seen him. That feels like so long ago, too, like everything else that is not her little life in her little cottage with her little family that had helped her remember how to be a person she scarcely remembered herself. The years had slipped by, somehow. 

“No,” Mikasa shakes her head. Eren didn’t look like that, in the end, but this is how she would like to remember him. “This is perfect.”

“Oh. I’m glad to hear it, then.” Jean gives her a smile that is small, gentle.

Her body makes the decision before she can really think it—Mikasa’s legs seem to move on their own accord to shorten the distance between them, and she hugs him so tight she hears a bone popping in his spine. She’s afraid she’s hurt him, for a moment, but his arms settle around her shoulders, rubbing circles on her back to reassure her.

“Thank you, Jean,” Mikasa breathes out, hides her face in that spot between his neck and his shoulder. It’s an easy fit. His hand comes up to her nape, a little hesitant, and the warmth of his skin seems to soak into hers. Mikasa leans into the touch. Allows herself to be comforted. “Thank you.”

-

Armin’s first letter begins like this:

I just realized I forgot to make my bed. Mikasa, I am terribly sorry. I am only addressing you because I know Eren doesn’t believe in tidying up his own personal space. I don’t know when my apology will reach you, because it has been two weeks since my departure and I haven’t heard any talk of reaching land soon.

Mikasa quickly folds it into a neat little square and slips it back inside its envelope again, and blows out her candle. 

It’s nighttime. She’s alone for the first time in a very long time, and she though the exhaustion of watching over her very energetic son all week long would be enough to knock her out cold as soon as she put her head down on her pillow, or at least for her to slip into a long nap, but Hideki has been sound asleep for hours and Mikasa can’t seem to keep her eyes shut. She’s thinking about the moment Armin had last waved her goodbye instead. Those skinny shoulders. The silent return to their house in Shiganshina. The countless nights spent quietly, wondering.

She fumbles for a match and lights the candle again.

I just realized I forgot to make my bed. 

He had. In their hurry to get him to the docks, he had forgotten to do a lot of things. Eating his dinner, for one, though Mikasa had nagged him about it until he made a show of packing more apples into his carrier for the trip. I’m too anxious for soup, Mikasa! she remembers him saying. Her eyes prickle with tears, for a moment. She breathes in deep, counts to three, and to five, and she carries on.

Armin tells her about the sea. The slow, perpetual rocking of the ship, the smell of the salt in the breeze, the way it can make your fingers clammy and cold. Mikasa devours his words hungrily, absorbing the description of this reality she’s feared for so long. It’s a harsh one, as she had imagined, but there is something about the way Armin tells it that is almost reverential. She knows that this is what he was meant to do, has always known it, so Mikasa does not allow herself to hurt for his struggles.

She carries on.

She reads of a terrible storm that engulfed the longboat, damaging its side and forcing the captain to make land for a couple of weeks. Armin ditches them there, somewhere in the mid-east, and continues his journey on foot. He tells her about the heat, and the language, and the food, and the music. He tells her about people, too, people who would be kind to him if only because they didn’t know his secret, and the ones who would try to trick the lonely traveler. They never really managed, of course not. Armin had survived crueler things, if not by strength, by wit.

He boards another ship, this time as part of the crew, posing as a refugee from the Marleyan colonies. He meets a sailor who believed him to be a “lovely little lass” (I had longer hair at the time, Armin writes, and includes a little doodle of his new look on the margin to further illustrate his point), and when Armin had revealed that he was a boy he’d said, even better! (Mikasa is spilling tears despite herself at that point, and she laughs through the hiccups.)

Before she realizes, the candle has burned out and morning has arrived. Hideki has started crying in his crib. She’s not even halfway through the story, but her heart feels—lighter, somehow. Mikasa gets up, rubs sleep away from her eyes, and shuts the letter inside the drawer in her nightstand. She sees that her son is fed, that he’s bathed, that there is food on the table, that the laundry is folded, and she returns to it once the sky turns dark again.

-

Mikasa reads little bits of Armin’s tales every day, in her bed at night when she can’t sleep, on the rocker on the porch with Hideki on her lap, in the kitchen while she waits for the water in the pot to boil. She reads them slowly, savoring the words, double checking the details so she won’t miss a thing.

Armin tells her about the sea. 

He tells his voyage to Hizuru, stopping by every little island east of Acirema, writing all he can about the archipelagos they explore. Mikasa pictures herself with him, sometimes, tagging along in those great big adventures. She knows now she wouldn’t ever want to leave this place, couldn’t possibly want to, but it is fun to imagine still.

There is a girl. Armin takes care with every single brush stroke of writing out her name. Kind hearted, smart, the third daughter of a village’s chief, and even in the words alone Mikasa can feel the affection. Mikasa thinks of Annie, how he had loved her desperately, until her time ran out and after, how anguished he had been. The girl stays in her village, and the crew flees into the night before Armin can properly say goodbye, but he writes of her fondly even as they move on to other places.

Mikasa feels happy for him, truly, though she finds the idea unsettling. More than one love. It feels like she’s dishonoring Eren, saying what they had was just the first of many. She tells Levi so, one day, just for the sake of saying it out loud. 

“I know what you mean,” is what he replies, after some consideration. “But it doesn’t mean you don’t love anymore. You can just love differently.”

Mikasa sits on it for a moment. He is right, as he usually is about most things, she thinks. She wonders how long it took, what it was like for Levi to learn to love again, after everything, because he does love—Mikasa knows it. He loves Hideki, for one, and she’s sure of it. He loves her, too, because he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. He loves Connie, and he loves Jean, and he might even love the ugly cat, though that’s probably just wishful thinking on her part.

“It’s easy—,” Levi starts, but seems to look for a better word. He clicks his teeth. “It’s… comfortable, to believe that he was the only person who could ever love you for you. But it’s not true. It doesn’t have to be the truth.”

She hadn’t ever thought of it like this before. At least, not consciously. Levi might not talk a lot, but he is very insightful when he does. She had turned away from the thought of loving someone else, but she had never even considered the possibility of someone else ever loving her.

It sounds terribly self indulgent, she thinks, something so far removed from her reality that it borders on illogical. But upon hearing those words from Levi, who knows, who understands, Mikasa feels something like—something like optimism, or hope, stirring and rising in her chest, like a sap in a tree, like blood in a wound. For what, exactly, she does not know. But it is there, like a kindling between her ribs. She wonders if Levi had allowed himself to be loved by someone else, after Erwin; whether he’s speaking from experience or regret. She hopes he did. If anyone deserved to be loved, Mikasa thinks it’s him. Her face must betray her, because Levi shudders, a full-bodied thing, and groans.

“What? I prefer it when you’re happy, go figure,” he rolls his eyes, exasperated. “You give me much less trouble when you’re not fishing things out of fires.”

-

It’s a long shot, probably foolish, but she tries to write a letter as well. She feels very silly, as she begins: Armin, I miss you—I hope you’re well—I’m sorry it took me so long to write back—, and several pieces of parchment float into the fireplace before she finally gets past the stupid greeting.  

Her stories are far less exciting, but Mikasa pours her heart into every word she etches onto the paper. She does not write of Eren’s passing. She does not say how she had withered and wasted away after that, does not trouble herself with remembering how she had been then, less a wisp than a wraith. Armin will know these things already, will have felt them too.

Instead, Mikasa begins with Hideki. Her wonderful, beautiful little boy, and how he fills every crack of her soul with his light. She writes about the night he had come into this world, how he had turned it around with the might of a hurricane—a titan, even, but she leaves the joke out because no matter how harmless, Mikasa still shudders to think it. 

She writes about tea, and about chess. She writes about Levi, who had helped her breathe again. About the meadow, and the flowers, and the sound of Connie’s laughter after so much time spent in deafening silence. She writes of Jean’s kindness, his selflessness, the way he had helped her up when she believed she would never be able to stand again. 

Mikasa writes about this life she had made for herself, for her son, for her family, and she finds that even if her story isn’t as exciting and adventurous as Armin’s, it is still one worth cherishing. 

-

Connie helps her cut and varnish the wood for the seat and they put up a swing on a sturdy branch of the willow by the pond. Mikasa thinks she is probably more excited about it than Hideki could ever possibly be—she had always wanted a swing. She remembers there being one on the playground in Shiganshina, remembers walking past it wistfully. The other children weren’t very kind to her after she got a reputation of being wild and violent for defending Eren from his tormentors in their neighborhood. A freak of nature, they would call her, among other more creative insults, but Mikasa never really minded it. Keeping Eren safe had always been her priority, and playgrounds seemed like such a small sacrifice to make. But she wants her son to have this—this token of childhood, this semblance of normalcy. Hideki won’t bear curses, or sins, or the responsibility to fight. 

Connie tests his weight on it to make sure the rope will hold, and when it does he mentions for her to take the seat. The movements feel new to her, dangling her legs in the air and waiting for the swing to rock, so Connie gives her the impulse she needs to get started.

“You want to go higher?”

Mikasa nods eagerly, and he pushes the swing again. Her laughter fills the space they are in, echoing across the trees and sending ripples in the water. Up and up. Up and away. The swing arches over the sky, coming in and out of the sunlight like a pendulum. Mikasa feels like a child, then, so young and so perfectly normal she could weep. She tracks a butterfly with her eyes and reaches out a hand as it disappears in the distance.

She hadn't stared into the light that long, but there bloomed sunspots in her eyesight. She blinks once, twice. Then gone. Not tears.

Later, Connie shows her the pictures from Levi’s birthday. Out of all of them, her favorite is the one in which Connie and Jean flank Levi (in a way that reminds her of two towers and a pawn on a chess board, though she’d never say it out loud), who has Hideki nested in that careful hold. They’re all smiling, her boys, and she smiles too when she remembers what a fuss it had been to get them all to pose together.

She frames the picture, and a couple others, puts them on the shelf above the fireplace along with the portrait of Eren, and the one of Sasha as well. Mikasa chooses another photo of Hideki (a close up of him in her arms, taken by Jean, if her memory doesn’t fail her) and slips it inside the envelope with her letters to Armin.

“Do you think you can find a way to send these back for me?” Mikasa asks Connie, only half afraid that her request will sound absurd.

“Ah, easy,” Connie laughs, cleaning the lenses of his glasses with his shirt. He clarifies: “Turns out Jean was on to something with his whole ‘making friends’ thing. The man is going places, I swear,” he shakes his head, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

“Your secret is safe,” Mikasa nods, trying to stop her grin. She's proud of him, proud of them both, is the truth. “Thank you, Connie.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna start charging a shipping fee for these things, you freeloader. You already owe me a blanket, remember?”

Mikasa laughs, but she knows that is not true—she owes him so much more. More than she can ever truly repay. But a blanket is as good a place to start as any, so she starts to work on it right away, and lets him pick the colors, too. He can’t really seem to decide, so she just ends up using a little bit of each. 

Mikasa makes one for Levi, as well, a crisp, clean white, and a green and gray one for Jean, and leaves them in the chest in the dorm for them to find. Mikasa might not be the most skilled artisan, but she at least hopes it will help make the next winter a little more bearable, the way they had made the last one for her. 

-

Hideki sprouts up like a weed. It's like Mikasa blinks, and suddenly, he's a three-year-old. He outgrows his crib, and Historia’s trousseau, and it takes her a while to teach him how to use the toilet; he can't bother to stop to tell her he needs to go, not when he is busy running in every direction, making as much noise as possible, insistently turning every room upside down like his purpose in life is to give Levi a heart attack.

But he learns, and he starts to talk to her, too, really talk, saying what he wants and what he thinks. He takes her letters away from her at night, pretending to read them, and he asks earnest questions that make her smile. Why does water fall from the sky? Why don't cats talk? Why are his teeth white? And she's never able to answer to his satisfaction. It's adorable.

He goes through phases, not wanting to eat this, not wanting to do that. The silliest one is when he likes to tear off his clothes the moment she turns her back in order to run around without a stitch on. Mikasa tries to chase after him at first: "Mama is wearing her shirt!" she wheedles. "Good little boys like to wear pants!" But it isn't as though he bothers anyone while running amok without clothes, so she lets him have his way on most days. Connie thinks it’s funny, Levi is only mildly vexed, but when is he not. Jean seems to be the only one who can get him to stay clothed, and Mikasa thinks she would kill to be able to replicate whatever spell it is that he’s cast on the little boy to get him to be so well behaved whenever he visits.

Hideki grows bigger, learns how to use the toilet, starts to ask different, more complicated questions, agrees to wear pants. He likes to go with her down to the village market, to help around the house, unabashedly emulating Levi, and starts making a show of tidying his bed in the morning and folding his little red and white blanket neatly. 

He develops a habit of bringing insects into the house that Mikasa tries to discourage—it was unsettling enough when it was only the cat doing it, and then one day it showed up with four kittens on its tail and the amount of chewed up grasshoppers in her living room went off the charts much to Levi’s displeasure—but she’s inclined to think that Connie has been working to undermine her progress.

One day he barges through the door urgently crying out, Mama! Mama, help! cradling something between his little hands, and reveals a little bird he found at the edge of the woods, where he was not supposed to be going alone under any circumstances. She checks him for scratches or bruises before examining the bird; it’s a tiny creature with a broken wing, and Hideki looks so sad she decides to keep her reproach of him wandering so far beyond the fence on his own for later.

It must have fallen from its nest, Jean tells her that night in the kitchen as they prepare dinner. It’s no use to keep it, especially with Cat and her kittens about the house.

“But I found it,” Hideki frowns at them from his chair, kicking his legs and pouting a bit stubbornly. “I have to stay with it! To protect it,” he explains. 

“And it’s very good that you did,” Jean reassures him. Mikasa wordlessly takes the spoon from his hand and assumes the control of the stove so he can keep talking. “But the little bird needs to go home to his Mama. She must be worried about him, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” he concedes. “My Mama worries when I’m away.”

“Then you shouldn’t go into the woods without telling me,” Mikasa chides. She sees Jean wipe his hands on his thighs, reflected on the windowglass, hears a bone popping as he crouches in front of Hideki’s chair to talk to him face to face. Mikasa always likes it that he does that. 

“Yeah, you know you shouldn’t do that,” Jean says pointedly. “But we can all go, tomorrow, and you can take us where you found him,” his tone turns more serious, “or the bird Mama will come and take you to her nest.”

Hideki seems to consider. “I don’t think it would be so bad,” he says, seriously, as if going to live with a bird family is a real option for him. Mikasa stifles a laugh, and sees Jean’s reflection run a hand through his hair in that way he does when he’s getting frustrated. “But I don’t want to leave my Mama. Okay,” Hideki decides, “I’ll show you where I found the little bird.”

Hideki is up early the next morning, and he decides that bouncing up and down on her mattress is a good way to start the day, suddenly excited to find the nest. Jean quickly snatches him away from the bedroom and leaves her to get changed and ready. She thinks he looks flushed as he turns around, or dreams it, because Mikasa isn’t really fully awake. She’s forgotten all about that when she joins them for breakfast. Her son is neatly dressed, woolly coat buttoned up all the way and eager to go, jittery, gobbling up his omelet so fast that she’s afraid he’ll choke on it for a moment.

“Hey, buddy, slow down,” Jean pours him some water to help him swallow. “The trees are not going anywhere.”

Hideki breathes heavily between gulps. “But the bird mama is waiting! Mama, are you finished? We need to go!”

Mikasa can’t say no to those green eyes, so she finishes her food in a single bite so they can get going. Jean seems to be impressed by that. He inspects Hideki’s bootlaces to make sure they’re nice and tight, and the three set off to the woods.

It’s not long until they find the spot, though they have to be careful not to slip on the dew, and Mikasa is relieved that at least Hideki hadn’t walked in too deep by himself. She still needs to have a talk with him about that. The nest is hidden too far up on the branches for Hideki to reach it even standing on Jean’s shoulders, so he insists Mikasa put the little bird back instead.

“If you drop me, Jean, I swear—”

“I would never,” Jean sounds offended at the suggestion. “Put some faith in me, will you, Mikasa?”

“You can trust Jean, Mama. He won’t let you fall,” Hideki says, solemnly, and that sells it.

“Okay,” she gives in, sighing.

“Okay?” Jean raises an eyebrow.

“I said okay! Hurry, before I change my mind,” Mikasa says, but just in principle. Hideki kisses the bird before transferring it to her hands, and she melts at that.

“One, two, three, and up!” Jean counts as she climbs onto his shoulders. There are two other fledglings on the nest chirping fretfully as Mikasa carefully releases the tiny thing. Her balance is a little off, and the sole of her boot scrapes his breast pocket, leaving a dirty imprint of her heel on the white linen.

“Sorry about that,” she tries to wipe off the spot on his shirt after she climbs down from his back. He shakes his head, following her hand with his eyes as she gives up her efforts and lets it fall down to her side. “I’ll wash it for you when we get home,” she offers.

“Sure. No big deal, though. So long as the Captain doesn’t catch me in this,” Jean shrugs. He turns to Hideki, hands on his knees. “So, mission accomplished, what do you reckon?”

“I’m sad, because I wanted him to stay with me forever,” he says, looking up the tree, rocking lightly on his boots. “But I’m happy he is back with his Mama. And his brothers and sisters. I think he will be very happy here.”

“Sometimes we need to do that with the things we love, buddy. Let them go, I mean. But it’s just a part of life.” Jean plucks out a leaf from Hideki’s hair. Blows it into the wind. Hideki pouts a little, his lower lip quivering, but he nods. 

“Mama,” he turns to her, “do you love me?”

“With my whole heart,” Mikasa smiles at him. Hideki nods again.

“Do you love me, Jean?”

“Of course I do,” Jean pokes him on the cheek, “and so does uncle Connie, and Cap—and Levi.”

“Are you going to let me go?” Hideki’s voice turns teary. Jean is quick to correct him.

“Hey, I said sometimes, only. No one’s going anywhere,” he smiles, pokes the cheek again, and again, until he gets a laugh out of the little boy. He's kneeled fully on the grass, and Mikasa knows it’ll probably leave a green stain on his slacks; she decides she’ll wash those, as well, and then thinks that Levi might be rubbing off on her.

“So why can’t you always stay here with me and Mama?” Hideki grabs Jean’s finger like he used to when he was only a baby. Mikasa feels a tightening in her chest, then, as if only just realizing exactly how much her little boy has grown. It’s not something that hurts, exactly. An acknowledgment, more like. Time passes, Mikasa has learned, no matter what she has to say about it.

Jean’s eyes go a little wide. Hideki has asked her about that before, why Jean and the others don’t just live with them all the time. She's never been able to fully explain it to him, the circumstances of how they all came to be together in the first place. “Well, I always come back, don’t I?” Jean kisses Hideki’s hand, “I have an idea. Would you like to paint the bird?”

“Paint the bird?” Hideki echoes, head bending to the side slightly.

“Yeah, that’s what I used to do whenever I had to let something go. So I would always remember them. Would you like to paint with me?”

“Yes!” he squeals excitedly, little boots crushing bundles of dry leaves on the ground.

“Good, okay. You go ahead and wash your hands while your mom and I bring out the paint from the shed, alright? We’ll be there in a minute.”

Hideki sprints past them, up the path they came from, and Mikasa watches him climb over the fence (he never bothers with the gate, these days) and slip inside the door. “Mikasa,” Jean nudges her shoulder lightly. “Are you okay?”

Mikasa wipes at something wet on her cheek and sees that she’s crying, salty tears quietly streaming down her face. She stares at her hand for a second. How long has she been crying for? She can’t point out the moment she started. The strangest thing is that she doesn’t feel that familiar sadness, the one that always comes visit from time to time. She remembers how that felt, that coldness that crept on the back of her neck. The numbness that came with it. She remembers holding on to it, remembers feeling she deserved that. Mikasa doesn’t feel that way right now. No, Mikasa doesn’t feel sad at all. These are happy tears, she realizes. 

“Yes,” she nods, wiping them away “yes, I’m okay.” 

Jean waits a moment, as if giving her the time to change her mind. She doesn’t. She smiles, instead, and that seems to be enough for him. “Okay, then,” he holds out his hand, stepping back into the trail they had left on the grass on the way here. 

Mikasa takes a deep breath, remembering, letting go, and takes it.

-

Jean shows Hideki how to mix pigments for paint, and the three of them spend the evening drawing pictures of birds and trees. Mikasa tries to copy Jean’s technique, with relative success (though in the end her work is closer to replication of her son’s) and Hideki has his fun splashing color all over the porch. She tells herself that she does not care much if it stains, because she doesn’t want to believe she’s completely turning into Levi, but she knows she’ll be asking for his help to wash it off very soon. 

The activity seems to tire Hideki out, uncharacteristically, and he falls asleep on the couch mid-dinner. They never do this when it’s just the two of them, eating in the living room, because Mikasa doesn’t want him to grow up bad-mannered, but she’ll make an exception every now and then. The wine is also something of a special occasion, she thinks as she takes a sip. She likes drinking with Jean best; Connie always makes fun of her for being a lightweight.

“Today was a success, don’t you think?” Jean asks her, fixing himself another glass, careful not to spill it on the rug. Even in spring the nights are cold, but between the wine and the fireplace Mikasa can barely feel it. Jean is all wrapped up, though, cross-legged on the floor and cocooned inside the green-gray blanket she made for him long ago. Night suits him, she thinks, the warm light gilding his golden skin, bringing out the subtle shadow in the hollow of his cheekbone.

“Oh, absolutely,” she nods, taking another sip. “I don’t know how you do it—he’s usually still trying to climb up the walls at this hour.”

“Believe me, it’s very much mutual. I’m all out of energy too. One more of these will send me right off to where he’s gone,” Jean raises his glass and nods at Hideki’s sleeping form behind them. He’s curled up on his side, one of his cheeks squished over his little arm, the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

“Seriously, now,” Mikasa turns to face him. “You’re really good to him, you know. To us. It’s always good when you’re—” she feels the word home try to slip past her lips, and really, that wouldn’t be wrong. She thinks of this place as all of their homes, hers, Levi’s, Connie’s. Jean’s. There’s no reason for her not to say it, no double meanings or implications at all. But, “—here,” she decides. “What? You’re looking at me funny.”

Jean blinks, rubs the corner of his eye with a knuckle. “Sorry, it’s just. You have paint on your cheek.”

Mikasa takes a moment to understand his words. Her skin feels warm when she lifts her fingers to her face. Lightweight, she thinks as she wipes at it. “Gone?”

“No, it’s—here,” he slides his thumb across his bottom lip and brings his hand close to her jaw. He stops there, as if waiting for a sign to continue, and she feels her head move up, down, a nod. Jean holds her chin steady with three fingers. He strokes the spot on her cheekbone once, twice, three times, right below the little scar under her eye. Mikasa feels her skin prickling. She jerks her head, regrettably, and her lip brushes his palm as he pulls away.

Mikasa stays perfectly still as she watches him rub his thumb against his index, though the room feels like it’s spinning slightly. She wets her mouth so she can speak. “Got everything?”

“Yeah. Perfect. Except…”

“What?” Mikasa asks. Her skin is still tingling where he touched her, stupidly. A damned lightweight, she thinks again.

“Well, your hair, too.” Jean shrugs, hinting at a grin.

Mikasa frowns, eyes widening. Has she been walking around paint-stained this entire time?  “Why did you wait so long to tell me?” she demands, indignantly. Has he been quietly laughing at her all night long?

“Ah, I thought it looked nice,” Jean says. It must be the wine, but she thinks he sounds genuine. She’s not sure if this is worse. “I think pink is your color.”

Mikasa scoffs. “Shut up.” 

“No, really,” he insists, “it looks lovely on you.”

There are light freckles on his nose, she notices. He must have moved forward while cleaning her face. Or maybe she had. She can’t really remember, but she doesn’t find it particularly important at the moment. The brown of his eyes seems to be just a tiny ring around the black of his pupils. If she leaned just a little closer, Mikasa thinks she might be able to see her face reflected. She does, maybe out of curiosity or something else; Mikasa doesn’t find that particularly important, either. If she leaned just a little closer, they would be close enough to kiss. 

The timber cracks and pops in the low flames of the dying fire. The scar on her hand gives a familiar twinge of pain, and she’s snapped out of her trance with a full bodied shiver.

“What’s wrong?” Jean asks, voice slightly alarmed, ringing too loud in her ear due to their sudden proximity. He pulls back all at once, breaking eye contact when he turns his head to check if Hideki had woken from his sleep.

“Nothing,” her voice comes out a little higher pitched than normal, strained. She tries again, “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Are you hurt?” He frowns. His lips part. She looks away. 

“No—” Mikasa shakes her head in a feeble attempt to gather her thoughts. “Just my hand,” she explains, running her fingers over the tight, shriveled skin.

Jean winces in sympathy. “... You want me to have a look at it?”

She entertains the notion for half an instant, then promptly pushes it away. “It’s fine, I can manage. There’s balm for it in my drawer, I’ll take care of it.” Yes, that would be best. She holds her hand to her chest.

“Alright. Should I take him to bed?”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says again, though she only realizes he asked a different question a moment too late. She rises to her feet to keep herself from giving away her mistake, hoists Hideki up into her arms. “Would you mind cleaning up?”

“Sure.” Jean shrugs out of his blanket fully, standing up. He piles up the plates with one hand and fits the two empty wineglasses between his fingers with the other. Mikasa only realizes she’s still rooted on the same spot by the couch and staring shamelessly when he gets up.

“Goodnight,” she pipes out before he can comment on it, forcedly casual. Hideki is drooling on her shoulder, she notices, but only barely.

“Goodnight,” he echoes, and then she realizes that he’s having just as hard a time meeting her eye.

Mikasa turns on her heel, leaving behind only the sound of rattling cutlery and cracking wood and her own footsteps against the floorboards. The warmth seems to follow her, clinging to her bones. Only after she tucks her son under his little blanket does she feel the heat on her cheeks fade away, slightly.

Mikasa rushes to her bedroom lest she cross paths with Jean on the hallway, and slips under the covers with the feeling that she had somehow just uncovered some great big secret. His or hers, Mikasa cannot decide.

-

Jean gives no indication, in the days that follow, that he was affected in any way by their moment by the fireplace.

He has breakfast ready on the table by the time she wakes the next morning, takes Hideki for a ride to the village on his mare in the afternoon, carries on about his day like it is just any other, because it is. She skirts around him, looking for cracks on his act, something on the tip of her tongue that she does not know how to say. The more she thinks about it, the more she feels stupid for being so thrown off by it: effectively, nothing had happened; they had a nice dinner, drank some wine and talked exactly like they do every time he visits. They have done this more times than she can count, and there’s no reason why this particular occasion should be any different, or any more special. But—

Mikasa can’t get it out of her mind.

-

She considers talking to Levi about it. She knows he’d probably be able to offer some snarky, valuable insight that could help her understand. Except she doesn’t really want to understand, is afraid of it, even. She considers talking to Levi about that, too, but she knows he’d probably call her a chicken for lying not only to him but to herself; he’s never been one to hold back just to accommodate her. She’s not in the mood to hear it, not just now.

Mikasa decides to simply leave it alone. It must have been simply the wine clouding her judgement, making her feel and see things that weren't really there. It’s not like she has the time to dwell on it, anyway. There’s a little boy to be fed, laundry to be washed—a porch to scrub clean.

Levi scrapes at the paint, his scowl hidden behind the mask tied over his mouth. Mikasa doesn’t find this amount of care, for the lack of a better word, needed, but Levi argues the smell of paint is simply revolting. The paint itself doesn’t smell, Jean had told her, it’s the solvent, white spirits to help with the fluidity that does. 

She rather enjoys it, in fact. Ah, that’s very interesting, Levi had said when she’d shared the knowledge with him, and fucking nasty all the same.

“Goddamn, I miss it when the worst kind of mess he could make was shitting his pants,” he huffs indignantly. “These sunlight-raised kids grow so fast, I forget.”

Mikasa puts down the scraper to twist her hair up on a bun. “Huh. Funny, I was pretty over carrying a little stink bomb around all the time.” 

Her son is playing with brushes and canvas, old ones Jean set out specifically for him to destroy, staining his bare chest purple as he mixes blues and pinks with his hands— on the grass, now, Levi had insisted, after getting over the initial shock of seeing the state of the porch and telling Mikasa she’d been stupid to not think about that first. She’d rolled her eyes, for the sake of it, despite agreeing with him wholeheartedly, or almost. Mikasa had been enjoying herself too much to really think things through at that moment.

Hideki gives them a pink wave from the yard. One of Cat’s kittens shadows his movements and intensifies the state of his mess, little paw tracks all over the place, but Mikasa will let the rain wash it all away. He seems overjoyed with the kitty, stopping to stroke its fur leaving colorful streaks all over it.

She contemplates him, lovingly. Hideki has eyes shaped like hers, but in coloring they are honeyed green, amber warm. Not quite like Eren’s—they are Carla Jaeger’s eyes. His hair is black like Mikasa’s, too, but she sees bits of his father peeking through in his brows, his chin, his smile. “He’s starting to look a lot like him, isn’t he?” She thinks aloud, a little wistful, feeling some sort of looming desolation hover just above her head.

“Hm? Like who, Jaeger?” Levi tracks her gaze, the muscles of his cheeks twitching when his eyes meet Hideki’s. “I don’t know what you’re on about. That’s an Ackerman, if I ever saw one.”

She knows Levi doesn’t mean for it to be funny; Mikasa thinks he never really means to be funny, but it gets a laugh out of her all the same. The motion seems to shake away the sorrow, among other things, and she goes back to work. 

-

Up, down. Up and away.

Her skin turns warm, cool, warm, cool as she swings in and out of the shade, the ropes making a cracking noise under her hands. Even the grass feels mellow when her feet brush against it, the glass blades wet with morning dew tickling at her ankles. There’s that bright redness beneath her lids; she opens her eyes to sun and green. Mikasa can feel summer’s arrival in her bones.

Levi is curled up at the base of the willow tree, close enough to be fully in the shade and far enough that he’s out of the swing’s range. He has a book balanced on his hip, one leg propped up to give it some support, flicking the pages absently, though Mikasa can tell he’s not really reading the words—couldn’t possibly be, considering all the noise coming from the pond just a few steps away from them. 

Jean and Connie had decided to make the most of the season and teach Hideki how to swim, and the three appear to be having the time of their lives as they paddle across the water. Hideki latches on to Jean’s neck, who in turn takes advantage of his protection to splash water at Connie’s face without receiving some well deserved retaliation. Jean submerges them for a second and Hideki squeals gleefully, kicking his legs, as though it’s the most thrilling experience he’s ever had.

Mikasa watches them from the swing, rocking lightly back and forth, bare feet dangling above the ground. It’s so very delightful that they’re all here together, something that’s so very rare lately. The boys seem to have an almost rigid schedule of alternated visits, and her company has been essentially Levi, who she suspects is trying to neglect his way into retirement. He’s been staying for longer periods of time over the last couple of months, and getting sulkier than ever when he’s reminded he has to go back eventually.

Hideki shuffles out of the pond, wiping at his eyes and slicking back his hair. It’s almost comical, the serious face he makes, and Mikasa has a good guess on where he learned that. Behind him, Mikasa sees Connie push Jean’s head underwater before getting out as well. Little fingers come patting at her knee and Mikasa pulls her son up on her lap. It’s purely coincidental that she’s wearing her rosy dress today—it’s summer, and it’s a summery color— but she’s slightly rueful that it gets immediately drenched. Hopefully, the sun will dry it off by the time they get back.

“Mama, could you help me get to the top of the tree, please?” Hideki asks after a moment, leaning his head on her chest, chin tilted up as if contemplating his possibilities. 

“Why would you want to get to the top of the tree? Everyone’s down here.” Mikasa runs her fingers through his shiny mop of black hair. It’s a bit too long, she’s noticed he’s been squinting through his bangs. She’ll trim it some tonight, at bathtime.

“Because I want to grow and be big like Jean,” he explains dutifully, “and Jean said he got big because he climbed so many trees.”

“Did he, now?” Mikasa steals a cursory glance at Jean. He’s made it out of the pond, now, little droplets of water trailing down and glistening on his chest as he chases them away with the rumpled fabric of his shirt. It’s deeply disconcerting. Not that Mikasa is looking—she’s not. That would be ridiculous. She’s just secretly hoping for a frog to show up, and wipe that stupid grin off his face. 

“Hey, what about being big like Uncle Connie?”

Mikasa’s fingers get trapped in a knot when Hideki tilts his head. “But you’re little, Uncle Connie!”

Connie gapes at them, disgruntled, eyes wide behind his foggy spectacles. “What? Uncle Connie is not little!”

“And there’s nothing wrong with being little. See, you’re little,” Mikasa bops the tip of Hideki’s nose, presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “Levi is little, too, and he’s the very best fighter this world has ever seen.” She leans forward for impulse to get the swing moving, and Hideki giggles. “Care to share what’s so amusing?” Mikasa asks against his hair.

“Don’t be silly, Mama. Levi doesn’t fight,” he says, very seriously. “He just reads, and he makes very good tea.”

It’s funny—kids. She remembers, growing up, how people would speak of Levi. Humanity’s most powerful soldier, as strong by himself as an entire brigade. The strongest man alive, they’d whisper. The heroes are back, Eren would tell her excitedly, in awe, every time the Survey Corps would pass through the gates of Shiganshina, trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous scout. She remembers the first time she had seen him with her own eyes. The first thing she had noticed about the man was that he seemed so awfully sad. Of course, they always seemed awfully sad, those people whose lives were dedicated to slaying monsters; with good reason, Mikasa would learn for herself.

A life in the Corps was a life spent fighting right down to your very last breath, whether you took as you were torn apart, chewed on or crushed underfoot like a cockroach, or later, bled to death after being hit by enemy artillery, she thinks cruelly. There was no way of knowing, then, just how vicious things were, how brutal they would become. No way of knowing how many people she would lose, how many people Levi had already lost. But even so, in her childish mind, she understood that that man had been through the most horrid things in the world. 

Mikasa takes in the sight of him now. Ankles crossed, arms folded, laying down on his back under the shade, a battered old book balanced just over his chin. He looks… peaceful. This is Levi as Hideki has always known him: someone who reads, makes tea, frets about the state of their house. Mikasa thinks, truthfully, that this is how Levi is meant to be. It’s a world away from what she’d known when she was a kid, but Hideki’s whole world is in this cottage with them, and it’s a perfect world to him.

“Yeah?” Mikasa pinches his cheek affectionately. “How do you know that his tea is good?” She sees Levi’s cracked a lid open, his interest piqued.

Hideki seems to ponder. “It’s better than yours, Mama.”

“What?” Mikasa squeaks, incredulously, and freezes mid-swing.

“Well, now you know how that feels,” Connie says, flopping down to the ground next to Jean on a patch of sunlight. 

“No, hear him out, he’s got a point,” Jean pitches in, eyes shut and smiling so very stupidly, his hair splayed out messily like—okay, maybe Mikasa is looking a little bit. If he would just put his damn shirt on, she thinks as she watches him brush off a handful of grass blades Connie sprinkled over his face. 

Levi actually laughs at that, pulling the book away from his face to speak. “There’s a skill to it, you know,” he purses his lips, an attempt to keep a smile from spreading. “But yours isn’t bad, kid. You’re just a kind of an oversteeper.”

“Ah, shut it,” she says, and Hideki giggles like he finds it absolutely hilarious, them ganging up on her. He never complains about her tea when it’s just the two of them. Mikasa tightens her arms around his shoulders, “You are supposed to be on my side, you know.”  

“I don’t mind,” Levi shrugs, propping himself up on his elbows. “Erwin could never really get his timing right, either.”

“My timing is just fine, you snob,” she shakes her head, smiling, bending her legs to get the swing moving again. Hideki mimics her movements, little feet bouncing on her thighs, little fingers encircling her wrist, trusting her to keep him safe. Up, down, up and away.

-

A stray goose clears the fence one evening and sets up camp in Mikasa’s neglected garden, parading around and stepping on wild poppies and bellflowers. She tries to get rid of it several times, stupidly, unsuccessfully, and frankly, embarrassingly—she’s had years of experience fighting titans, for god’s sake, she should be able to handle a damn bird—and the honking is so horrible that she finally begs Levi to do away with it. 

There are three more by breakfast the next day, huddled together and nesting in the overgrowth. He shrugs and says they’re not bothering him when she asks about it. Mikasa has a slight feeling this may be punishment for keeping kittens, but she does try to keep an open mind to the possibility that Levi would not be so petty. She makes a mental note to ask for a roast recipe the next time the boys come.

-

It’s well past midnight when Hideki finally decides he has had enough of pulling her strings for the day and succumbs to sleep. Mikasa is completely worn out, sore limbed after a full day of running through the fields and climbing up trees with her son—a task that she will most certainly delegate to Jean, since he was the one who gave the boy the brilliant idea.

Mikasa checks her hair for leftover twigs and leaves in the mirror before twisting it up and stepping into the tub. Her spine pops as she bends, the hot water stinging at her scraped knees and skinned knuckles but making up for it by releasing some great tension just between her shoulders. She rests her head back on the rim of the tub, eyes shut, water covering her like a blanket, and stays still like that for a long time, feeling her muscles slacken. It used to be so rare for her to feel this exhausted, even when she was a child and running laps to the point of busting open the soles of her boots in the Training Corps. Mikasa doesn’t exactly move like she used to anymore. She doesn’t even look like she used to anymore, she thinks as she catches a glimpse of herself reflected on the slanted mirror across the room—she's more curve than edge now, long hair, fuller cheeks, tanner skin. But she doesn’t live like she used to anymore, either; she can’t recall ever feeling this exhausted and this happy at the same time.

She even dozes off for a little bit, giving in to the lead-like weight on her lids, and when she comes to again the water is already cool. She entertains the notion of heating it up again for a second bath, but decides against it. It’s too much work, and it’s late, and she could do with some real sleep.

Mikasa has only just snuck under her blankets when she hears the clatter coming from the kitchen. Cat, she thinks, half-annoyed, turning on her side. The porcelain had been put away after dinner, so there should be nothing breakable on the counter. The noise gets worse a few moments later, and she thinks, Hideki, but it isn’t like him at all not to come to her room first thing if he’s had a nightmare or couldn’t sleep. Considering the lack of little fists knocking on her door, Mikasa imagines maybe it could be Levi—she knows that he does have trouble sleeping, from time to time; she’s found him sipping tea on the couch in the late hours, sometimes messing with the chess pieces or simply looking at the frames above the fireplace, but he is always so quiet about it. Had she misplaced any of the cups? It’s very unlikely. They have such a particular way to keep things organized, even Hideki would know where to store things. Maybe it was Cat, she thinks as she gets up, a little worried, and Levi had finally snapped and terminated the poor thing.

What she finds in the kitchen, however, is not Levi, or the cat, or even Hideki. The source of the noise appears to be Jean, who has his face shoved almost all the way in the cupboard, as if trying to squeeze all six foot something of him inside it, sending the plates rattling when he kocks his head against the top shelf. Mikasa blinks twice to ensure that she is not dreaming him, and feels a little stupid for it because when she dreams about him it is never this noisy—no, when she does dream about him, it’s always quiet nights, whispered voices, crackling wood, calloused palms on stained cheeks. 

Here, he seems completely oblivious to the hour, and hellbent on being as loud as possible. The green trench coat had been discarded on the couch, and his shirt is untucked from his pants, stretched tight over his curved back and shoulders. He’s wearing boots, she notes—they’re not supposed to wear dirty shoes in the house, it gets Levi crazy about the floorboards. He likes his order, and his cleanness, and Mikasa would be lying if she said she doesn't find comfort in it, too.

“Why are you stumbling around like a limp mule in my kitchen,” Mikasa demands flatly, arms folded over her chest, assuming the stance she takes when she wants to let Hideki know he’s done something wrong. Jean hits his head on the shelf again as he turns around, startled like he wasn’t expecting anyone to come check on the noise.

“Mikasa!” he widens his eyes, mouth hanging open with the shape of her name, and it’s not pretty at all. It’s not, and she’s mad. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?”

“Tch,” she shrugs, annoyed, “no. But thank your lucky stars I decided to come here before Levi did. The hell are you doing?”

Jean scratches the back of his neck, innocently. “Looking for empty jars. Think you have any?”

She frowns. “What? No?” 

“Ah, shit,” is all he says, contemplative. Then: “Are you busy right now?”

Mikasa thinks of her warm bed, stretching her spine subconsciously. She could say: yes, I am, and turn around, and lay back down between her soft covers to get some well deserved rest—alone. It’s what she should do, really, after the day she had. But maybe, she could put on the kettle, whip out some of those sweet herbs Levi keeps in the second drawer for tea, offer him a cup, and they could sip it together on the porch. It’s late enough that with the right amount of conversation they could catch the sunrise; it’s always so beautiful in the summer. Or maybe they could even crack open a bottle of wine, take it to the living room. Maybe light up the fireplace, soak up the heat, and sit just close enough to kiss. The thought makes her swallow, forcefully, but she refuses to be embarrassed for only imagining. 

“Kind of,” she decides, and does not avert her gaze.

“Is it urgent?” Jean presses, almost earnestly. 

Mikasa purses her lips, and thinks she’d give anything to be able to read his mind in this moment, just so she wouldn’t have to say it—say anything. She doesn’t think she wants to talk at all, in fact. “What do you need? Aside from the jars, I mean.”

“Come with me,” he says, reaching for her wrist, and Mikasa finds her hand moving to meet his halfway, his fingers brushing over her twisted skin. She barely has any time to slip on her boots, awkwardly hopping into them and leaving the laces untied as they stride across the yard and past the gate. Mikasa remembers to use her free hand to gather up her skirt—she’s wearing a nightdress, damn it, and of course it’s the white one. She can already see the grass stains and the dirt smudges as Jean pulls her along.

“Was that a goose just now?”

“Yeah. I needed to have a talk with you about that, later,” Mikasa confirms, scrunching her nose. “You smell like horse, you know?”

“Ha. You’re very funny, did you know that? But that joke’s a little spent.”

“No, seriously, did you just get here?”

“Well, yeah,” he winces, almost self consciously. “Now hurry up or we’ll miss the show.”

Jean guides her through the woods, her vision dulled by sleep and the thin moon. She hears the sound coming from the creek, the stream splashing and gurgling, and thinks that she has a good enough reference of where they are that she could let go of him if she wanted to. She doesn’t, and she hopes she’s being subtle—she does need to keep up with his pace, after all.  

He comes to a halt soon after they get down to a clearing not too distant from their pond; she recognizes the place, having wandered about these parts with Connie on several occasions over the years. For a moment, Mikasa doesn’t understand what the rush was all about, but suddenly, everything seems to come into focus: the streaks of silvery light seeping through the tall trees that encircle them, the low singing of the birds, the fireflies. They flit around, streaks of green and yellow, and with the shining moon and piles of stars it looks like something out of a tale in a children’s storybook. It’s so beautiful Mikasa doesn’t know what to do with the emotions springing up in her chest. She takes several calculated steps, careful with where she’s placing her feet until she’s in the middle of the clearing. 

“They’re so,” Mikasa says, turning to where Jean is, watching with wide eyes too, and smiling. She doesn’t know how to end that sentence, beautiful, amazing, beyond belief. 

“Yeah,” Jean agrees, astounded, and Mikasa laughs. Yeah, she thinks and then walks the few steps over to throw her arms around him. He either hasn’t got a good foothold, or Mikasa’s motion isn’t obvious in the dark and he trips. They go sprawling, tumbling into the grass, her giggles ringing in the night through his desperate yelping.

“Mikasa! Mikasa, are you okay? Look—it’s not funny! You need to be careful—!” he huffs, chastising, even though her impact with the ground had been softened by his own body. She rolls off of him and onto the ground, still laughing, grass stains on her nightdress be damned, and the tension in his shoulders dissipate reluctantly as he joins her.

“What? It’s a little funny,” she nudges him in the ribs. Tip of her elbow. “You can say it.”

Mikasa stares overhead, gazing at the stars. They seem to be clearer than she's ever seen them. Not a cloud blots the dark canvas of the sky. The moon is a paper-thin crescent. She looks at the cool shine of the moon and the dancing of the lights and Jean, by her side, looking at her from the corner of his eye believing her distracted, and Mikasa feels joy taking over every inch of her body, such happiness, in a way she had believed for so long she would never feel again. Such warmth, in a chest that for so long had been so cold.

“Yeah,” he says, breathy, his smile growing. “Maybe a little.”

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

She turns her face to him. “Why did you need the jars for this?”

“Ah, that,” he leans his cheek on his own shoulder. “It’s something we used to do when we were cadets. Sasha, Connie and I, I mean. There was… not a forest, but some kind of grove, remember? Behind the stables in the training grounds. We’d go there after dinner, sometimes. Bet on who could catch the most lightning bugs before the curfew bells rang.”

“And who was it?” Mikasa watches a flickering light land on her index finger, and take flight again.

“You even have to ask?” He laughs, “Sasha, of course. But I was always second best.”

She stifles her laugh, fondly, and he turns fully on his side, “I was so enraged by it every time, back then. Can you believe that?”

“I can, actually,” she says, and it slips free.

“Come on, I wasn’t that bad,” he retorts, and doesn’t sound quite like he believes himself. It’s his turn to poke her, now, a knuckle to her hip. “Anyway, I rode down to the stream so the horse could have a drink before I turned in, and we ended up stumbling upon this place. I figured I’d catch a few and bring them home for Hideki to see,” Jean explains. “But he’d probably like it best if we brought him here, I think.”

A bug flies over his brow, illuminating his face for a moment. She squints her eyes to catch a glimpse of his freckles, the ones she couldn’t see when she was standing further away from him, but the light is gone before she can do it. 

If he tried to kiss her right now, Mikasa would let him. The thought pops into her head unbidden—she’s had similar thoughts before, but never so plainly, never understood it so clearly, so strongly. She wonders if he would let her, if she wanted to kiss him, right now, on the grass, surrounded by stars and fireflies. Because she does want to; her body ignites with the thought of it, that burning under her ribcage, coming to life like stirred embers. If he kissed her, and she would very much like it if he did, Mikasa would kiss him right back.

She can just see how she would do it: she would raise her hand, cup his jaw, pull his face closer to hers. Jean would inhale sharply, and try to be discreet. His hand would come up, reluctantly, to her waist, and travel slowly to her cheek, hold her in place like it had that night with the paint and the fire. Yes, he would do just that, and she would say, kiss me, and he would close the distance between them almost chastely, and she would want more. Kiss me again, she would say, and then she would do it herself.

But he won’t, she knows it. She can see it in his face, has seen it in his face before. He won’t do it, not unless she makes it as painfully clear to him as it is to her.

She could. She could do it, right now, and have it all, make this lingering daydream a reality. But stupidly, selfishly, Mikasa wants Jean to read her mind, somehow, understand her without her having to tell him, without her having to give it up, without her having to confess anything. 

Kiss me, she thinks again, willing it to come true.

“I’m cold,” is what she says. She isn’t. 

In his hurry to get to the clearing, Jean forgot his coat in the kitchen. He shuffles to the side, rolling on his back, and holds out his arm quietly, almost diplomatically, meaning for her to come closer, steal the warmth from his body, and she feels something old, blooming inside her, or maybe something brand new.

“Do you want to go back inside?” He gives her the option, and waits for her answer expectantly, and she realizes in that moment that he might just love her. For how long had he felt like this? For how long has she felt like this?

Mikasa wants to be close enough to count every freckle on his nose, every speck of color in his eyes. She wants to close her eyes, to touch his face, to curl up in his chest, to see his surprise when she kisses him. She wants too many conflicting, mutually exclusive things. And she could have them all, right here, right now.

“Not yet,” she decides, looking away, but shifting closer. She tucks herself under his shoulder, and doesn’t let go of his fingers once she’s comfortable. It’s an easy fit, she’s always thought so. “Give me just a little while longer.”

-

Mikasa works the dough over the floured counter, her third or so attempt to form the pie shell. She had ushered everyone out of the kitchen in order for her to have some peace and quiet, and for once get the damn crust right. Levi is watching Hideki on the swing, blessedly, because he’s been awfully agitated lately and having to watch him would certainly end up with her causing a small fire with the oven and she’s got no plans to rebuild this house anytime soon. Jean and Connie had insisted on helping, which would have been sweeter if she didn’t know they’re just bored out of their minds, but she'd taken them up on it anyway and sent them to peel apples for the filling. The only issue is that they had chosen the spot on the porch by the window, just out of sight, but close enough that she can still hear their boring chatter about paperwork, or parties—things that don’t really concern or interest her her anymore. 

She'd tried to tune out their voices, concentrating on the sizzling of the pan as it melted butter for the sauce, and it worked so well that only when she finally moved on to the dough had it occurred to her that maybe they didn’t want her to hear them anymore, which of course incited her curiosity. So here she is, shamefully attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation and simultaneously keep the crust from being torn apart in her hands. 

“Look, I know, there’s Hideki,” Mikasa hears Connie say. He sounds frustrated, and hearing her son’s name only sparks up her interest further. “Trust me, I know, I think I love that kid more than I love myself. But you gotta think about this right, man.”

“I have. I can’t take it,” Jean says, equally exasperated. There’s a sound like a thud, an apple thrown into a basket. “And there’s also Mom.”

“Don’t you bring Marie into this,” and Mikasa imagines Connie taking off his glasses and pointing a finger at Jean’s face. “You know she’d be thrilled,” he adds, and after a moment, “You talk to her about it already?”

“Not yet,” Jean says, and Mikasa does not think they are still talking about Marie Kirschtein. She has a feeling he might be running a hand through his hair right now, or maybe scratching the back of his neck. She wishes they were sitting just a little closer to the window so she could confirm her suspicions. 

“Just… don’t be an idiot, okay? Even though it goes against your very nature,” Connie grunts, Jean laughs, and the conversation dies out. Mikasa stands still for a moment, waiting for Jean’s response, but it never comes. Beyond the fence, she can see Levi and Hideki approaching the house, hand in hand, the only thing keeping the boy from leaping over the gate. Jean comes into her field of vision, sprints to meet them, relieving Levi of his sitter duty and lifting Hideki up to sit on his shoulders. The shell holds, at last, and Mikasa steps outside to fetch her apples.

Connie is still sitting there, knees bent, munching absently on a piece of bruised fruit as he shakes the full basket slightly between the tips of his shoes, the peeled apples knocking softly against each other. She takes the spot next to him, picking up one of the leftovers for herself.

“So, what’s going on?” Mikasa prompts, taking a bite.

“Hm?” Connie’s head jerks as if only just realizing she’s here. “Going on with what?”

“You know what. What’s going on with you and Jean?”

“We share a special bond. Why, jealous?” He wiggles an eyebrow at her.

“Come on, spill it,” she insists. “What were you two going on about just now?” 

“What, you’re creeping on us, now? Tsk, Mikasa. I thought you had more class,” he shakes his head, and she rolls her eyes, but doesn’t bother with an excuse.

“Connie,” she presses. 

“Look, don’t worry about it, okay?” He scrapes his teeth at the core of his fruit, inspects it, then flings it across the field. It lands somewhere past the fence, and it sends a goose flying in fright to where Jean and Levi are entertaining her son. There are six geese now, all settled down and growing fatter by the day. Though he denies it, Mikasa suspects that Hideki has been slipping them her cheese buns. “Stupid fuckin’ birds,” Connie mumbles. He’s not wrong, but Mikasa has gotten better at tolerating them—as a courtesy, only, because Levi does seem to genuinely like their presence for whatever reason. And, well, she did keep the five cats.

“Okay. Sorry I asked,” Mikasa says, pursing her lips, with a slight feeling that she’s annoyed him, somehow. She regrets not having started to pay attention to the conversation earlier; the pie better pay off, she thinks.

“No, it’s cool,” he reassures her. “It’s just not really my secret to share. I'm sure it'll come up. He’s just” Connie pinches the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Jean… He has some things he’s gotta work through, is all,” he shrugs, nonchalant, then jerks his head to the apples. “Toss me another one, will you?”

“Nu-uh,” Mikasa snatches the basket away from his reach, springing up and balancing it against her hip. “Sorry,” she says, in a way she thinks shows him she really isn’t. “Can’t share. These are meant for the pie.”

-

Everything seems to fall into place, after that. Mikasa makes her peace with the geese, Levi stops at long last whining about the cat fur, Hideki swims and climbs trees and catches fireflies and paints his little houses and birds and she frames them all above the fireplace, in the kitchen, in her bedroom wall.

There’s only this thing; not really an issue but rather an itch, something that seems to be within her grasp but at the same time so out of reach. Mikasa doesn’t mean Jean, or those moments in which she thinks that she could just tell him, something, anything, or the moments when she wishes he would say something, anything, or even do something—because they do happen, with increasing frequency. He’ll stand a little too close to her in the kitchen, let his fingers brush hers when passing ingredients for dinner, say her hair looks pretty even when she’s only just woken up and has forgotten to brush it. And she will look at him, and let her gaze linger just for a moment too long, and think, kiss me, I’m ready, or kiss him, you’re ready, but still won’t quite take the next step.

No, those moments are not a problem. They make it all the sweeter, in fact. Thrilling, she would dare say. The thing is really the things, like Connie had said, that Jean needs to work through. Not once had they come up since their conversation on the porch, not once had either of them even come close to revealing something. It’s truly embarrassing, how much that seems to bother her, how it seems to hold her back. She thinks up hypotheses, slipping into that old habit from when she didn’t know what Armin’s truth had come to be. One night she even conjures up some other woman, Trost-bound, with an apartment in the city, with a family to welcome him into, who would visit his mother with him, who would dress up and attend fancy balls and meetings by his side, who would keep his bed warm and not be afraid to kiss him when she wanted to. 

The whole scene plays out in her mind over dinner, but it gets shattered the moment their eyes meet across the table. Jean would never do such a thing, not when he looks at her so tenderly, and Mikasa should know better than to even consider it. But it does hurt that she can’t give him that, at least not fully, and the parts that she can she simply won’t. Kiss him, she thinks for the thousandth time. Not yet, something tells her, not just yet. Maybe not until she knows, and Mikasa finds herself growing impatient in her curiosity, feels the itch spread and burn until she can’t bear it anymore.

“Do you know something about Jean?” She asks Levi one day, levelly, in the middle of a chess game. She thinks she’s being quite subtle about it, but Levi doesn’t even attempt to hide his expression, like he’s got knowledge she’s not privy to. Mikasa wants to smother it out of him.

“Why,” he says, flatly, brow twitching up, “I’ve known the kid since he was what, twelve? I know a whole fuckin’ lot about him, I’d wager.”

“Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you,” she rolls her eyes, sliding her bishop across the board to capture his rook. 

Levi shrugs. He’s got his white blanket draped over his lap, hiding his chair’s legs and his own. It’s comically child-like, she thinks, the way he seems to hide in his woolen sweater, at least three sizes too big for him. It’s not even cold, she wants to snap at him but doesn’t. He adjusts the rolled up sleeves before picking up a piece. “You just gotta be more specific.”  

Mikasa stays stubbornly silent, glaring at the flickering lamp on the kitchen ceiling above them. “However,” Levi clicks his teeth, biting the bullet, “if you happened to be wondering about the latest news from the capital’s favorite First Lieutenant,” he snorts, a little mocking, “I might, maybe, have something on that.”

“And what might you have,” Mikasa plays along, only mildly annoyed, “if I did happen to be wondering?”

“Word is, they wanted to promote him,” Levi tilts his head to the side, makes her wait for it. Mikasa thinks he’s enjoying this a little too much. “But he turned it down. Check.”

She looks down at the board. Levi has taken her knight, and her king is left vulnerable in a clear diagonal across his queen. Mikasa moves it to the empty square to the side absently, “Promote him to what?”

“D.C,” Levi says, nonchalant. It takes a moment for her to understand what he means.

“They wanted to make him Deputy Commander?” That’s what Jean and Connie had been discussing that day? Mikasa doesn’t stutter, but the words still feel strange on her tongue. “Did he tell you that?”

“Tch, would you tell your Captain if you were planning on commiting career suicide? Of course not.” Levi looks at her like she’s insane. “Not that I particularly care. I was actually impressed, even. Double check.”

“Double check, my ass. You can’t double check.”

“I damn can, and I just did,” he jerks his chin up defiantly. Mikasa simply sighs, and blocks his offense.

“How do you even know that, then? If he didn’t say?"

“I understand it might be surprising for you, being cooped up in this little quaint, bumpkin town all year round,” he chews on his lip, briefly, and Mikasa thinks he sounds a little wistful under the snarkiness, “but people talk.”

“So Humanity’s Strongest isn’t above gossip, then.” The thought of Levi eavesdropping on officer cliques during those fancy meetings and parties they’re now required to attend would be enough to make her laugh, if she wasn’t stuck on the implication that they were gossiping about Jean. “Check.”

“If that’s not a pot-kettle-black kind of situation,” he shakes his head, scratching his brow with his index finger. “Again, I don’t really care, but I like a little distraction from time to time, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe that runs in the family too,” Mikasa mumbles. “Or maybe you’re just growing bored and meddling in your old age; it’s known to happen. But I figured your damn geese should be enough to keep you entertained. Ah,” she brightens, “checkmate.”

Levi narrows his eyes at the board. He counts his pieces, counts her pieces, and the pieces they’ve taken out of the game so far, and when he is finally satisfied that she had achieved an honest victory, he throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Screw this stupid game,” he declares, letting her previous comments slide, folding his blanket and standing up from his chair. “But since we’re on the subject of kettles—you want ginger or black leaf?”

-

Mikasa doesn’t sleep well that night. Doesn’t sleep at all, in fact. Word is they wanted to promote him, but he turned it down. She can’t begin to understand it; why would he ever do such a thing? Why, after attending every boring meeting, mingling at every tedious party with all those Important People and their stuck up wives and husbands he so often would whine to her about? Why do that, and not tell her?

I know there’s Hideki, she remembers Connie saying. But don’t be an idiot. Levi had put it bluntly: career suicide. Had Jean refused it for his sake? For their sake?  She shudders to think it. Has she been living in a daydream? Has she trapped him inside with her? It makes Mikasa sick to her stomach, and then it makes her angry. She had never asked for this, would never ask for this, and he should know it too. 

Jean should be nearing the village soon—maybe a day, maybe two. She’ll hear it from him, then. Clarify things. Three, four days pass, and by the fifth Mikasa feels more restless and confused than she has in years. She makes an effort not to show it; Hideki still needs his mother. She takes him for a day out climbing trees, figuring she could use the exercise to tire herself out, but even when Hideki finally relents and asks to go home Mikasa is still agitated and on edge. Levi offers to give Hideki a wash and tuck him in for the day. She says she can handle it, but Levi sees right through her, and she doesn’t feel like arguing. He prepares some tea for her nerves and very graciously says nothing other than: “Drink it. You’re freaking me out.”

It’s nearing sundown when the door swings open, creaking in a slow arc. Jean slips inside, kicks off his boots and removes his coat before turning around to find her like that: knees to her chest, curled up on the couch nursing her empty cup between her hands. He smiles, then, like it’s endearing. Mikasa springs quickly to her feet.

“Hi,” he says, catching his breath. He runs a hand through his hair; it gets stuck on a knot at his nape, and he takes a moment to pry himself loose and work his fingers through it.

“Hi,” she echoes. “How was the ride?”

“Good, good,” Jean nods. “Very pleasant, this time of the year. How have you been?”

Mikasa purses her lips, setting her cup down on the center table. “Did you refuse the position of Deputy Commander?”

He frowns, confused. Caught, even, she thinks. “How did you…”

“Did you, or did you not?” 

He sighs with something like disbelief. “Connie said something.”

“No. Levi,” she corrects impatiently. “Well?”

“Yes, I did,” he says, calmly, and let’s it sit there.

“Why?” Mikasa demands, feeling the frustration of the past days build up inside her all at once. 

“They would have me stationed in Mitras. Permanently,” he adds. “And I can’t do that.”

“But D.C, Jean. That’s a big deal.” Mikasa thinks aloud, exasperated. “Huge, even.”

“I know,” Jean says, and takes a moment, exhaling heavily through his nose. “I still can’t do it.”

“Why?” She asks again, a little louder. No damn reason to drag this out.

“I have a life in Trost already,” he explains, jerking his palms upwards like that doesn’t require elaborating, but he goes on anyway. “There’s my Mom—”

“She’d be thrilled,” Mikasa interrupts, folding her arms over her chest. “Connie,” she clarifies, shrugging. “I heard you talking about it.”

“Yeah, well, there’s him too, the idiot. Could be years until they decide to move him up. And of course, it would be too far from here. From Hideki,” he says as if it’s obvious, “and you.”

There’s a fluttering at the pit of her stomach at his words, which Mikasa very pointedly ignores. “But that was always your dream, wasn’t it? What you’ve been working so hard for?”

“Yeah, maybe it was my dream, when I was young,” he says, frowning, as if he hadn’t thought of it like this before. “But—that was then.”

“You’re still young,” Mikasa points out, and thinks she shouldn’t have to. “Why would you throw it all away?”

“Fine, years ago that was my dream. This isn’t really how I imagined this conversation going, you know.” Jean sighs, shaking his head. He messes up his hair with his hand, “And I didn’t—throw it away. It’s not like I flat out refused the position, that would be insane of me—”

“It would,” Mikasa interjects, seriously.

“Well I didn’t do that.” He says, sternly, pointedly. “I negotiated. I just met with the brass, a few days ago. I’m next in line for Instructor.”

Mikasa blinks as it downs on her. The words don’t come for a moment, until she remembers herself and pulls her act together. “You mean… the Training Corps?”

“Yeah,” Jean agrees, nodding, taking a slight step closer. “Old man Shadis should be stepping down any day now, anyway, and since the training grounds are in Rose… I figured, why not? Turns out I’m alright with kids. And it would be easier, for me. So I could be… here,” he swallows. “With you.”

Be here, with me, she thinks. It would be so perfect, so very perfect, wouldn’t it? It would be so easy to simply take it. So easy. He wants to be here, with her. He’s said it, now, finally, and oh, how badly she’s wanted to hear it. It would be so perfect, she thinks again. Except… 

“What if you wake up one day and decide this is not what you want? What if you realize that your reasons for doing it weren't solid enough?” Mikasa says, the words forcing their way out of her mouth, and now that she’s started she can’t seem to stop, “what happens when years from now you start to resent me for giving up on your dream?” She chokes out, through her teeth. The very thought makes her want to scream. “What happens when you decide to bolt in the middle of the night and I'm left with a shattered heart and a life you convinced me you wanted?”

“Mikasa,” he breathes out, coming closer, urging her to look at him, but she can’t. Damn it, she can’t. “I need you to understand… There is nothing that matters more than this, to me. I didn’t—I’m not—I’m not giving up on any dreams. If anything, I found a new dream,” he says, earnestly. His hand shoots up like it can’t help itself. It comes tentatively to hover just over her cheek; it’s been there before. She meets him halfway, instinctively, leaning into the touch. 

“Mikasa,” He says. Mikasa, he says, and it knocks the air right off her lungs. His thumb strokes her skin, gently. They’ve been here before. She meets his eyes, and it’s all laid out for her to see. But she won’t do it, will she? Not unless he makes it as clear to her as it is to him. He seems to understand it, too. So he does. Jean takes a deep breath, and says, “Mikasa, you’re my new dream.”

And she kisses him then. How could she not?

It's clumsy, desperate, urgent, their teeth connect before their lips even do and it takes her half a breathless moment before she plants her hands on his shoulders, oh, his shoulders, and all but throws herself at him, wrapping her legs around his hips. It throws him off-balance, sends him stumbling backwards and he hits the wall. Three years ago, the impact would have sent the roof crumbling over their heads. But this house is built sturdy, they made sure of it.

“You’re such an idiot,” she gasps, and she’s not sure if she’s talking to him or to herself, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s kissing her back and it’s soft and ardent and every bit like she’s ever dreamed and more. They topple onto the couch clumsily, the heat where their bodies meet burning up like a friction match, a forest fire, hot enough to suffocate. “We shouldn’t—”

“Yes, we should,” he interrupts her, and oh, his voice, so hoarse and urgent, and his big, stupid hands are cupping her face, stroking her hair like she’s something precious. “Please don’t say we shouldn’t have done that, Mikasa.”

“Not here,” she says, and thinks catching her breath is really more trouble than it’s worth. She wants to put her mouth to his and never pull back again. “Levi is home. Hideki could wake.”

For a moment he just looks at her, lips parted, red, swollen, lovely, and she looks at him too, wondering what he sees. There is a question in his eyes, and she nods firmly, yes, yes, to anything he could possibly want. Jean slides an arm under her knees and the other behind her back and kisses her as he pulls her up, and keeps kissing her until they reach her bedroom door and they have to stop and laugh so she can work the handle for him.

The world is turning dark outside, and they strip each other to their underclothes so they can slither beneath the covers and find that warmth between their bodies once again, slower, sweeter, this time. And here she is, in the dying embers of the day, looking at the pinks and oranges splaying over his skin. She’s close enough to count every freckle on his nose, every speck of color in his eyes, so breathtakingly beautiful. So she touches his face, and curls up in his chest, and she may not see the surprise in his face when she kisses him, but she sees the care, the tenderness, the love.

“Jean,” she whispers against his skin.

“Mm?” He nuzzles her cheek. His lips brush her temple, softly, sending a shiver down her spine.

“You are my new dream, too.”

“Oh,” he says into her hair, pulling her closer like he wants to make sure she’s real. She can feel his smile stretching across his face, the apples of his cheeks touching hers just slightly. “That’s really perfect, then.”

Yes, Mikasa thinks, with her eyes shut, tucked safe, warm all over, and happy—oh, so happy. It really is.

-

Levi doesn’t look surprised in the least when they come out of her bedroom together for breakfast. “Fuckin’ great,” he says, sitting at the table, impassive, like it was expected, holding his teacup to his face, but Mikasa thinks he sounds more fond than annoyed, “I guess this means I’ll have to get my own house, then.”

It doesn’t, and she knows he knows it. She’s happy, and knows he’s happy for her, too, trying to hide his grin behind his hand like he has some sort of front to maintain, so she just lets him put on his little show. Mikasa has come to find it rather endearing, is the truth. And everything, finally, falls into place:

The geese go grazing across the meadow, beaks rooting for seeds and leaving bald spots behind while the kittens stalk from the brush, and Mikasa lets them roam, laughing as they flee from her son’s chubby fists. They honk through the night and terrorize both Connie and Cat in her old age, and Jean sits with Hideki in the grass and lets them peck bread crumbs from his palm. Levi crosses his arms and his face brightens with something a lot like pride when he thinks she is not looking, his eyes crinkling slightly at the sides, something that is not as unusual as it used to be. Mikasa doesn’t comment on it, but she feels it, too, and she is not sure just who she's proudest of.