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Somewhere along the way, it was decided Lady Luck favored you. Nevermind if anyone really believed in the nursery rhymes told to the town children, it was a joke shared one too many times to avoid finding some truth in. You were fortunate. When it seemed you were dealt a hard hand, those around you were dealt harder. If the tide threatened to rise, you were treading water while others drowned, their toes still touching the sand.
Logically, you reckon your streak of prosperity was a combination of flukes and acting on instinct. Circumstance was a beautiful thing until it wasn’t and like anyone else, you were always waiting with bated breath for the day you fell out of your Lady’s good graces.
Splayed on your side, blinking stars from your eyes, you’re grateful it isn’t today.
Everything is washed in white, the branches in the trees above bending with the weight of snowpacks, and threatening to spill onto the untouched sheet of snow blanketing the forest floor. Flurries swirl chaotically from the sky in artful clumps, beautiful in their descent to the ground where they press cold kisses to your exposed cheek.
The same could not be said for you.
It’s luck you landed in a softer snowdrift, the powdery top coat cushioning what would have been unforgiving contact. In weather like this, a fall from the height you were at was fatal in tandem with the compressed ice waiting layers below your body. At the moment, the only casualty is the gear warped around the contour of your hip, most definitely wrecked beyond repair.
There’s a dull ache searing down the entirety of your left side, the side you floundered to land on to avoid smacking your head. You anticipate, through the static buzz of your daze, that it’s going to hurt tenfold once you’re out of the numbing cold. But it could be worse. It could always be worse.
Distant shouts of your teammates reach you, their ODM cables whirring as they no doubt struggle to navigate without replicating your tremendous fuck up. Such a stupid mistake really, you consider, blinking away the snow accumulating on your lashes. If you had just aimed a little to the left -
“Good grief.” The mumble slips past your lips with a soft huff, flakes of white scattering at the exhale, and you try at moving your right hand. Your fingers twitch, responsive, but your nerves are still bristling at the shock.
It’s all you can do to shift the weight from your left to your center, flopping unceremoniously onto your backside. Some practice run this turned out to be… Looking skyward, you can’t help but think this terrain is dreadful and so is your Captain for dragging you all out here.
This morning had promised a day off from working you to the bone, this you and your teammates had been hopelessly sure of. The optimism in seeing the massive snowfall in the comfort of the mess hall had been contagious, starting with the slight upturn on Petra’s lips and ending with a strange sort of relief on Eld’s face.
“Suppose we’ll just be on cleaning duty today?” Petra had mused, her chin resting on the heel of her palm. You had given her a silent nod of agreement, slouched over the table to lay your head on your arms. After the day prior, it would be a welcome reprieve to clean instead of running yourself down again with more grueling practice runs.
“Guess your Lady must have heard you asking for a break, hm?” You knew it was aimed at you, it always was, especially where Eld and his gentle teasing was involved. You feigned ignorance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s our clover , our little good luck charm.” Oluo had chided, his chops full of the porridge you’d given him after he came late to the table, your bowl decidingly untouched. Yesterday hadn’t left you with much of an appetite anyway… and Oluo had as big of a stomach as he did a mouth.
Clover . A nickname given after your career of close calls and lucky outcomes in the regime caught your squad’s attention - it was better than the first one Oluo had spat out within weeks of making your acquaintance. Thank goodness Petra had come to your rescue then, denouncing ‘rabbit’s foot’ as completely off the table for being too grotesque. You shuddered at the memory.
“How could I have made it snow? Don’t push nature’s gift on me now because it’s convenient.” You had buried your head deeper into your forearms, content to mull in the small space between the tip of your nose and the hardwood of the table.
Knowing the other Survey Corps and their leaders, the gimmick would follow you all day until somehow your own Captain would find it acceptable to place blame. Heat flared to your cheeks at the thought. You’re not sure you wanted any additional attention from him after your dismal shortcomings, and certainly not for something as trivial as the weather.
“Don’t be like that, clover. ‘S’not like the Captain is going to send us out in this shit anyway.”
“Is that so?” That smooth baritone had everyone’s back stiffen at the sudden intrusion, yours especially, the firm tug at the tail of your braid demanding your attention. “Head up, soldier.”
You had shot up fast enough to see black spots ink across your field of view, the rush of blood sending your equilibrium off course. Thankfully, Oluo’s sputtering was loud enough to choke out Petra’s muffled laugh at your disorientated face. You didn’t have to turn around to know your squad leader, your Captain , Levi Ackerman was standing behind you, likely the picture of posed indifference.
“I thought I’d go easy on you all today,” A beat of silence. “But seeing you’re all keen on slacking off, we’ll be running through the course after all.” It was punishment, you knew, for not meeting expectations the day prior, not because of Oluo’s loose lips and leisurely assumptions. That hadn’t stopped your team from leaning into him for pissing off the Captain long after he ordered you all dressed and in gear in no less than a half hour.
It didn’t matter that the weather was unforgiving, a brusque chill sinking into the layers of your corps uniform, threaded through the fibers of your woven, green cloak. The expectation was clear in the way Levi waited at the forest’s edge, as if it was any other day, and your squad wasn’t the only one on the grounds. On an expedition, Titans weren’t going to care what the weather was, only that they had prey to kill and consume.
“Go.”
A simple command that had you lifting from the tips of toes like you weren’t weighted by the pressure to do better, be better, firing your anchors high into the trees. Luck may have been a constant companion but it was not the cause for your assignment to the Special Operations Squad. Obedience and a funny, unquestioning loyalty to your Captain shrinking behind you as you ascended played a bigger role in that feat. You had heard Oluo cursing your head start, fumbling with his equipment before he and your teammates lifted off after you.
In a normal situation, they’d never catch you. But it was short of a blizzard, coverage from the trees be damned, and you hadn’t planned on spending your morning dodging snowflakes.
“Hey!” Locks of ginger cut across the overcast sky and the shadow of Petra’s form looms over where you’re sprawled out. Concern etched between her brows, the warmth of her gaze was welcome in contrast to the wet chill seeping into your uniform. Behind her, the ground thumps with the contact of boots to snow. You count four pairs, a knot rising in your throat. Gunther and Eld jog into view and you’re dimly aware of them helping you sit upright, frantically dusting the white powder from your trembling frame. Shivering. You’re shivering .
“You weren’t moving,” Gunther mutters past your shoulder, his eyes trained downward with an unreadable expression. “Looked like you were dead.”
You want to apologize, the beginnings of guilt starting to gnaw at you as your awareness returns. You can only imagine how it must have looked to your teammates, your friends, as they trailed behind, watching your hook lose it’s anchor and send you careening to the ground in a free fall while your functional tether hit it’s mark seconds too late.
The damaged ODM gear at your hip sputters weakly, no longer muted under your weight, the mechanics crushed from your fall. The metal had torn the straps at your thigh, digging unforgivingly into the fabric of your pants. You're sure the skin underneath will be a brilliant bloom of mottled bruising by the time you're standing. With the way Petra is hovering, Oluo crushing snow under his hurried steps to place a hand at the small of her back, you think it’s well deserved.
You didn’t want their concern, didn’t want to be responsible for their panic…not when it was the result of a reckless mistake.
“Oi.”
You flinch at your Captain’s voice, dropping your gaze to your lap. There’s a heat threatening to rise behind your eyes, shame burning hot and high in your face now. You won’t cry here, not when you have no one but yourself to blame. Save that for the showers, when the steam and spray of water can mask your humiliation. In your peripheral, you see him kneel into view. He says your name and you know ignoring him will only make things worse. Suck it up.
He doesn’t seem angry, not openly, but you know as well as anyone that your Captain is rather good at masking when he’s pissed. His features are schooled into impassiveness, gray irises cold and cheeks tinged with a hearty flush easily chalked up to the wintry conditions.
He looks pretty like this . The notion streaks across your consciousness before you can slam it down, lips parting dumbly. Dark hair tousled by the forward acceleration to land, flurries grazing his jaw, his breath expelling with soft puffs - no, pretty doesn’t quite cover it. Attractive, handsome - you do a mental shake of your thoughts. It wasn’t your place to think such things about your Captain.
You hope he can’t hear the way your heart is hammering against your ribs, conflicting adrenaline and guilt making your throat dry up. Once, you might have been pleased to have his attention, glowing with any simple connotation of praise. Now, however, it was all you could do not to buckle under the intensity of his stare.
“What happened?”
I wasn’t paying close enough attention and tried latching onto a pile of snow like a dumbass, obviously.
“Shit, clover, are you bleeding?” The question forces you to break eye contact with Levi and look up to Oluo, his mouth contorted down into a grimace. He was eyeing the indent where your head had made an impact in the drift, crimson splotches tainting the pristine white. You lift your hand, touching your left temple gingerly. When you pull them away, your fingertips are dipped in red. Had you been watching your Captain, you’d have seen the pinch of concern in his brow, fleeting and gone in the seconds it took for you to hold a mutual gaze with one another.
“I…just wanted to improve my time.” You mumble quietly. “I’m sorry, Captain.”
The seconds after your admission seem to stretch for far longer than you are comfortable with and a nagging lilt in the back of your mind sing-songs that you’ve royally fucked up. No one else had maneuvered as poorly and, more than that, you knew you trained better, performed better in the past, than what your blunder conveyed. The overwhelming urge to make an apology again claws up behind clenched teeth, a thin sound escaping you in what you recognize is the start of a sob.
“I’m s-”
“Take her to the infirmary. The rest of you back to the barracks.” Levi’s order breaks your words in half, tilting his chin upward to nod at both Gunther and Eld still at attention behind you. Where was the blunt criticism, the unyielding “go again” uttered before you’d officially completed a drill? Was he not going to punish you for a trainee-level miscalculation?
No, it would seem not you realize, your teammates hoisting you up cautiously. They’re weary of your left side and you don’t blame them, allowing yourself to be hooked onto Eld’s back. Your side was starting to prickle with each movement and if you were bleeding, there’s no telling if you protected your skull as well as you’d thought.
Levi regards you carefully before making a harsh sound behind his teeth, abruptly turning his head to the relentless snowfall.
“Tch. The weather’s too shit for this, anyway.”
As Lady Luck would have it, aside from splitting the skin just above your hairline, there was no lasting damage from the fall. Your comrades had given simultaneous sighs of relief at the news, the doctor going on to explain the extent of your injuries.
Your left arm had taken the worst of it, a pain you didn’t feel until your body dethawed in the heat of the room. Sprained shoulder, a radial fracture - you had scowled with the realization you’d be out of commission for at least six to eight weeks. That, on top of the contusions on your ribs, had the doctor unamused with your weak protests.
It could have been worse, it could have been fatal, and it was a miracle you hadn’t shattered your hip on top of everything else.
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” You grumble to yourself. The hour was late, the sun long since set below the horizon, and the barracks cloaked in darkness. After dismissal from the infirmary, you had given your polite excuses to Eld and Gunther, head bowed as deep as you could manage in an apology for making them worry, before you had rushed off for privacy.
The day’s events didn’t seem real. Training in a snow storm, flinging yourself haphazardly into the course, your tether unlatching - and now you weren’t able to make up for it for a month and then some . You hugged your knees to your chest with your good arm, pressing your forehead to them with a sigh. Tomorrow, you were going to have to plead your case, beg the Captain not to kick you from the squad, to give you one more chance.
You’d paced past his office more than once in the afternoon, the resolve to burst in almost coming to fruition before you deflated miserably and lost your nerve. You doubt he wanted to see you anyway. If he had, he would have sent one of your squad members to collect you.
Admittedly, you had done a dazzling job avoiding them too.
You’d managed to side-step them, turning corners last minute and slipping into supply closets whenever you spotted them searching the halls of the Survey Corps building. The perks of falling below the average soldier’s eye level and having made-up favorability with a deity from children's stories, you suppose. You were easy to miss.
Skipping dinner at the mess hall had sucked though, your stomach already disgruntled with the lack of breakfast. You just…couldn’t face them. You didn’t want their sympathy, didn’t deserve the reassurances they’d give you in spite of their true feelings. Even now, you were a coward, hiding on the upper deck of the now empty facility. The dormitories, normally a place of comfort on your worst days, seemed impossible to venture to. Everyone was sleeping, you should be sleeping.
Instead, you were keeping the snow laden grounds company, wrapped up in your cloak to preserve your body heat.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” You let your head thud against your knees with every utterance of the word, trying to knock the burden of your feelings away. You were going to be known as a complete disgrace to the Scouts if you were booted from the squad, a complete and utter failure, you - you -
You caught the sound of soft footfalls on the hardwood behind you.
They were faint enough that any more absorbed in your inner spiral you’d have missed them entirely. A knowing spike of emotion wedges deep in your lungs and you choke out an attempted deadpan to the intruder.
“Leave me be Petra, I want to be alone.” You should have known she wouldn’t have let you settle in by yourself for the night. Out of your squad members, she was the most caring, keen on picking up distress from all of you, the one most likely to seek you out when you thought you could finally, finally have the space to brood.
The steps pause, the presence of another prickling your backside, before continuing their trek to settle somewhere beside you.
“Not Petra.”
Your breath catches at the voice of your Captain, eyes widening slightly. What was he doing out here? It was common knowledge Humanity’s Strongest didn’t sleep, or if he did it was with one eye open, but you wouldn’t have guessed he’d prowl around the mess hall of all places after hours. There’s a distinct rustle of him lowering himself to the floor, porcelain clinking soon after.
Daring to take a peak over your shoulder, you see two sets of china and a kettle with steam wafting from the spout. …Tea? No, not just tea, your brain supplies, but tea for two. You let out a soft “oh” in surprise.
He’s dressed in civilian clothes, much more casual than the standard uniform, clad in black pants and a simple gray sweater. Gray like his eyes .
It isn’t fair, you think, for someone to look so good and be such a conflicting source of excitement and anxiety. It isn’t fair that as your superior, he would never be privy to the leaps your heart made, would never find it acceptable to hear a confession of something you couldn’t make sense of yourself. You had to mask it as admiration, each stammer of words blamed on nerves and the creeping duty to excel. There wasn’t room for anything else.
“Is that what you want?”
You startle, the tips of your ears burning with the fear you had spoken your musings aloud. “I - what?”
Levi’s brow lifted in an unimpressed arch, upper body twisted at the waist to cradle the kettle and pour it’s contents into both sets of glass. It’s an herbal blend, the aromatics of chamomile and mint curling tendrils of steam into the night.
“Is that what you want?” He repeats slowly, gripping the cup closest to you by his fingertips and extending it your way. “To be alone?”
An offer of companionship.
You weigh your options, the hard truth or an easy lie, briefly. To say yes would mean to turn away an opportunity to sit in private with the man you had spent all day steering clear of and most of your career quietly harboring curious thoughts for. It would mean tossing aside the chance to sit besides your Captain on equal footing without the intimidation of rank.
But to admit loneliness, to accept an offer of company from him, was dangerous. Because you weren’t just saying yes to a cup of tea, you were saying yes to a cup of tea with him after making it apparent you weren’t interested in sharing your space with anyone else. You were conveying quite openly that your Captain was the exception and that was as close to toeing the line you had ever been before.
“...No, it’s not.” The admission sends a whoosh of trepidation down your spine, goosebumps chasing the wake of an invisible wave crashing over you. You reach over and cradle the cup with your good hand, mimicking his hold on the rim and skimming your knuckles against his palm in the process. You try not to think about the fleeting contact, averting your attention instead to the warm press of porcelain against your skin. “Thank you, sir.”
His jaw flutters at the honorific, dropping his scrutiny to the bandages peeking out from the exposed wrist of your injured arm. Dread mingles with the raw energy coiled in your gut, fidgeting with the urge to yank your sleeve down.
You were certain the doctor had forwarded the hardcopy of your debrief to the Captain’s desk for filing in conjunction with the incident report from your accident. That didn’t make it any easier to acknowledge, not with him staring down your arm like it held a personal vendetta against him. It was in a sling, elevated against your chest, and decidingly useless for the time being.
You were useless.
The biting jeer has you rushing to drink your tea, hoping to dislodge the god awful tightness behind your tongue. He’s likely realized it too, considering how he lets a wash of silence settle into the uncomfortable gaps between you both. Was there any protocol for cases like this? When a promising addition to your hand picked team turns out to be a mistake? Maybe this, you deliberate, is actually a formality - a kindness from your squad leader to break the news to you without the military standard of his office and a desk separating you and him.
“Tell me what happened today.” Yep, there it is. Following a slow sip of his own tea, Levi’s composure is still flat, intentions indecipherable. It was one of the more frustrating things about your Captain. Though the months under his supervision made you observant to his more common tells, you could never follow his train of thought. “What really happened.”
Despite your sinking heart, you catch the emphasis on his words. Your eyebrows pull forward in confusion -
“I screwed up. I missed the mark,” You were there, goes unsaid, your frustration starting to seep into your tone. “What else is there?”
The result was the same no matter how you spun it: you hadn’t been thinking with the mindset of a Scout worth their salt and so you’d fallen. Luck was all you had, chance kept you alive. But how many times would you fumble until you exhausted Fate’s kindness?
Levi clicked his tongue sharply, irises reminiscent of steel cutting past your pent up bitterness. Your mouth snapped shut. For an instant, he looks like he’s going to give you a lashing, cut you down verbally the way he was known to do to MPs to knock them down a peg. But instead, he takes a measured breath, narrowing his eyes over the rim of his cup.
“I’m going to be candid with you,” You felt yourself bracing. “That maneuver today was a spectacular pile of shit.”
Oh.
“I also know you’re better than that. Otherwise you’d be dead.”
Oh.
You…weren’t expecting that. It was safe to say you had prepared for all kinds of degradation, callous and hollow resentment for wasting precious time, and not a begrudging acknowledgment of your capability. The shock on your face must have been patent because Levi gives another knowing raise of his brow, conveying his expectation wordlessly. He’s giving you the benefit of the doubt.
“I…” You catch the inside of your cheek in indecision, worrying it between your teeth as you struggle to explain. There was no way to recount the seconds leading up to your mishap without sounding…well…pathetic. “I was upset with myself after yesterday’s performance.”
The essence of the problem - your piss poor times through the forest during your supervised drills. Your squad had been given the leisure of sitting down, to catch their breath, but not you. Rapidly firing your triggers to release and pull yourself through the brittle undergrowth, you had been on your fourth run, had just grazed your toes on the finish line when Levi’s command echoed from his perch. Again.
You had been breathless, sure that you were a poor sight of sweat and flyaway hair from your braid coming undone. But you didn’t argue, not then, and not after the two runs that followed. Only when you finished your seventh run, the forest a blur of brown and dying green, did you bite your tongue when Levi dismissed you and your squad. He hadn’t said anything . No feedback, no “good job”, nothing.
“It was eating at me. I pushed myself as hard as I could for you and it wasn’t enough,” The words tumble past your lips, a string of raw honesty you couldn’t believe you were laying out for your Captain to judge. “I didn’t know if my speed needed improvement, if I could have navigated better. I thought maybe I could make up for it today. Prove that I could work efficiently even in all this,” You give a general wave with your cup of tea at the mounds of snow. “Apparently not.”
Your impatience had gotten the best of you, your desire to be praised blurring your perception of the terrain around you. You just wanted proof you deserved to be with your squad for more than a streak of luck, that you could do it, all of it, without question. All you accomplished today was making a complete fool of yourself.
“I really was just…trying to improve my time,” You continue, the streamline of confessions pouring out of you without hesitation now. “But I was so eager to push forward that I didn’t consider my surroundings, not the way I should have. When I went to latch onto the next target I overshot, tried to latch onto a pile of snow, and wasn’t able to compensate until it was too late.”
Oh God you could hear the hoarseness in your voice now, the self-deprecation you’d been internalizing threatening to overtake your composure. You were being hyper-aware, you knew it, but it felt like your superior’s eyes were burning into you, dismayed with your poor explanation.
“I-I’m sorry, I really am -”
“Stop fucking apologizing.” Levi’s interruption doesn’t hold any bite to it despite the exasperation laden in his speech. “You’ve done enough of that already.” You shrink into yourself, averting your eyes away from the hard line of his mouth.
“But -”
“I shouldn’t have sent you out in that shit show today.”
The declaration knocks the gusto from your objection. This was your superior, Captain of your squad, Humanity’s Strongest with a reputation for always being a step ahead of the game, and he was saying he made a mistake?
It doesn’t compute, not until he’s glancing back at your bad arm with something that looks an awful lot like guilt in the hard lines of his expression. Did…he feel responsible for your injuries? The moment is gone before you can wrap your head around the dizzying realization, his eyes locking with yours.
“That being said, I expect you to be more careful in the future.” The physical tension seeps from you, the muscles of your shoulders loosening with warm relief.
The future.
Those two words held so much promise for you, the hope welling up in a silly wet gleam in your eyes. You hope he can’t see them glisten and even if he does, that he keeps any remarks about it to himself.
You take another sip from your cup, savoring the taste of chamomile on your tongue. He didn’t have to seek you out like this, he could have waited until the sun had risen and he could have called you to his office to discuss.
Would you have been this open, then? Would you have allowed a crack in the professional wall for him to view your insecurities for himself? You know the answer to your own questions. You’d have taken on an excursion alone in Titan country before reflecting honestly on your turmoil. Maybe he’d figured as much in the hours after your accident.
An innocent lilt hums from where you stuffed your inappropriate curiosities - Would he have done this for anyone other than you? Goose-flesh darts down your arms and you’re thankful for your cloak high enough to conceal the partial flush of your skin.
“Captain?” You start, pulse thumping loudly in your ears. The question is on the tip of your tongue, to volley a tenacious why all this back into his court. But then he’s facing you, head supported with a lazy hand, a different emotion flashing in those lovely gray eyes.
“Just Levi, like this.” You could implode. You could pass out. You could shout jubilee from the rafters for the entire legion of Scouts to wake to.
“Levi,” You test his name out softly and oh your face is on fire – He waits expectantly in silence, his attention completely shifted to you and your sudden inability to be a person. Just ask him already. “Does this mean you’re not transferring me?”
You absolute chicken . You curse yourself inwardly, almost angrily tearing yourself away from your Captain’s face to stare into your tea and suppress whatever stupid, school girl trepidation you had allowed to shake your core. Toeing the line was one thing and you should be satisfied with this precious time in the vacant mess hall, sharing a drink beyond professional means with your superior.
There’s a tug to your braid, reminiscent from this morning. You peer back to find Levi holding it betwixt his fingers, fixing you with something akin to amusement.
“I’d never hear the end of it from those brats if I got rid of our good luck charm.” Our good luck charm. He drops your braid in favor of his cup of cooling tea but you see the brief twitch upwards at the corner of his mouth before it’s concealed by porcelain. He’s teasing you and your cheeks glow brilliantly.
You two fall into quiet company with the stars, the conversation finding it’s close naturally. You weren’t getting kicked off the squad, you weren’t a complete failure in the eyes of your Captain, and you’d even gotten a moment of intimacy to hold close to your chest. Perhaps you’ll whisper it to your bunkmate in secret another time, share it with a shy grin while you slip into uniform. For now, you think you’ll keep it to yourself.
Too soon, Levi shifts around to gather the kettle and his cup, silently asking for your own diminished glass. It’s time, you realize, to part ways and resume your rank for the days to follow. You feel better though, even with the ache of your side and broken arm, ready to properly rest before tomorrow’s agenda. He must sense your newfound ease too, content to accompany you through the vacant building onto the grounds where your paths diverge.
“Get some sleep, soldier. Broken bones don’t excuse you from tardiness.” You nod and before you can stop yourself, you bring your right fist to your chest in the best salute you can manage without agitating your wounds.
“Thank you, sir.” Levi takes in the salute, lips parting slightly before he gives a curt nod of dismissal and turns heel to his own quarters. That’s it then, you settle, parting ways to the dormitories with a new certainty in your stride.
Lady Luck has given you tomorrow and you promise to make it count.