Chapter Text
“It’s good to see you again, sir,” Emilia said, taking her notepad out of her apron pocket. She knew she didn’t need to take it out. The man never ordered anything other than plain black tea, but she liked to think he might shake things up one day and order milk or honey along with it. Maybe even a slice of cake if he was feeling particularly spontaneous. If that day ever came, all of the calendars she owned would get marked in bright, celebratory colors. But it was more or less a fool's hope, so she didn't hold her breath. “Will it be the usual tonight?”
“Yeah, thanks,” the man in the dark green military hood answered, keeping his head held up against his hands. Ah, another bad night, she thought.
Emilia made her way over behind the counter and to the kitchen where she set the tea kettle on the stove. It was a Sunday night, the moon was new, and business was slow.
Only certain types of people came to her shop past sunset, and Captain Levi of the Survey Corps was most definitely a certain type of person.
He showed up every Sunday night at seven o’clock on the dot, one hour before closing, when the bakery was almost always empty. More often than not, he would order a pot of plain black tea, maybe two, and stay for the entire hour. Sometimes he brought paperwork with him, sometimes a book. On occasion, he would just stare into space with his hands balled into fists in front of him, his thoughts nearly visible in how they clawed away at him. Those were the nights when Emilia let him stay past closing, only pointing out the time after she had cleaned and prepped for the next morning. Tonight was most likely one of those nights.
The water began to boil on the stove and Emilia took out a plain black teapot. She poured half the water into the pot and placed the kitchen thermometer inside, waiting for it to reach the right temperature before dumping the water out and scooping the black tea leaves into the strainer. She dropped the strainer to the bottom of the pot and put the thermometer back in before filling it with the latter half of the water. When the thermometer hit the desired temperature, she checked the clock - black tea took five minutes to brew.
There was an art to tea, her mother had taught her, and a lost one at that. Each different type of tea leaf required different times and temperatures in order for their flavors to be properly brought out. Her employees didn’t quite see the difference, but it mattered to Emilia, whose mother spent her life mixing all different types of teas and serving them in her husband’s bakery. Once her parents retired six years ago, Emilia took up the family business at the young age of twenty, adding her own flare to the shop, but holding tight to old traditions.
After five minutes had passed, she used a spoon to fish out the strainer from the darkened liquid and placed the pot on a serving tray, along with a tea cup, a spoon, and a cloth napkin. Between the fold of the napkin, Emilia slid in a freshly baked molasses cookie leftover from a recent order. It was something she typically did when the cracks in his steadfast demeanor started to show. She always gave him a different cookie, trying hard to rotate between flavors so it would always be a surprise.
When she first started doing this, he tried to pay for it, but she never accepted his money, not even for the tea. “You risk your life, Captain,” she had said time and time again. “The least I can do is offer my thanks with a pot of tea and a cookie.” Which was true. Emilia had always nurtured a soft spot for the Survey Corps ever since her older cousin joined and was quickly forced to retire after losing his legs. That happened over a decade ago. And then there was-
No, she didn't want to think about that. Everything and nothing had changed since then, so it wasn't worth thinking about.
Regardless, a pot of black tea was cheap, and the cookies would have gotten thrown out or given away, which she made a point of telling him, but man was Captain Levi a hard one to convince. He had narrowed his eyes at her reasonings, clearly skeptical, and took to simply leaving money on the table and rushing out before she noticed. That bold approach only led to her leaving his money in between the napkin fold instead of a cookie the following week. “If I were you, I’d just take the cookie,” she would grin. Back then, he would scowl. Now, almost a year later, she couldn’t help but notice how, on rare occasions, the corners of his mouth would twitch up ever so slightly.
Captain Levi remained in the same position she had left him in, looking even smaller than usual under the cover of his military cloak and hood. He always wore that when he came, despite the fact that no one was ever around, not even the other employees, who had long since gone home for the night, but it was clear he was adamant on remaining unrecognized.
Who he thought he was fooling was beyond her, but Emilia wasn’t about to open that particular can of worms. Bakers should mind their own business, after all.
Keyword: should.
“Here you go, sir,” she said as she placed the tray down on the table. “If there’s anything else I can get you, please let me know.”
“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly. It wasn’t difficult to piece together what had been bothering him - news of the Survey Corps and their missions outside the wall were public knowledge. Every newspaper in print contained an ample supply of news updates, opinion articles on why the branch should be disbanded, how they were wasting taxpayers’ money (accompanied by impressive graphs and pie charts), how Commander Smith was willingly sacrificing his comrades, and so on and so forth. For such a small group, they attracted a great deal of attention, and no one shouldered that scrutiny more than Commander Smith and Captain Levi. No doubt it was a stressful burden to have a job that wasn't just thankless, but also scrutinized at every turn.
But it was obvious that this week was a special breed of stress, one that had been dormant since the fall of Wall Maria: the invasion of Trost. News of the titan attack spread like wildfire, and the rumors floating around about a new military weapon were hard to ignore. Emilia wished she could ask him about it, maybe let him vent out his frustrations, but surely there were enough people in his life to fill that role. Besides, she got the sense that discussing his personal affairs with a stranger was not his cup of tea, so to speak. She wouldn't do it either, if she were in his shoes after all. So she went back into the kitchen and began to prep for the following morning.
The hour went by quickly, the only sound being from the Captain refilling his cup with more tea. His silence was a comfortable one and Emilia didn’t feel awkward going out to the front room to wash down the empty tables or sweep the floor. He never so much as looked up at her while she cleaned, so his presence never induced the familiar discomfort of having a man watch her as she leaned over to scrub the tables, or bent down to brush crumbs in her dustpan.
It was nice.
When closing time came, she flipped the sign on the door, but said nothing to the man brooding at the corner table. Instead, she waited until she had finished her tasks and was ready to leave herself before approaching him.
“Mind if I take this?” she asked, motioning towards the empty pot and cup.
He looked up at her for the first time that night, “Right, I’ll be going.” While his tone usually sounded the same on the surface, Emilia noticed the way his words lacked the sharpness they usually held. He stood, the top of his head reaching just below her nose, and started for the door.
“You okay?”
He stopped, turning back an inch with slightly wider eyes. She had never asked him that before, never asked him anything about himself before. This was a bakery, after all, not a tavern. But something in her gut tugged at her when she saw the military hero looking so … defeated. It wasn’t something she could explain, maybe her nurturing instincts were taking over, or maybe the curiosity that had accumulated over the past year had finally snapped, but the words had come out before she really thought about it and it was too late to take them back.
“You pick shitty times to start conversations. Don’t you have a teapot to clean?” Though the words themselves were harsh and more than a little rude, his tone said otherwise. He sounded tired. No, more than that. Exhausted.
“Heh, I suppose I do,” she responded, picking up the tray. “Have a good night, Captain.”
He turned and started back towards the door, opening it just enough for him to slip through. “Thanks for the cookie,” he said just before clicking the door shut.